Open Air Series by Jenna Tooms

Open Air covers

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Open Air Series

Open Air covers

TITLE: Open Air

AUTHOR: Jenna B.




SPOILERS: brief mentions of Detour, The Movie, Folie A Deux, the abduction arc

SUMMARY: Stopping for the night on a long drive, Scully discovers the joys of sleeping in the great outdoors.

DISCLAIMER: Fox Mulder and Dana Scully belong to Chris Carter, Ten-Thirteen Productions and 20th Century FOX Broadcasting. No copyright infringement is intended.

Open Air

The lurch of the car jerks me awake, and my hands fly out to brace myself against the dashboard. The car screeches to a stop, and we both sit there, panting.

“Are you okay?” Mulder says. His hands are so tight on the wheel his knuckles are white.

“I’m okay. Are you? What happened?”

“I nodded off for a second there. I’m sorry.”

“We need to find a hotel and get some sleep.” There’s a clock in the dashboard. Nearly two a.m., and I know he’s been awake since five yesterday morning, almost twenty-four hours. He insisted on driving, of course.

“Where, Scully? It’s another two hundred miles to the next town.”

I look at him and sigh. It’s even further to go back. There’s nothing around us but fields for miles.

“Maybe we could ask one of the ranchers if we could sleep in their guestroom …” My voice trails off, and Mulder decides to not point out we have not idea how to get to a ranch house, either. There isn’t a hint of civilization out here besides barbed wire fences and the highway.

“Camp out?” he says, and I nod wearily. Ever since the Mothmen thing-though I do have to wonder what good they would do if we’re stuck in a forest-we’ve taken to packing some light camping supplies. Little sleeping bags, lighters, rain ponchos. We haven’t used them yet, but it’s nice to know we’re prepared.

He pulls off the road and shuts off the car, and we both get out. Mulder stands beside the trunk of the car, yawning and rubbing his eyes, while I wrestle my sleeping bag out of my suitcase. His sleeping bag, of course, is right on top, and he yawns complainingly as we walk off the road to find a place to sleep.

I’ve also grabbed something more comfortable to sleep in, but changing into it presents a problem. We have the flashlight on, of course, but I’m not too keen on the idea of Mulder watching me change my clothes. Or about changing in the dark, either.

Why this reluctance, you ask? The reason is so simple and stupid and basic it’s embarrassing. But here it is: Mulder, for all his “I love you”s and “you’re my one in five billion”s, won’t fuck me. And I am tired of trying.

Platonic relationships suck.

Mulder, while I stand here dithering, has unrolled his sleeping bag, taken off his shoes, shirt, tie and jacket, and climbed in. “Good night, Scully,” he says, and I haven’t even taken off my shoes.

I unroll my own bag and try to clear the area of rocks, though I’m sure I’ll miss one that’s dig into my spine all night long. I stand there for a moment more, debating about what to do, then tell myself I’m being silly and start shedding my clothes. Why is it that Mulder, the lightest of sleepers, can be ready for bed in two minutes and asleep in three, while I have to change clothes entirely and I just know I’m going to spend the entire night staring at the sky?

As soon as my suit is changed for a sweatshirt and boxer shorts, I get into my own sleeping bag and turn off the flashlight. I turn onto my back-no stones, imagine that-and look up at the sky. And I feel myself relax as I look. It’s been a long time since I’ve looked at the sky without fear. With no lights around, the sky is dark and vast and so crowded with stars I feel like I can see every last one of them. I can even see the sweep of the Milky Way, which is something it’s easy to forget about when you live in the city. And the moon is high in the sky, round as an orange, white and gray and the palest of blues. It’s beautiful. I’d forgotten it could be beautiful.

As my eyes adjust to the darkness I can see Mulder too, vaguely. In the starlight he looks softer somehow, younger, and I prop my head on my arm and watch him sleep. I wonder what he was like when he was twenty, when he was ten, when he was a little boy. I’ll never know what he was like before he met me, and so it’s hard to say that I have changed him. He thinks I have. It’s that “you make me a whole person” thing.

I scowl at that reminder and lie down again. Stupid fucking bee. If I’d only changed clothes, the course of our history would be completely different. A kiss-and not just any kiss, a kiss of epic proportions-which would have led to the best sex the Western World has witnessed since Cleopatra met Marc Antony.

Or perhaps I’m overly optimistic. Sometimes I wish we’d sleep together just so that I can stop wondering what it’s like. And I almost hope it’s a disappointment, so that I won’t want to again.

Well, it’s academic, anyway. Mulder has ignored every attempt I’ve ever made to move our relationship forward, and I’ve given up. If he has any desire for my body he does a great job of hiding it, and though I suppose I should be glad I have someone who loves me for my mind it’s cold comfort on these many lonely nights.


He’s not asleep.

“What?” I still sound as crabby as I can.

“I’m cold.”

“Put on some socks. Or a hat.”

“Aw, Scully …” He caterpillars closer to me. “Body heat, Scully?”


“Because if we zip our sleeping bags together it’ll be like a double bed. Cozy.”

It sounds wonderful. Cozy, like he said. How wonderful it would be to sleep beside him, to hold him. Wonderful and terrible, because he won’t let me hold him. He’ll put his cold feet on me. He’ll snore. He’ll hog the blankets-so to speak.

“C’mon, Scully. I’m cold.”

“Whine, whine …” I clamber out of my sleeping bag and start to unzip it, and Mulder makes an “oh goody!” sound and jumps out of his. He spreads his sleeping bag out flat, and we spend not a few minutes trying to get the zips to fit together. We get into our makeshift double bed, both of us on our backs, both of us as far apart as we can get. The zipper is cold, as is the tip of my nose.



“When I was in Siberia, there was one little slit in the cell wall, and I could see the sky. I could see a little slash of the sky, and one star. I don’t know which star it was. I don’t know how you’d find out, though I’m sure there’s a way. But I’d look out at that star, and I’d …” I hear him swallow, hard. “I’d wish on it.”

I don’t know what to say to his. I prop my head on my elbow and look at him. He is staring up at the sky, his expression wistful. “What did you wish?” I whisper finally.

“To see you.”

A dark shape flies over us. We both look up at it-it’s an owl, lethal, silent and beautiful. Neither of us says anything until it’s flown out of sight.

“To see your face one more time,” Mulder says quietly. “To see your smile. You have the most beautiful smile, Scully. You don’t use it enough, you know.” He hasn’t looked at me since he started speaking. “When I walked into the senate chamber and you looked at me and you smiled … “

“What, Mulder?” I whisper when his voice trails off. “When you walked into that senate chamber, what?”

“Nothing, Scully. Go to sleep.” He turns onto his side, his back towards me.

Dismissed. Like a bothersome child. For reasons I can’t fully name this pisses me off like nothing else he’s done lately, and I grab his shoulders and turn him towards me. His eyes pop open in surprise. “What, Mulder?” I whisper insistently, and then I say it out loud-we’re not disturbing anybody out here. “What? When you walked into that senate chamber, what? What did you think, what did you want, what did you feel? Did you want to kiss me? Did you want to hold me? Did you want to make love to me, Mulder? When you walked into that senate chamber did you want to make love to me?”

“Scully-please don’t ask me that-” He tries to pull away but I throw myself onto him, stretching my body on top of his and holding down his hands.

“Tell me, Mulder.”

“Scully, quit it!” He honestly sounds scared.

“Why, Mulder? What are you afraid of? Are you afraid that if you make love to me I’m going to leave you?”


“That is what you’re afraid of, isn’t it. I’ve got you all figured out, Mulder, you’re not as unreadable and mysterious as you like to think you are. You think I’d leave you. I don’t know why you’d think that. If I were going to leave you I’d have done it long ago.”

“Scully.” He moves his arms but doesn’t try to break out of my grasp. “It’s not you leaving me. It’s you being taken away.”

My heart softens at this-his voice is trembling, his whole body is trembling. I ease my grip on his arms and slip my hands up, weaving my fingers between his. “They’re not going to take me away, Mulder.”

“They’ve done it before. They’ll do it again, if they think they have to. I don’t want them to use you to control me.”

“Oh, Mulder …” I want to kiss his foolish mouth. “What can they do to me that they haven’t already done?”

“They can kill you.”

“They won’t kill me.”

“They’ll come as close as they can and keep you alive to torture me.”

I push myself up to a half-sitting position, straddling him. My hips rest against his, and my eyes widen as I realize what’s throbbing against my belly. He’s hard. Hard. The heat of his erection sends a thrill through my body, and a rush of wetness between my thighs. “So you think that’s our fate?” I whisper, pressing my hips against his firmly. “To be used and thrown aside?”

