Title: Secret (1/1) Author: Leyla Harrison Feedback: starbuck72@netaxis.ca Disclaimer: I don't own Mulder and Scully. What's his name does. Summary: Scully has a secret and Mulder finds out what it is. Spoilers: Um. I don't think so. Just story, if you can call it that. Classification: V, slight ScullyAngst, MSR Rating: NC-17. This story contains sexual situations. Lots and lots of sexual situations. Hide the kiddies. Author's Note: This story is, although only one part, is not a stand alone piece; you should really read its follow up/companion piece, Secret II, by Madeleine Partous, which is being posted simultaneously. ***** I shift restlessly under the sheets and the fucking down comforter. I'm so hot. In more ways than one. Jesus. What the hell is the matter with me, anyhow? I've been telling myself for months that I've needed to get laid. Get laid. I haven't used that phrase since I was in college. Anyhow. I need something. It's been too long. Too many nights alone under this comforter, my own fingertips brushing over my breasts, lightly. I always tell myself that I won't do anything more than that, but I always do. Why do I feel this way? It's not like I feel guilty about it. I got over the guilt associated with masturbation years ago. When I was younger I could do it with Melissa asleep in the bed across the room. I had learned how to touch myself and bring myself to a shuddering, if silent, orgasm without waking her. So I'm an adult now. I have no one in the room next to me to worry about waking up. So why do I always tell myself that I'm not going to do it? Why do I always try to convince myself that I don't really want to come? The plain and simple fact is, I do. I desperately want orgasm after orgasm, to have them crash over me, to have a pillow pressed into my face so that when I cry out, my neighbors don't hear it. When I scream his name, I want Mulder to hear me. So I never use his name. But it's always his face I see. His hands. His body. Christ. I need a life. Seriously. I need a life. Tonight is no different. I'm hot, I'm tired and I'm aroused. And worst of all, I'm telling myself that I don't want to do this. Sure I don't. I know damn well that once I start, that I'll get into it, like I always do. I'll have my eyes closed and my hands will become his. My fingers will become his mouth and his cock, and I'll feel him inside me and over me, caressing me. Mmm. Just the thought of it is enough to make me flip over onto my back. Fantasizing about your partner. I'm sure there's something in Cosmo or Glamour Magazine about how distracting it can be to your work. Tell me about it. Distracting doesn't even begin to cover it. I get up and out of bed. Pace the living room for a while. Finally I make a cup of coffee, knowing full well that I'm not going to sleep anytime soon. I want to toss a healthy slug of something alcoholic into it. I look through the cabinets and find nothing. Nothing. I have no alcohol in the house. Not even a bottle of wine. I am an incredible, pathetic excuse of a person. Even my mother has a bottle of wine in the house. Hell, I'm sure even Mulder has a bottle of wine in the house. Mulder. Hm. I shouldn't. I shouldn't think like this. My mind is wandering into dangerous territory tonight. I leave the coffee cup on the kitchen table and head back into the bedroom. I leave the lights on and get back into bed. Mulder, I think as my hands drift over my breasts slowly. Mulder. His hands are warm and I know that they will cup each breast, gently at first, carefully, testing their weight, their size. He will brush his fingertips over the nipples "accidentally", which will cause a sigh to escape from my lips. A gasp, maybe, depending on how much pressure he uses. I don't need much more than this and I can feel myself getting ready. My nipples are tight and hard in anticipation of my own fingers. I sigh softly. There is something so incredible about the art of seducing oneself that I have never quite understood. No lover can ever know your body better than you know it yourself. I have learned this art, over the years. I have become adept. When I masturbate, I take the time it takes. There is usually no need to rush, unless I can't stand the waiting. I've learned the rhythms of my body. I know what it likes. What kind of touch. What speed. I moan softly, thinking about it. The phone jangles noisily on the bedside table next to me, startling me. Fuck. I check the clock. Ten minutes to one. If it isn't the ubiquitous Agent Fox Mulder. No one else would call me this late. I overcome the urge to let the answering machine pick up and grab the receiver from the cradle. "Hello." "Scully?" "Yes, Mulder," I sigh wearily. "Um, did I wake you?" No, Mulder, you just interrupted me. Don't worry about it. "No, Mulder. I was already awake." I was thinking about you, actually. "I was just, well, I