“If that’s what it takes.” His fingers tighten on mine.

“Then why not live, Mulder?” I lower my head so that our mouths almost-but-not-quite touch. “Why not live, while we wait to die? Tell me that, Mulder. Tell me why we deny ourselves …” I brush my lips over the bridge of his nose, ” … what we both want so much.”

“Scully, stop it. Please.” His voice is rough.

“You want me, Mulder. I know you want me. And I want you.” The words spill out of me, eager, urgent. “I want to kiss you all over, Mulder. I want to comfort and soothe you. I want to taste you. I want to feel you inside me. I want you to fill me. I want you to fuck me, Mulder, I want you to fuck me and hold nothing back, I want all of you, I want you to come inside me, I want you, Mulder, I want you-”

He groans and rips his hands from mine. His arms clutch around me, and he rolls us over so that I’m beneath him. His teeth sink into my shoulder and his hips thrust against mine desperately. I cry out and wrap my arms and legs around him, trying to position us so that his erection hits my clit through our clothes.

“Mulder-oh, God-please-” I haven’t been dry-humped like this since … ever. Not with this kind of hunger. As if he thinks he could fuck me without fucking me-which, I think as even jolts of pleasure shoot through me, is not going to do at all.

“Mulder!” I grab his head and pull it up so he has to look at me. He breathes in gasps, his face sweaty and pale. “Mulder.” I stroke his cheek and he closes his eyes. “Slower.”

He gives an uncertain smile. “Sorry. Sorry. I-sorry.”

“It’s okay. It’s okay, baby.” He smiles again at the endearment, sweetly, his gasps slowing into normal breaths. I stroke his hair and his face and his neck, and he holds me and starts stroking me as well, hesitantly at first and then with growing confidence. He weighs my breasts, measures my waist, explores my thighs.

“It’s strange to hear you call me baby,” he whispers.

“Would you rather I didn’t?”

“No. I like it. Nobody’s called me baby before.” He looks at me through his eyelashes, and I smile and tug gently on his ears. He has good ears, slightly pointed, not too big, not sticking out too far.

“Kiss me.”

Mulder smiles and spreads his hand over my cheek, smoothing his fingers into my hair. His thumb sweeps over my lower lip. He lowers his head and breathes for a moment against my mouth, and chuckles when I answer with a dart of my tongue over his lips.

“Have you ever made love in open air, Scully?” he whispers.

“No.” The most exotic place I’ve ever had sex was the back seat of a car. I’ll tell him that someday, maybe.

He rolls us again so that I’m on top, and pushes my shoulders gently so that I sit up. His hands move under the hem of my sweatshirt and his fingertips pass over my stomach. “You skin is beautiful in the moonlight,” he says as he lifts my sweatshirt over my head. I toss my head to settle my hair and shiver as the cool night air caresses my skin. “Your breasts are perfect.” He cups them and rubs my nipples with his thumbs. I moan and place my hands over his. “Your body, Scully, your body is …”

“Tell me,” I breathe, my still-clothed hips undulating against his. “Tell me everything you’ve wanted to do to me. Tell me that you want my body.”

“Scully,” he groans, “I’ve always wanted your body.” He sits up and wraps his arms around my waist, and buries his face between my breasts. His tongue, pebbly and hot, passes over my nipples and licks the undersides of my breasts, and his big slender hands support my back to keep me from arching away from him. I thrust one hand into his hair and use the other to reach between us, to play with his nipples and comb through the hair on his chest. His tongue pulls my nipple between his teeth, and I moan as he sucks, hard and firm.

“Mulder-fuck-please, Mulder, kiss me, kiss my lips, Mulder, kiss my mouth.”

He lets go of my breast and looks into my eyes, his chest heaving again. “Scully,” he says, warning in his tone, “if I kiss you-if we kiss-I don’t know if I’ll be able to stop, Scully.”

“Then kiss me.”

“I love your mouth, Scully,” he whispers roughly, and kisses me.

God. God.

His tongue is not intrusive but is demanding, and his teeth worry my lips gently. I try to return his kiss with equal vigor but I feel as if he’d devour me if he could, he’d eat me up alive and I wouldn’t mind a bit. I suck on his tongue and breathe in his breath, and he rumbles in his chest and thrusts his hands into the waistband of my shorts. His hands grab the cheeks of my ass and squeeze, and I giggle and groan at the same time.

His mouth leaves mine and feeds on my neck, and he murmurs, “Such a perfect little body, Scully, just the way you should be, your little feet, your dimpled knees, your waist, your neck, your hair,” as he bites and licks and kisses me. I rock against him, the weight in my abdomen demanding and hot.

“I want you.” I look up at the mild sky, smiling at the stars. “I want every part of you.” I kiss his shoulders and his chest, and finally feel brave enough to put my hands on the waistband of his trousers. I undo the fly and slip my hand inside his boxers.

He buries his face in my neck and groans, as I gently stroke his balls and his penis. “Scully.”

“You’re so beautiful, Mulder. Let me see your body too.”

I move off his lap and we both wriggle out of the rest of our clothes, and turn to each other in the moonlight, naked. I turn down the sleeping bag to look at him, to run my hands over him, to kiss him. He watches me through lowered eyelids, his face deceptively sleepy. He gasps when my hand closes around his erection.

“Too rough?” I whisper, letting go at once.

“Perfect.” He puts his hand on top of mine and guides it back, and we both moan as he shows me how to stroke him. I lean over to kiss him, and he holds onto my head and kisses my face. He lets go of my hand and moves his hand between my thighs. His fingers open me gently, and I gasp as he sinks a finger into my wetness.

“Oh god.”


We smile at each other, and he removes my hand from his erection and pulls me onto him. “Is this okay?”

“This is perfect.” This is what I want, exactly, I want to set the pace, I want to watch his face, I want to watch his muscles play and his skin stretch. Some other time he can be in control.

At this thought I smile. Yes. There will be more.

His hands clasp my hips and I lift myself up and pause for a moment, sensing the head of his penis at my entrance. I inhale, and exhale slowly as I lower myself onto him.

I can’t even describe the sound Mulder makes as I envelop him the first time. Not a breath, not a groan, not a gasp. It’s a soundless sound, a wordless word, a silent moan that I feel all the way up my spine.

I want to hear it again.

I brace my hands on his shoulders and raise my hips, and bend down to kiss him as I lower myself again. He groans into my mouth and pulls me down as he thrusts his hips upwards, deep into me. “Fuck,” I whisper, resting my forehead against his, and he chuckles weakly.

“I’m trying to,” he murmurs, kissing my chin, and starts thrusting lazily, his legs bent for leverage. I moan with his thrusts softly, shaking from the base of my spine. Damn this feels good. The simple act of his penis sliding in and out of my vagina, it feels good. Of course, his kisses and his caresses don’t hurt much, either. I don’t think my body has felt this cherished, this beloved, this worshipped, ever. Ever.

But I want the control back. I push myself upright, holding my body straight, and grasp his hands. He groans as I start to push down on him, and I feel tight and gushing and powerful. “Scully,” he moans again and again, and his head tosses against the damp grass and his hands clasp and reclasp mine insistently.

“Yes,” I whisper to him. “Come for me, Mulder. I want you to come. Let it go. Let go, Mulder.”

He groans wordlessly, his entire body tensing, and he grabs my hips again and grinds us together. I touch his face and kiss him, tightening my inner muscles around him rhythmically. He becomes frenzied, frantic, thrusting up into me as if he wants to split me in half. “Scully-Scully-Scuh-llleee!” he shouts and he arches and he comes, he empties himself into me and collapses into a weak and boneless pile beneath me.

I let myself fall onto him and lie on his chest, panting. I’m pretty sure I came. I feel loose all over, which is always a good sign. My orgasm is never a big production number. I’m not a shouter or a thrasher or a screamer.

Mulder’s hands start to move again, gently grazing my back and my sides and my hair. I smile-yes, Mulder, cuddling is good. Glad I didn’t have to ask.



“Did you-are you-do you feel okay?”

“I feel great, Mulder.”

“There’s nothing more I can do for you?”

I smile again. It’s sweet, really, this concern of his. “I feel fine, Mulder. I don’t need anything more.”

“You’re sure?”

“I’m sure.”

““Cause I’d hate to leave you … you know … unfinished.”

“I finished. No fanfare.”

“Ah.” He lifts my hips and his penis slides out of me, and I murmur a complaint and curl up atop him again. My least favorite part of sex, when we’re no longer joined. The after is great, but no matter how long my partner stays inside me he always leaves too soon. Mulder senses this complaint, though, and continues touching me gently, creating a mild buzz through my body again. “It was good, though, wasn’t it,” he whispers sleepily.


“Good enough to do again sometime.”

“Yeah. Not right away, though.”

“Oh, no, no. Twenty years ago I could’ve, probably …”

“We need to sleep a little tonight.”

“Yeah.” He sounds like he’s asleep already. His arms loosen their hold around me a bit, but not so much that I can roll off him.

He has the right idea, though. I pace my breathing to his and feel my eyelids grow heavy, and am soon asleep.


I wake up slowly, wondering why it’s so bright in my room. Any why my body is so sore and why my sheets feel so different and what’s this weight across my chest …

Oh. Oh, boy.

Mulder and I had sex last night.

And it was pretty damn amazing. Fucking amazing. It was passionate and sweet and gentle. I become wet just thinking about it.

I open my eyes and look at the sky, which is that crystalline blue of summer dawn. I feel dewy from sleeping outdoors and sticky from our lovemaking, and the weight of Mulder’s arm across my chest is reassuring and comforting. His head is on my shoulder and one leg is nestled between both of mine.

I run my hand up and down his arm slowly, and wonder what’s the best way to wake him up. The gentlest way, I’ve read, to wake someone up is to pull their toes or their earlobes. His toes are out of the question, so I start fondling his earlobe and pull on it gently.

“Mulder. Wake up. We need to get on the road again.”

He hums complainingly and pulls me closer to him, and I smile. All right, we’ll stay here a while.

I move his arm from my chest and sit up, trying to not disturb him. I hold the sleeping bag to cover my breasts and look around. We’re on a slight rise from the highway, and I can easily see our car. In fact I can easily see for miles. The country is rocky and dry, with only sage and mesquite bushes and desert grass for vegetation. It’s so empty and still I could almost believe we’re the only two people on earth.

And wouldn’t that solve all our problems, if it were just the two of us?

I sigh, unable to hold back the wave of sadness that follows this thought. I want our future, I want to spend the rest of my life with him, I want to grow old with him. But we may have so little time.

Well. That’s why we’ve got to make every second count, now, isn’t it.

I stroke Mulder’s hair and let the sleeping bag fall away. There’s no one here to see anyway. And quite frankly, I want Mulder to look at my breasts when he wakes up. I want to know that he thinks I’m beautiful in the daylight as well as in the dark.

It’s warm but not so hot it’s uncomfortable, and a breeze ruffles my hair. I lean back on my elbows and close my eyes. I’ve never sunbathed nude. I’ve never gone skinny-dipping. I even wear a towel in my own apartment when I go from the shower to my bedroom. Even my swimsuits are one-piece, modest.

Yet the sun and the breeze feel so good on my breasts and on my stomach. I don’t feel quite brave enough-even if we are the only people in the world-to push the sleeping bag completely off me and lie naked here in the sunshine. But topless in the sunshine is a start, isn’t it?

“Scully,” Mulder breathes, and I open my eyes to look at him. His eyes are wide and dark, and I’m not at all surprised to see his erection tenting the heavy sleeping bag.

“Good morning, sleepyhead,” I say softly, and turn my face to the sun again, closing my eyes. I did the seducing last night. If he wants me again he can show me. “Do you know what time it is?”

“About six, I think, if I remember the sunrise time right.” I sense his hand approach me, but he pulls it back.

“Scully,” he says again, softly. “I’d hate for you to get sunburned out here. Especially on your tender parts.”

I refrain from snickering and just smile. Tender parts. You are too cute for words, Fox Mulder. “Do you have any ideas for a sunscreen?” I say innocently, and laugh with delight when he throws himself onto me. My hands go into his hair and I open his eyes in time to watch him kiss me. His kiss is firm and juicy and delicious as a peach.

“You taste like sunshine,” he whispers, and he starts kiss in my face. I open my legs so he can lie between them, and inhale sharply when his penis brushes my labia. He doesn’t push or thrust yet, though, and continues kissing me and fondling me as gently and sweetly as if it’s my first time. The weight of his body feels wonderful. He’s not crushing me at all.

He slides his hand down my back and moves my hips a little, tilting my pelvis upwards. “You’re so pretty, Scully,” he whispers, and his hand glides up my belly and starts toying with my breasts again.

“Am I?”

“Oh, yeah.” His mouth moves wetly down my neck. “Like a rose. A rosebud. So soft … so sweet …” I moan as his mouth closes on my nipple.

“This is sweet,” I whisper, combing my hands through his hair. “This is sweet. This is perfect.”

He hums in agreement and licks his way to my other breast, which he sucks with the same tenderness. I arch my back, my arms around his neck, and look once more at the sky. I like this sleeping outdoors. Making love under the sun. I like this a lot.

He throws back the sleeping bag, exposing us both to the open air, and starts kissing over my body. His mouth is as hot as the sunbeams on my thighs. For a moment I don’t know what he’s planning, and then nearly shout with surprise when his mouth closes over my clit.

“Mulder! I-” I haul myself away from him and he looks up at me.

“Don’t you want that?”

“I-no.” I whisper, somewhat embarrassed, “I’ve never done that before.”

“Never?” He sounds like he can hardly believe it, and he places a warm protective hand over my mound. “You mean nobody’s ever looked at this wet delicious pussy and wanted to eat you until you scream?”

My cheeks flush and I say quietly, “I don’t scream, Mulder.”

“Now I know why. I wonder if you’ve ever had a really good orgasm, Scully.”

“I’ve had orgasms.”

“I mean a good one. Or more than one.”

“Not every woman is has six screaming orgasms in a night, Mulder,” I say tartly, and start to pull away from him. But his hand is still cupping me and one fingertip is flicking against my clit. The wetness that has been pooling inside me since I woke up is starting to drip down my thighs.

“I know that.” He sounds amused now. “But there’s so much more to sex than just fucking.”

“I know that.” The stuff of porn videos, I think, and frown.

Mulder sighs and moves up so that we’re eye to eye. “Scully. It’s not dirty, it’s not perverted, it’s not going to send you straight to hell. And I would love to be the one to show you how good it can be.”

All this while his finger is still working inside me, moving my wetness from my vagina to my clit, massaging my clit, as gentle as you could ask for and so arousing I think I might come despite how upset I am at our conversation.

“I suppose,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady, “that you mean leather and whips and handcuffs and-and things like that.” I’m sure there’s more but I just can’t think of anything.

He smiles and says, “Well, I’m not a fan of whips but if you want to try it-handcuffs, on the other hand, have some advantages. Blindfolds, too.” He pushes a finger into me and I moan, letting my eyes close. Blindfolds. What is he thinking about? What am I getting myself into?

“All that guilt,” he whispers into my ear. “All those years of being told it was dirty. That it was wrong. I want to free you from that, Scully. No guilt. Just fun. Just good. Let me make you feel good, Scully.”

He is making me feel good. He’s found a place inside me that he’s stroking slowly, that’s sending tremors through me, making me toss my head from side to side. It’s inside and up a little, towards the front of my body. “Relax, sweetheart,” he whispers, kissing me. “Let it go. Like you said last night. Let go. Just feel. Enjoy it, Scully. Let yourself enjoy it.”

Enjoy it. Yes. I’m trying. I am.

“Relax,” he whispers again, “relax.” His erection prods against my thigh, his hand pumps inside me. He kisses my lips and my eyes. “You can do it, Scully. Just come. Don’t fight it. Just come.”

And I do.


There’s no guessing about this, no mistaking it. What I’ve thought was an orgasm was a pale copy compared to this, the academic example, the shadow on the cave wall. Even when his hand stops moving I’m still quaking and moaning and quivering and trying to figure out how the hell he did that.

He’s kissing me still, gently. His hand cups me again. “All these years,” he whispers, “you’ve just been sleeping with the wrong guys.”

“Selfish,” I whisper, and laugh weakly. A chuckle rumbles through him as well, and he pulls me to him, spooning me to his front as we lie on our sides. His penis twitches against my ass, and I smile despite my weak limbs. Yes. I want that, too.

I reach back to him and run my hand up and down his thigh. “Mulder.”

“Hm.” He nuzzles my neck.

“All that-the other things-it can wait. Just fuck me, Mulder.”

“Demanding little thing,” he says and bites my ear gently. He eases his leg between mine and opens them. “Is this okay?”

My eyes open wide-you can do it like this?-and whisper, trembling, “Yes. Show me.”

Mulder grasps my knee to open my legs further, backs himself up and slowly enters me from behind. He holds me with one arm across my shoulders, and kisses my face and my hair. “I wish we had a mirror,” he whispers. “I want you to see yourself. I want you to watch us. Will you do that for me someday, Scully? Watch us make love?”