was...thinking about you, Scully." His words come as a surprise to me and I actually sit up slightly in bed. "Scully, listen, I'm sorry. I'm sorry for calling so late. I'm sure you have better things to do." Actually... Should I tell him? Do I dare? "Actually, Mulder, I was thinking about you too." "You were?" "Yes." "What were you thinking?" I take a deep breath. "Mulder, do you ever get lonely? Do you ever..." I trail off, suddenly feeling foolish. I know he gets lonely. I know this about him. It is the one thing he and I share. It is the one thing he and I never talk about. Mulder chuckles softly into my ear. "Why do you think I have all those videos, Scully?" "The ones that aren't yours?" I ask with a smile. "Those would be the ones." The banter is light and makes me feel relaxed. I slip back down into a lying position. Mulder and I so rarely have the chance to have a conversation like this anymore. Lately the things we discuss are much more brutal. Death. Conspiracy. The two of us are too busy running around, trying to make sure than the other one isn't being killed or tricked or manipulated into believing false truths, to have any kind of banter anymore. I realize how much I've missed it. "So, what *were* you doing, Scully?" "It's a secret," I tease. "Come on, tell me." "Really?" "Yes, really." "Well, Mulder, I was lying here in bed, thinking about you making love to me, and well..." Oh, God. Did I really say that? Yes, I did. My tone was light. I was kidding. God, I hope he thinks I was kidding. If he doesn't, I'm going to die of humiliation. Silence. I actually think I can hear Mulder breathe, swallow, then breathe again. God. He didn't take it as a joke. There is a long, uncomfortable pause. "Funny you should say that, Scully," he answers finally. "Because I was thinking about making love to you." He's deadly serious. "God," I breathe. "Scully." I can't talk. My throat has tightened and I don't know what to say. Fear has taken over. "Scully, I'm coming over." "Mulder..." "You don't want me to?" he asks. "It's not that, Mulder. I do," I blurt out nervously. "I'm just..." Just what? God. Just what? Just not ready? That would be a lie. I've been ready for months. Years, even. "It's OK," he says soothingly. "No, Mulder," I say, more firmly. I hang up on him. What the fuck is my problem? I want him. I've wanted him for ages now; I've wanted him for so long that it doesn't even surprise me anymore. But I'm not ready for him to see me. Not now. Not when I have my own hands. God knows I'm scared that his hands on me, his real hands, will be so much more than my own, that I won't be able to handle it. It will be so much, so overwhelming, so explosive, that I won't be able to stand it. I'll come apart. And he'll see me. I can't let him see me that way. My palms rub across my breasts, through the material of the pajama tops I'm wearing. My nipples tighten and harden immediately and I release the breath I'm holding. The touch is light. It's not what I want. I want more and I want it quickly. Don't rush, I tell myself. Make this last. Make it slow. Make it good. Don't just rush through it and let it be over too soon. My fingertips tease the nipples, brushing the stiffened tips as they poke through the fabric. Back and forth. Slowly. Slowly. I increase the speed. It feels so good like this. I love it like this -- the rapid fire movement. If only. If only Mulder were here. He would capture one nipple in his mouth and pull gently with his lips. His mouth would be warm and wet and I would feel his tongue flicking back and forth over the nipple just as my fingers are doing now. I groan in frustration. Goddamn him. Goddamn him for not being here. Damn myself for not letting him be. I pull the pajama off my head. I'm too hot, and I want to actually touch the pebbled flesh. Skin to skin. I toss the shirt over the side of the bed carelessly, not caring where it ends up. I need this so badly. I don't have time to waste. I touch one fingertip to the very sensitized tip of my nipple. There's a spot there, one, the one that I've discovered is the most sensitive on my body. It's a small area, and it only responds when I use the very tip of my finger. Very carefully. Very softly. Just like... I gasp and arch up off the bed. Jesus. Just like that. Yes. This touch alone makes me insane. I feel a gush of wetness flood me. My head tosses from side to side on the pillow. God. The sensations are so intense that I can barely stand it. My hand slips into the bottoms of my pajamas and into my underwear. I don't have time to take them off. No time. I part my legs slightly, touching my inner thighs, stroking them, not wanting to have it end so quickly. I have a flash of Mulder there, his head buried between my thighs, and I feel another rush of wetness. I slip two fingers into the folds of my own flesh and feel the slick wetness cover them