“Yes. Yes.”

“Nothing that will scare you. Nothing that will hurt. Things I know you’ll like. There’s so much that you’ll like, I promise.”


“Do you trust me?”

“Yes. Always.” I put my hand down to where we’re joined, and feel his penis moving in and out of me. Slick and hot and throbbing. He groans into my hair and lets go of my leg to put his hand on top of mine. Our fingers tangle up together, feeling me, feeling him, and I cry out his name in surprise once more.

I’m coming. Shit. Twice.

Is it even necessary to point out now that this has never happened for me? That I’ve been asked “Did you come?” more times than I care to repeat? That I’ve never really understood the big deal about sex? I mean, I know why it’s a big deal. Reproduction. Emotional attachment expressed through physical intimacy. Physical pleasure, release of tension. Good for the skin. Very textbook answers.

Melissa used to tease me I may as well still be a virgin. She gave me books and a vibrator, told me to get acquainted with my body, to celebrate my womanhood, to not be afraid of my own desires. I never took her seriously. I wasn’t dating, I didn’t care, I thought I would go happily for a long time without sex. You don’t miss what’s not important to you.

I should have jumped Mulder back in Bellefleur.

Somewhere in the throes of my own ecstasy I comprehend that Mulder is close to the edge. His chest is heaving, his strokes are deep and rough, his fingers dig into my thighs. His face is slick with sweat, and he licks my own sweat from my hairline.


“Yes, Mulder.”

His arm tightens around me and he shouts, and his whole body trembles violently. I don’t think it’s possible I do feel a mild tremor through my own body, an answering orgasm to his, I suppose. It’s wonderful to feel him this way. Sweet.

When Mulder lies still I’m faced with a dilemma. I want to lie here and be cuddled but I also want to see him, kiss him, touch his face. “Mulder?”




“Can you turn me over?”

He chuckles. “I don’t think either of us are quite that limber.” He pulls out of me and I sigh and turn towards him and rest my head on his chest. His eyes are sleepy and he has a quiet smile. He pushes some hair out of my face. We don’t say anything, just smile at each other, and the sunshine is golden and soft on our skins.


When I wake up again I’m sprawled face-down over Mulder’s chest-which, I think drowsily, is not a bad way to be. The top sleeping bag is pushed down to our waists, and my back is starting to feel sunkissed. Not sunburned yet, but it will be soon if I don’t get under some shade.

I also become quickly aware that we are not alone.

My eyes fly open and I look up, trying to keep my chest down. I really don’t want to flash a total stranger-especially this young cowboy on a horse, who, nonetheless, looks damn amused to find us sleeping on his property. He leans on the horn of his saddle and pushes back his hat. “Good morning, ma’am.”

“Good morning,” I say, and Mulder opens his eyes, shades them with his hand, and sees our new arrival.

“Hello,” he says casually to the cowboy.

“You folks all right? Did your car break down?”

“Yes,” I say.

“No,” Mulder says. He glances at me and says, “It was late. We decided not to try to get to a hotel.”

“I understand,” the cowboy says, and when I look away from him, embarrassed, he adds hastily, “I mean, it’s a long way to Blackfoot. You’re in some remote country. Ma’am, if you need to freshen up before you get on the road the big house is only fifteen more miles up the highway, and only about ten more up the main drive. You just tell them Ed sent you.”

“Thank you, but we need to be on our way.”

“All right, ma’am.” He tips his hat. I have never seen a man do that in real life before. “You folks have a safe drive. Bye.” He pulls the reins and his horse turns, and they amble away.

“Well,” Mulder says.

“That could have been worse.”

“He wouldn’t have been so friendly if he knew we’re Feds. They don’t like us in these parts,” he drawls. I just smile and shake my head at him, and start collecting my clothes.

“Still, can you imagine going up to the big house and asking for a bath and some breakfast?” I pull my sweatshirt over my head, and decide against putting on my panties. They’re decidedly musky this morning. The sleeping bags are going to need dry-cleaning when we get back, too. I stand up to put on my shorts and Mulder wolf-whistles.

“Shake that moneymaker, babe,” he says, and I prod his side with my foot.

“Behave yourself. Come on, get up. It’s a long way to Blackfoot.”

“You can have your bath and breakfast there,” Mulder says, with an unfamiliar tenderness to his voice. I can just imagine what’s going through his mind now: Mulder Providing For His Woman. I’m not sure how I feel about that. Part of me wants nothing to change between us. Part of me longs for everything to change.

I’m also afraid that everything is going to get weird between us, especially with his promise of showing me a new world of sex that I am, frankly, more than a little worried about. I just want to make love with my partner. I don’t know about introducing other things into it.

But I trust him. And I love him-which, I realize, as I think this, I haven’t told him yet.

I look at him again, watching him dress. He is beautiful. From his dark hair to his broad shoulders to his slim hips to his long feet. I do love his body. I love his sweet funny face. I love his mind, incomprehensible place that it can be sometimes.

He notices me watching him and smiles uncertainly. “Did I get all the belt loops?”

“You look fine. You look great. Mulder. You know I love you, don’t you?”

This time is smile is not uncertain at all, and he kneels down to look me in the eye. “Now I do,” he says quietly, and kisses me. “I love you too,” he whispers, and pushes hair back from my face again. “It’s not going to get weird. Stop worrying.”

“Have you? Stopped worrying?”


“Then don’t ask me to. What I am going to do, though-or try to do-is enjoy what we have.”

“No regrets,” he says seriously.

“Life’s too short for regrets. Now come on. And this time,” I add, reaching into his pocket for the car keys, “I’m driving.”



TITLE: Open Air 2

AUTHOR: Jenna B.




SPOILERS: Tunguska, Terma, Paper Clip

SUMMARY: Sequel to Open Air

DISCLAIMER: Fox Mulder and Dana Scully belong to Chris Carter, Ten-Thirteen Productions and 20th Century FOX Broadcasting. No copyright infringement is intended.

Open Air 2

Home. Sanctuary. I set down my suitcase and inhale the scent of my own house. My plants, my candles, my clothes, my furniture, my messes, my books, my bed. Home.

You’d think I’d move after everything that’s happened here. Mulder thinks I should move. He thinks I should move closer to him, but that’s not a surprise. Maybe I will, but not yet. If I move I want him to move too. If I move it will be for us to be together.

It occurs to me that it’s soon to be thinking about us living together. We practically do anyway, but there’s also the question of how much Mulder I can take. I need a place I can go when I need to breathe.

His hands close around my waist and he kisses the back of my neck, and I take a deep breath and close my eyes. A thrill courses through me, every nerve tingles. For now I’ll take all of him I can get. I reach back and thrust one hand into his hair, the other arm around his waist. I feel like a contortionist, but it’s the only way I can hold him like this.

“Scully,” he whispers, already unbuttoning my suit jacket, “are you hungry?”

“There’s leftovers-”

“I want to cook for you.”

At this I turn my head as far as I can to look at him, and he grins at me. “Where is the real Fox Mulder and what have you done with him?” I say, and his grin broadens.

“Scully, there are sides to me you’ve never seen.”

I have a brief, terrible vision of burned Rice-a-Roni and baloney sandwiches, and say, “All right, but you’re cleaning it up, too.”

“Of course.” He gives me a brief, smacking kiss and lets go of my waist. “Go change into something more comfortable. If you like,” he adds, and takes off his own suit coat and unbuttons his sleeves.

I stand there for a moment, not sure what to make of this. Mulder wants to cook. Mulder is going to stay the night but first he’s going to cook me dinner. I think, Be afraid, be very afraid, as he shoos me from the kitchen.

But I take my suitcase and carryon bag and go to my bedroom, strip off my suit and separate my dry-cleaning from the clothes I’ll wash myself. It takes me a few minutes, too, to decide what to wear. There are the things he’s seen me in a thousand times before: sweatpants, jeans, even my pajamas and bathrobe. Then there are things he’s never seen me in: a pale-pink lace dress I haven’t worn for years, negligees bought for a long-ago lover, clothes that make me feel feminine and sexy instead of professional and, let’s face it, asexual.

I don’t quite feel confident enough for negligees, though. I know we are going to have sex tonight-I’m glad we’re going to have sex tonight-but at the moment I just want to relax. I’m still tired from the flight and the drive. So, nothing seductive. That will come later.

I settle on shorts and a T-shirt. Simple, basic, no message. So I leave my bra off. Well, I am a little sunburned, my back is sensitive.

Tell me another, Agent Scully, I think as I wash my face and run a brush through my hair. You’re getting some tonight and you know it.

And I smile at my reflection. Yes. I am looking forward to it. I am going to make love with a handsome, intelligent, intense man who loves me. I refuse to feel guilty.

I run my damp hands through my hair to encourage the curl I usually blow-dry straight. He likes it when I let my hair curl. I don’t put any makeup on again. He also likes the way I look without makeup. He likes my morning breath and my sleepy hair and my bare feet. Imagine that.

I go into the kitchen to see the counter cluttered with the pieces of our dinner: pasta on the cutting board, sauce in the jar, sliced mushrooms, and the breadmaker with just twenty more minutes to go. Mulder found my breadmaker. There is also a suspicious-looking collection of ingredients by the mixer, as yet unmixed: instant pudding, a carton of whipped cream, a jug of milk. Pudding. Hm.

Mulder is looking through my meager collection of wine. He’s taken off his shoes and socks and tie, and the sleeves to his dress shirt are rolled up to his elbows. His shirt is unbuttoned most of the way and untucked. He looks rakish and tousled, and he’s whistling.

I do have to wonder, sometimes, if Mulder had the same intellect and intensity and weren’t so easy on the eyes, if I would have this helpless attraction to him. I hope so-I hope I’m not so shallow as to share this life we’ve had together and not love him the way that I do, if he weren’ t so good-looking.

But it’s a definite bonus, isn’t it, that he has a lower lip I just want to suck and fingers I want to feel on my skin and a chest like a brick wall. Arms I can’t even fit my hand entirely around. Sleepy eyes as green as birch leaves in spring. Strength that he keeps in check, grace and agility that belies his clumsy view of himself, an inner sweetness that he probably is not aware of.

He also can be arrogant, self-centered and thoughtless. I know this. I love him anyway.

Mulder finally chooses a bottle of wine and places it on the counter as well. He’s set the table with my best dishes, my cloth napkins. No flowers, no candles. That would be overkill, I think.

“Mulder,” I say softly, and he turns and smiles to see me. And then his eyes drop and the smile quivers, and a flush rushes to his cheekbones. Well. This is interesting. Braless me turns Mulder into mush.

“Hey,” he says, and comes over and puts his hands on my shoulders and kisses me. “Do you want to make a salad? I haven’t ventured into your vegetable drawer yet.”

“It shouldn’t be too scary.” I put my arms around his waist for a moment, and lean my head against his chest so I can hear this heartbeat. He runs his hand over my hair and kisses my forehead tenderly, a row of kisses along my hairline. I smile to myself-is there a word for a group of kisses? A measure, a peck, a gallon? A flock of kisses? A pride?

Give me an acre of your kisses, I think, and turn my face up to his. He takes the hint and kisses my mouth fully.

“You were right, you know,” he says as we lean against each other.


“When I walked into that senate chamber all I wanted was to take you home and make love to you. I wanted to celebrate … everything. Being alive. Being with you. Being home. Being whole.”

I run my hands up his arms. I would love him even if they had taken one of his arms, but I’m so glad-so incredibly glad-that they didn’t. “We should have,” I murmur, and he chuckles. “I’m serious. I really have regrets, Mulder. There were so many times when I needed you. Wanted you. Do you remember-of course you remember-when we were hiding in West Virginia, after we found the files in the mountain-”

“I remember.” We found a tiny hotel and made a phone call to Skinner, and I fell asleep while Mulder took a shower. When I woke up he was curled up next to me, still in the same clothes. He’d taken off my shoes. He was holding my hand to his chest, both his hands on top of mine.

“I wanted you then,” I say quietly, and he sighs.

“Dinner,” he says, and lets me go. “Salad.”

“Salad,” I agree, and go to the refrigerator. I don’t buy much fresh produce anymore-I’m gone too often for too long, and I hate coming home to find mysterious green and gray lumps in my crisper bin. But we weren’ t gone for long this time. The lettuce is still crisp and the tomato is firm, and the peaches smell delicious. Mulder already found the paper bag full of mushrooms. I slice a few more to put in the salad, and wash the lettuce.

As I put the salad together I watch Mulder cook. We’ve eaten together, of course, many times, but this is the first time we’ve cooked together. I’ve always had the impression that Mulder lives on takeout and canned soup, but perhaps I’m wrong. He moves about the kitchen with assurance, he knows where everything is and what it does, he continues whistling. I don’t recognize the song, but I like it.

He puts the mushrooms into a sauté pan with butter. He catches me watching him and winks at me. “I hope you’re hungry.”

“Very,” and not just for pasta.

I am also nervous. Mulder has promised to show me some things about sex that I was not previously familiar with, and while the prospect excites me I’m still nervous. I’ve seen the covers of those videos that aren’t his. The titles and the pictures do nothing to boost my confidence.

I put down the knife I’ve been using to slice the tomato and say, “Mulder.”

“Yeah, sweetheart?”

“You don’t think I’m naïve, do you?”



“Oh.” He considers it, stirring the mushrooms. “No. Not naïve. Just inexperienced.” He puts down the spatula and comes over to stand behind me. “Scully,” he says quietly, and I sigh. “I just want to show you a good time. I want to show you what you’ve been missing.” He rubs my back, soothing out the knots. I close my eyes and brace my hands on the counter, letting him work me until my shoulders relax. “Scully,” he whispers again, and I turn my head towards him. “Knowing this doesn’t change my opinion of you, you know. Nothing could change that. I’d love you if you were still a virgin. I’d love you if you’d had a thousand lovers. It doesn’t matter, Scully.”

A thousand lovers. I can’t imagine. “How many, Mulder?”

“Do you want the full figure or should I round it off?”

“Don’t scare me.”

“Sorry. Kidding. Seven.”

I let out my breath. “I can handle seven. I was afraid for a moment it might be double digit. Or triple.”

He laughs. “Like I have that kind of time. The mushrooms are burning.” He lets me go and goes back to the stove.

I get out the salad tongs and start tossing, thinking. I suppose it’s not the number of lovers you’ve had but the kind of people they were, that forms how you feel about sex. You see, I’ve had seven lovers too. A nervous teenage boy, two college men, two fellow med students, one of my instructors at the academy, and a fellow who shall remain nameless that I only think about when I’m very, very … anyway.

And none of them excited me with just a touch or a glance the way that Mulder does.

I spread the tomato slices around the top of the salad and smile. This is it for me, really. Barring a disaster of apocalyptic proportions, I am never going to need anyone but Mulder, I am never going to love anyone but Mulder, I am never going to want anyone but Mulder. This will be the love that lasts forever.

The only question is, of course, how long forever will be.

The breadmaker gives its ten-minute warning and Mulder pours the pasta into the boiling water. “I made the herb bread, does that sound good?”

“If you can get that thing to work properly, anything sounds good. Mine always comes out tough and grainy.”

“You have to stir the ingredients, you know,” Mulder says, amused, and then turns the mixer turns on. I meant to use the whipped cream in cake frosting, but the cake fell and I ended up buying one. The bakery’s whipped cream frosting was much better than anything I could produce, anyway.

So, we’ve having pudding for dessert. With whipped cream. I go to Mulder and hug him from behind, spreading my hands over his chest. Hearing him catch his breath at my touch makes my smile broaden.

“Dinner’s just about ready,” he says softly and touches my hand.


Three-cheese tortellini with Alfredo sauce and sautéed mushrooms. Freshly baked herb bread. Garden salad with fresh Italian dressing. White wine.

I lean my head on my hand. “This is heaven,” I announce, and Mulder laughs.

“It’s not fancy, but it’ll do.”

“Not fancy? It’s not every date that sautés for me.” I blush and fiddle with my napkin in my lap. Calling him my date feels very odd.

Mulder cuts me another slice of bread. “Well,” he says after we eat for a moment or two. “I think it’s fair to call this a date.” He nods slowly. “Yes. A date.”

An odd sort of first date, for me, I think, and hastily eat some more pasta. My stomach is fluttering. Why am I afraid? This is Mulder. I trust him. I love him. There’s nothing to be afraid of.

He takes my free hand and I clasp my fingers tightly around his hand. “Relax, Scully,” he says, rubbing his thumb in a soothing circle in my palm. “You know nothing is going to happen that you don’t want.” His voice lowers. “You can send me home whenever you want.”

“I want you to stay.” I mean it. I meant it when I asked him to stay when we got off the plane.

“And you can say stop anytime.”

His hands are so big. They’re slender, long. His fingers taper instead of ending bluntly, like most men’s fingers. I’ve seen them hurt people. I’ve seen them kill. I’ve seen them tight with anger and swift with revenge.