instantly. "Oh God," I mutter, my eyes closing. My other hand is still working on my breast, kneading it, occasionally rubbing my fingertips over the nipple. "Jesus," Mulder mutters. I yank my hand out and my eyes fly open. "Christ!" I exclaim, sitting up halfway to see Mulder in the doorway of my bedroom. I lean over the side of the bed to grab the top to my pajamas, but he's across the room faster and grabs my arms. "Don't," he says. He's holding me by the arms and his eyes rake over my bare chest. I am flushed hot from arousal, from his ruthless inventory of my body, from the shame of being caught. By him. "What the hell are you doing here?" I manage to get out. "I was in the car. On my cel phone. Outside." His words are short and clipped. He's not looking at my face. Not yet. He's still looking at my breasts. Finally he looks at me and his fingers move down my arm to my hand. He laces them through mine, feeling the wetness that hasn't dried yet, and his fingers slide over it. That alone sends a pulse through me. He's crouched by the side of the bed, and he leans forward and captures one nipple in his mouth without saying a word. My back arches and I moan aloud. His lips pull insistently on the nipple, his arms going around my bare back, his hands touching me at the base of my spine, moving up, all the way up to the base of my neck. His touch is feather light and I am unable to focus on whether or not his fingers or his mouth are giving me more pleasure. I can hardly focus. The sensations are too strong. I feel his tongue flick over the tip of the nipple, lightly. It hits that sensitive spot and I buck in his arms. He releases me and pushes me back on the bed, pulling the pajamas and my underwear down in one smooth motion, leaving me naked in front of him. I scramble back on the bed, moving up to the head of it, but he's on the bed, holding my thighs, opening my legs. He looks at me from the juncture of my thighs, and I know he must see the wetness slicked along the insides of my thighs. He reaches a hand out and fingers go into the wet curls; I fall back on the bed, unable to protest or stop him. Not that I want to. My eyes slip closed and I hear the rustling of cloth against cloth. The fingers are gone. I am about to open my eyes when I feel his mouth descend on the inside of my thigh. He places a very light, very small kiss there. I clutch at him, at his head, at his shoulders, at any part of him that I can reach. "I can't..." I whisper. "Can't what, Scully?" he asks, his voice muffled because of his location. "Can't stand it," I gasp as he places another light kiss near the first one. His tongue takes a very small lick at the same spot he'd just kissed. Jesus. My hips are arching up off the bed. "Just do it, Mulder," I plead, not caring how desperate my voice sounds to my own ears. His fingers are threading through the curls again, and I feel him opening me, holding the lips open, apart, so that he can see all of me. I feel hot breath from his lungs on my skin and I lift my hips slightly, pleading. His mouth descends on me and I feel his lips kiss me. Oh my God. I can't tell if I'm speaking aloud. His tongue starts at the bottom, flat, and slowly he drags it upwards. Almost thirty seconds pass before his tongue hits the spot where I want it to be most, and when I feel it, I clutch at him, at his jacket, grabbing handfuls of it. MulderMulderMulder. I can't bear it. I'm thrashing wildly under his mouth. His tongue and his lips are firmly in place and I feel him teasing the tip of my clitoris with his tongue. I'm not going to last long. I can tell. The muscles in my legs are clenching already in anticipation. His tongue moves down, pushing its way inside me, as far as possible. Oh God. I feel his fingers on my clit now, continuing the sweet torture that his mouth had started a minute ago. "Mulder," I gasp. I can feel my body nearing the brink. He senses it in my voice and moves his mouth again, pulling his tongue from inside me. He returns to licking me and suckling at me, alternating so that I can't tell the difference. His speed increases slightly. "God, Mulder. Mulder. I'm going to come." He must hear me because at that moment his tongue goes wild on my clit. My body goes stiff and I dimly hear myself crying out, my voice raw and almost primal. He doesn't lift his mouth from me. He's still working, and I feel the second orgasm hit before the first one is even over. This time I scream. I scream his name, convulsing, and see white light. He lifts his mouth from me immediately, moving up on the bed to take me in his arms and hold me close to him. It's the first thing I'm aware of when I open my eyes. I'm in Mulder's arms. My breathing is still labored, but it's slowly returning to normal. He smiles down at me. "So, I guess I know what your secret was, huh?" he asks. "I'll bet *you* have a secret, Mulder..." END