But not towards me. Never towards me. Playful, yes; tender, often; comforting, yes. Loving. Oh, yes.

I turn our hands so that his is facing up, and I lean over and kiss his palm. He inhales swiftly and a tremor passes through him, but he says nothing, nor does he move.

I look up at him, and his eyes are half-closed. He’s breathing through his mouth. I open my mouth to speak but find I have nothing to say. I lift his hand and make my decision like snapping my fingers-yes, this is right-and take his forefinger into my mouth.

Now he does gasp. “Scully.” His finger bends to touch the roof of my mouth and I caress it with my tongue and let my eyes close. I will say stop if it reaches that point, but I don’t see it reaching that point. Not with my Mulder.

“We should eat,” he whispers and gently pulls his finger from my mouth.

I blush and keep my eyes on my plate, awkward. This is not typical behavior for our demure Agent Scully, no. Neither was attacking my partner in a sleeping bag last night, though, was it. I want him, that much is true and obvious. Expressing it-now that we’re in a familiar place instead of sleeping under the stars-that’s harder.

“Scully,” he says again. “It’s only going to get weird if we let it. Relax, okay? Relax. It’s just another night hanging out.”

“I know. I know. But I also know that tonight is not going to end with you falling asleep on my couch-”

“Would you feel better if it were going to end that way?”

“I don’t know. You have no idea, Mulder, how many times I’ve lain awake all night knowing you were out on my couch, wanting to go out to you-wanting to-to wake you up-and-and—”

“And what, Scully?” he whispers, and I shiver at the rumble in his voice. “And make love to me?”

“Yes. Yes.”

He sighs. “Oh, Scully … we’ve been circling around each other for a long, long time …”

“It ends now.” I meet his eyes “No more games. No more guesses. We love each other. We need that. We need that to face what’s to come.”

Mulder nods slowly. “Yes.” He smiles a little. “Now eat your dinner, Scully, before it gets cold.”

I return his smile, and eat my dinner.

When we both are through, Mulder does not bring out the pudding or the whipped cream. We clean up the kitchen together, and I linger by the fridge. “Mulder,” I say finally, “what about dessert?”

This gets me one of his funny half-smiles, and he says, “Oh, you want dessert, too.”

“Yes, please.”

“I have something prepared.”

“I know. It looks yummy. I’d like to eat it.”

“There’s a condition, though.”

“For pudding?”

“Yep. You have to eat it with your hands.”

I stare at him for a moment. “You’re kidding.”

“Nope. I will too, of course. No utensils will be involved at all. If you’re game, of course.”

“Oh, I’m game,” I say confidently, and bite down on my lower lip as he gets out the bowls he’s already prepared.

“Cool.” He sets the bowls of layered pudding and whipped cream on the table, and strips off his dress shirt and puts it with the rest of his discarded clothes. “I think we should sit on the floor to minimize mess.”

“Uh-huh.” We both sit cross-legged on the kitchen floor, and he gives me one of the bowls.

Like eating poi, right? Though I’ve never eaten poi. I make a spoon out of my first three fingers and scoop out a sizable glob of pudding and whipped cream. I’m about to put it into my mouth when Mulder says, “One more thing.”


“We have to feed each other.”

The only way I can get my pudding into his mouth is if I fling it, and though it’s tempting, I don’t. Mulder has swirled two of his fingers through the pudding and has a slight advantage over me, no awkward positioning here. He reaches over and offers me his fingers, and I open my lips and take them in.

The pudding is cool and sweet. His hand is warm and salty. I want to grab his hand again and suck on his fingers like I did before, but my hands are full of pudding and I am trying to not make any more of a mess than I can help. I lick his fingers clean as best I can and then offer him mine.

His eyes hold mine steadily as he sucks on my fingers. His tongue delves between my fingers to clean out every crevice, and I am left with a hand clean of pudding and smelling only slightly of chocolate.

We feed each other a few fingerfuls like this quietly, and then Mulder says softly, “Oops,” and deliberately drops a glob of pudding and whipped cream on my chin. “I’ll get that.” He scoots closer to me and leans over, and carefully cleans off my chin with his tongue.

My suspicions, simmering since he said we weren’t using spoons, were justified. It’s a seduction. Oh, yes. And I find it quite touching that even though he knows he’s staying tonight, he still wants to seduce me.

Well. I should return the favor, shouldn’t I. I scoop up some pudding, whisper, “Oops,” and smear it liberally on his neck. He moans as I lave it off.

Once he’s clean, I sit back and grin at him, wondering where he will choose next. He grins back, takes another glob and smears it on my knee. “Oops,” he says, and bends down to lick it off. I run my hand through his hair, and it occurs to me how delicious the back of his neck looks. He shivers when I wipe some pudding on it.

“Oops,” I murmur, and bend over him to lick him clean. In my enthusiasm I get a little on the collar of his t-shirt.

“Cold,” he mutters, reaching back to touch his neck, and I grab his hand.

“I know what’ll take care of it. Sit up.” He does so, and I pull his t-shirt out of his waistband and pull his shirt over his head. Unnerved by my own boldness, I hesitate to meet his eyes, but when I do look up he’s smiling tenderly, his eyelids lowered.

“Okay,” he says softly. “But let’s be fair.” He tugs on the hem of my t-shirt. I raise my arms to let him take it off me, and close my eyes as he looks at me. “Mm, Scully,” he whispers, “you need something here.” I gasp as he smears cold pudding on my collarbones and the tops of my breasts. I open my eyes again to see him grinning at me mischievously. “Oops,” we whisper together, and he pulls me onto his lap and starts licking me eagerly.

I feel around for a bowl and grab a handful of pudding, which I smear on him from his neck to his shoulder to nearly at his elbow. “Oops.” I lick him with long s;ow strokes, leaning over so he can keep licking me.

He lays me on my back on the tile and unbuttons the waistband of my shorts. He folds my shorts back and pushes down my panties, and coats my belly with pudding. “Oops,” he whispers and bends over me. I gasp at the touch of his tongue.

When my stomach is clean Mulder hesitates, and grasps my hands. “I read once,” he says slowly, “that in Japan, when girls are being trained to be geishas, they have a certain way of preparing them for sex so when they lose their virginity it’s not a shock.”

“Uh-huh.” I shift restlessly beneath him.

“They have a man rub raw egg on her thighs for several nights in a row, a little higher each time, until at the last night she’s ready to be penetrated.”

“Training her for arousal. Uh-huh.”

“I feel a little like it’s that last night.”

“I’m not a virgin, Mulder, you know that.”

“Yeah, but I want to show you something new and I don’t want to scare you.”

“I’m not scared.” I grip his hands. “I’m not scared.”

He nods and gently kisses my belly, just above the edge of my panties. He pulls his hands gently from mine and eases them down my hips, down my legs, taking my clothes with them. “Pretty, pretty Scully,” he murmurs, stroking my thighs on the outside. “Luscious, pretty Scully.”

I smile-luscious? That’s a new one-and then gasp as he smears pudding on my inner thighs. He looks up at me. “Cold,” I whisper.

“I’ll warm you up.”

“No doubt.” I close my eyes, as he starts licking my thigh with a gentle tongue. He cleans up all the pudding first, licking me until I’m panting and gasping and twisting against him. My feet clench and flex on the tile. My hands comb through his hair and stroke his face.

“Scully,” he whispers, and his voice is so low and rough it makes me ache. “Do you want me to do this? I want to do this.”

“Yes. Do it.” My body shivers once, violently.

Mulder lifts my legs and opens them wider, and eases his tongue into me. I gasp again-his tongue is hot, agile, gentle. He flicks it against my clit, runs it over my folds, thrusts it into me again and again. I can’t stop moaning his name. I run my hands over myself, amazed at how soft my skin feels, how sensitive my own fingers are. My nipples are tight, my neck is throbbing, my stomach quivers. To say that this feels good doesn’t even begin to describe it.

And he likes this. He likes doing this for me. I can’t imagine what pleasure he gets from it, aside from knowing how much it pleases me.

My body has started to writhe, my head to toss back and forth. It’s coming. I’m coming. How did I ever live without this? I babble, “Don’t stop don’t stop don’t stop don’t stop,” until speech leaves me and I shout, and my body goes still.

Panting, I stroke my hands down my body and into Mulder’s hair. He’s still licking me gently, not right on my clit but just on my still-swollen labia. “Mulder,” I whisper. “Mulder.”

He lifts his head at last and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “What do you think?”

“I think I like it.” I rise up on my knees and grasp his waistband, and pull him to me. I lick his lips and taste myself on his teeth, on his tongue. He moans, grasping my waist.

“Scully-need you-”

“Yes, Mulder.” I undo his waistband and unzip his fly, and he leans his head against my neck, breathing heavily. He all but kicks off his pants, and we lie on the floor side-by-side, kissing. “Show me another position, Mulder,” I whisper, and he chuckles roughly and gets to his feet. He holds out his hands and helps me stand, and lifts me up to sit on the edge of the table. My legs go around his hips easily and I wrap my arms around his back, and as we kiss he thrusts into me.

I break off the kiss and whisper, “Oh my God,” which makes him chuckle again.

“Yeah,” he mutters and buries his face in my neck. He bites the juncture of my neck, still thrusting slowly and rhythmically. The muscles of his back strain under my hands. The edge of the table digs into my ass and I’ll probably be bruised tomorrow, but I don’t care-it feels so good to have him fill me, to have him moving inside me, to taste his sweat and thread my fingers in his hair. To feel his body shake and know that I am the cause.

Mulder pushes me further back on the table so that I’m lying flat. I cry out and my whole body moves on the tabletop with every thrust. He kisses me, kisses my breasts, and I try to return his kisses but the way he’s bending over me I can barely reach him. Our eyes meet-his are narrow with concentration, mine are wide with wonder-and he smiles.

“Luscious,” he whispers. “Delicious. Like a-mm-like being inside-Scully-being inside-there aren’t words, Scully-I don’t have the words-”

“It’s okay,” I say tenderly.

“Tell me how it feels for you.”

“It feels-aching-and soothing the ache-”


“Heavy. Full.”

“Yeah.” His eyes close, his speed increases. The table legs thump against the floor. I’m glad I don’t have downstairs neighbors. The ones on the sides are getting enough of a show. “Tell me more.”

“Wet. Throbbing. Everywhere. Longing. Reaching. Just want to be-oh-whole with you-”

“Yes. That’s it. Exactly.” He kisses me. “Wanting to be whole.”

He groans and goes still in my arms, and collapses onto me. My breath leaves in a whoosh. I’m afraid the table will collapse under our combined weight, but before I can mention it he lifts me up and stands. “Oh my,” I gasp quietly as gravity pulls him even deeper into me.

“Hold on.”

“Do I have a choice?” I wrap my arms and legs around him, and he carries me through the apartment to my bedroom. “Sometime we’ll have to do this properly,” I mutter into his neck, and he gives a raspy chuckle.

“Baby, you know I’ll fuck you any way you want.”

“And so romantic too.” We fall onto the bed, tangled up in arms and legs. I stroke his deflating penis, wishing he could stay inside me forever, and lie my head on his chest. I trace my fingernails over his chest, stroke the muscles in his legs. His deep sighs tell me he’s closer to sleep than waking, but I don’t mind. I don’t know if I’m going to sleep at all tonight, but I will be happy to lie awake if it means I can watch him sleep.

I’ve been kissing his closed eyes and stroking his hair when he whispers, “Scully?”

“I’m awake.”

“I’m-” he swallows. “I’m glad you liked that.”

“I liked it. A lot.”

“Good. Good.” He turns more towards me, snuggling up. “I’d like to sleep a while …”

“You go ahead, Mulder.” I smooth his forehead with my palm. “You sleep. I’m here.”

Our bodies encircle each other. He sleeps.



TITLE: Open Air 3

AUTHOR: Jenna B.




SPOILERS: None this time out.

SUMMARY: Breakfast in bed.

DISCLAIMER: Fox Mulder and Dana Scully belong to Chris Carter, Ten-Thirteen Productions and 20th Century FOX Broadcasting. No copyright infringement is intended.

Third in a series.

Open Air 3

I wake up slowly, warm. There have been many times when I have woken up and needed a moment to remember where I am and what day it is, but not this morning. I am home, and in the arms of my lover. I sigh in contentment and press my lips lightly to his neck, and lie my head on his shoulder again.

This is something I could do for a while.

The shades are drawn but not completely, and I watch idly as slivers of sunshine beam onto the bedcovers. I snake one foot from beneath the blankets and let it rest on a sunbeam, warming my toes. I wiggle my toes and stroke Mulder’s chest, and think, This is happiness, sunshine on my feet and Mulder in my bed.

He stirs and sighs and I look up at his face. His eyes are closed but he’s smiling. “Hey, you,” I say softly, and the smile widens.

“Hey.” He looks at me through his lashes. “What time is it?”

“I don’t know. I’m not sure I care.”

“It’s Thursday,” Mulder says, shorthand for workday, things to do, places to be, we have to get up.

“Let’s call in sick and play hooky.”

“Hm.” He strokes the side of my face and eases his fingers into my hair. “What would Agent Scully say, though?”

“Agent Scully says … go for it.” I move up his body to be closer to his mouth. He chuckles deeply and cups my head in his hands, and we start kissing, slowly and easily.

“Report due …” Mulder murmurs.


“We could say … nasty case of food poisoning.”


“Do you think anyone will get suspicious, both of us calling in sick?”

“We ate the same food,” I point out, and he chuckles again.

“You’re so devious.”

“You call Kimberly, I can’t lie well enough for her to believe me.”

“Okay.” We resume kissing, not that we really stopped. Our bodies rustle against the sheets.

“I like kissing,” I tell him at some point, and he laughs.

“I like kissing you.”

“It’s pretty fun.”

“Oh, yeah.” He nibbles his way along my jaw, and then whispers, “You have fruit in the fridge, don’t you?”

“I think so.”

“I’ll be right back.” He kisses my mouth soundly and gets out of bed. I watch his finely sculpted back and ass as he goes, smiling, and move the pillows and air the sheets. Breakfast in bed. Kind of like dinner last night, I suppose. Or more like dessert.

I suppose we shouldn’t be ditching work. I suppose we should go in, attend our meetings, make our reports, put in our eight hours and then resume our personal lives when we’re off the clock.

But dammit, I don’t want to. I don’t want to let the real world intrude just yet. It’s like we’re in a dream and I don’t want to wake up.

So I stretch out in my warm soft bed and wait to see what Mulder will bring back from the fridge.

In a few minutes he’s back with both hands full, and he grins at me. “Close your eyes.”


“I want to surprise you.” His eyebrows rise a little. “Okay?”

“Okay,” I say quietly, and close my eyes. He leans down and kisses me gently, and moves back the sheets to uncover me. I take a few deep breaths, and then gasp when something cool and firm rolls over my stomach. A peach? No, its skin is too smooth. Not an orange, either, it’s not bumpy enough. He rolls it slowly between my breasts and up my throat, and finally rolls it back and forth over my lips. A plum.

I start to take a bit and he chuckles. “Not yet,” he whispers. He leans down and bites into it himself, so close to my mouth that some of the juice drips onto my lips. He teases the plum against my mouth, biting into it himself and letting me at most lick up the juice. “You know what I like about plums?” he whispers.

“Tell me.”

“The taste. Sweet and tangy and tart all at once. Kind of like … you.”

I laugh. “Is that how I taste? Like a plum?”

“Not exactly.” He holds the plum against my mouth and he finally lets me take a bit out of it. It tastes vaguely of him, and of my skin. He kisses beside my mouth as I chew, and kisses my neck as I swallow. “You can open your eyes,” he whispers into my ear, and kisses it. I open my eyes and look at him, all rumpled and sleepy and sexy, and I smile at him and languidly hold out my hand.

“Peel me a grape,” I demand, and he laughs.

“No grapes, but I have the next best thing. How do you feel about peaches?”

“I love peaches.”

“Me, too.” He takes one from the beside table where he’s placed the fruit, and bites into it. He closes his eyes and hums in ecstasy. “Mmm, Scully. Peaches …”


He leans over me and bites into the peach again, letting the juice drip onto my breast. “Whoops,” he murmurs and licks it up carefully.

“Oh, no,” I whisper, “you’re not starting that again.”

Mulder holds the peach to my mouth and I bite into it, and then he bites it where I did. “You want to know what I like about peaches, Scully?”

“The taste?”

“Sort of … but the feel is wonderful, Scully. Firm and soft at the same time. Kind of like … you.”

I laugh at this, but hold his eyes with mine as he holds the peach to my mouth again. I bite it and roll the piece around in my mouth a bit. I run my hand up his arm and guide his hand back to my mouth, and take another bite. He holds my gaze steadily, smiling just a little, and he watches me eat the peach out of his hand as if he’s never seen me eat before. As if he’s never seen anyone eat before.

When there’s nothing left but the stone he tosses it into the waste paper basket, and then holds out his hand. “I’m sticky,” he says plaintively.

“We can fix that,” and I take his hand with both of mine and suck on his peach-flavored fingers. His eyes slip closed and he shivers, and gently takes his hand away.

“And what would you like, Agent Scully?” he says softly. “We have an orange and more plums and another peach.”

“I’d like the orange,” I say, an idea sparking in my mind, and when he hands it to me I thank him demurely and say, “Lie down, please. On your stomach.”

Again his eyebrows rise but he lies down, his tanned body dark against my white sheets. He lets out a deep sigh as I start to roll the orange on his shoulder blades. “What are you doing?” he murmurs.

“Loosening the skin, to make it easier to peel.”

“You’re getting the wax all over my back,” he points out.

“I washed all the wax off.” I roll the orange down his spine, kissing his back as I go. It tastes like marmalade.

“Kinda feels like a massage,” he murmurs, sounding sleepy.

“Are you relaxing?

“Mmm …”

I roll the orange over his shoulder blades again, and then decide the peel has been loosened enough. I sit up and dig my fingernails into the peel. I work out a circle of the peel near the navel, and then peel off the entirety of the skin in a long spiraling strip. I set the peel aside and start to separate the segments.

“Wait,” Mulder says, turning to me and putting a hand on mine. “Not all of it.”

“All right.” I separate half of them and set the other half aside, and hand him a segment. He eats it slowly, watching me, and licks up the juice that runs down his hand. I eat one as well, and hand him another. He puts it partially into his mouth and then leans forward, grinning hopefully. I smirk at him and take the other part of the segment into my mouth, and we eat it like Lady and the Tramp eating spaghetti. We kiss when our lips meet, but there’s no coy pulling away-I open my mouth and caress his orange-flavored lips with my tongue. Our tongues meet in the air and fondle each other, and then he chases mine into my mouth. He kisses me long and wetly, and then picks up another orange segment. He bites off the end and runs the rest over my lips, kissing the juice away.

“You want to know what I like best about oranges, Scully?” he whispers, kissing me.

“The taste?”


“The feel?”


“What, then?”

“Being creative with them.”

I laugh at this, but his face is utterly serious. “What exactly are you planning to do with the rest of that orange, Mulder?”

“I want to eat it.”


“And there’s a flavor that goes so well with oranges, but there’s only one source for it.”

“Mulder!” I laugh-I can’t help it-and he looks slightly hurt. “I’m sorry. But it’s so-I mean-”

“If you don’t want me to I won’t, but I think you’d like it.”

“Do all your sexual fantasies have to do with food?”

He shrugs. “Maybe a tenth.”

“Hm.” I pick up an orange segment and eat it slowly, and suck the juice off my thumb. Mulder watches me, waiting. “Tell me more,” I say, picking up another segment and biting into it.

“More about what?”

“About your fantasies. Tell me more about what you’ve fantasized doing with me.”

He glances away, blush rising in his cheeks. “Scully-”

“Tell me.”

“Scully …” He looks away again, fiddling with the rest of the orange. “I’ve wanted to watch you touch yourself,” he murmurs, and I gasp at the mental image. He glances up at me. “I’m sorry-look, I don’t want to gross you out-”

“No, no, I’m not offended. It’s kind of … it sounds erotic.”

“You think so?”


“Do you want to do it?” he whispers hopefully.

“Right now?”

“Not if you don’t want to,” he says quickly, and I have to smile-so protective of me, even when it’s just us.

“It’s just that I’ve never had a successful self-gratification experience.”

“You’ve never masturbated yourself to orgasm,” he says carefully.

“Yeah. And I’m not sure I could do it now, with you watching me.”

“I see.”

“Maybe later on, when we’re more comfortable with each other.”

“I see,” Mulder says again, but with a little more hope. “I’m going to remember that.”

“And only if I get to watch you,” I add, and his eyes light up.

“Just say the word,” he says. He holds up the half of the orange. “What about this?”

“Is that what you want?” I whisper, and he nods slowly. “I’m going to have to wash my sheets later on, aren’t I,” I say, and he smiles and nods again.

“Thank you,” he says quietly. “I mean it.”

“Don’t thank me,” I say, scooting back so I can lie down. “Just show me that I’ll like it.”

“Scully,” he says, running his hand down my arm, “tell me your fantasies.”

“Some other time,” I murmur, guiding his hand to my breast. “This is your turn.”

He leans over and kisses me deeply, running his hand gently over my abdomen and between my breasts. “What I’ve wanted most to do,” he says softly against my lips, “is please you. In any way that I can. Any way that you like. That’s what I want most. Just to please you.”

“Show me,” I whisper, tugging gently on his hair. “Show me, Mulder.”

Kissing me, he moves a pillow under my hips and opens my legs, and nestles the orange against my vulva. I gasp-it’s cold, even at nearly body heat. He continues stroking me and kissing me, slowly, gently, until I’m whimpering and mewling for him to touch me, Mulder, please touch me, please-

“Touch you where?”

“Mulder . .. “

“Say it, Scully. Tell me.”

“I want you to lick me, Mulder. I want you to eat me.”

He shivers and kisses me, and moves down to lie down between my legs. “Scully,” he groans as he lifts up my legs by my calves, and he bites into the orange. The rhythm and pressure of his eating is perfect, working against my clit, sending bolts of delight through my body that I feel from my head to my toes. God, he so good at this! Even though I have nothing to compare it to, I know that he is unbelievably good at this. Sinfully good at this. This has to be a sin, something that feels this good—

No, no, don’t think of it that way. Oh, fuck. Too late.

Mulder stops and looks up at me. “Scully? What is it?”

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” I run my hand through his hair. “I just-don’t stop.”

“But what’s wrong? Don’t you like it?”

“I like it, I do, I do. Please don’t stop.”

“But you’re not wet, Scully.”

I blush a little at his bluntness, and say, still running my hand through his hair, “I’m just thinking too much.”

“Well, stop it,” he says tenderly, and runs his tongue over my navel. I let my head fall back and my hand fall from his hair. He licks and kisses my belly and my breasts. His hand gently strokes my inner thighs as he kisses my mouth with salty lips. He eases his fingers into me, still kissing me, and strokes me inside until I start squirming again, panting for him.


“Yeah, baby?” His voice is rough.

“-please-” I pull on his shoulders, and when that doesn’t get me results I pull on his hips. My whole body is trembling. “Please.”

“How do you want it, Scully? You like it from behind?”

“Like this. Just like this.”

He groans, kissing me and holding my head in his hands, and moves again so that his body is over me, between my legs, stretched over me. I reach between us and take his penis in my hand carefully, and guide him into me. He groans, long and low, and I moan with him.

God, I love this moment. I love this. Exotic sex has its place, I suppose, but the fact is I just really love fucking. It’s as much fun as kissing. So what if I don’t come from fucking alone, I like it so much I don’t care.

And as Mulder kisses me and thrusts into me I try to tell him so. “Muh-duhr-love-love-”

“Love you too, baby.” He sucks on my neck.


“Mm,” he agrees, my nipple in his mouth.

“-love you-inside me-”


I rake my nails over his back, not sure how to articulate what I feel to him. I’m not even sure he’s listening to me. It doesn’t matter, really. Right now really isn’t the time for talk.

He straightens and I moan for him, reaching for him, wanting the contact of his body. He grabs my legs and yanks them upwards, pulling my hips. Even the way he’s moving changes, so that he’s not so much thrusting as he is just rocking inside me. I yelp with surprise-damn, this is pretty good too. “Oh-my-god-”

“You can do it, Scully.”

“I want to.”

“Come for me, Scully.’


“Let go of it all, Scully.”

“Mulder.” I try to keep my eyes fixed on his but my body is rocking and shaking so. My eyes want to close, I want to keep them open, I want to watch his face, I love his face when he comes. “Mulder. God. Mulder.”

“Don’t fight it. Let it happen.”

“Mulder!” I breathe in gasps, my eyes wide, and I smile, I can’t help it either. Just another reflex. “Mulder,” I whisper when my body stops shaking, and he smiles back.

“God, you’re beautiful.” I caress the side of his face with my fingertips and he kisses my hand. “You are so beautiful,” he says again, and kisses my mouth. As he kisses me he starts riding me again, hard. My hips move to his rhythm, responding to him, and I kiss him hungrily.

When he shouts and goes still in my arms I just hold onto him, my arms and legs wrapped around him. He heaves for breath and I breathe with him, slowing him down.

Finally he lifts his head from where it fell on the mattress, and smiles at me. “So did we decide we were calling in sick?” he says, and I laugh.

“I think that’s what we decided.”

“Cool.” He withdraws from me reluctantly, and scoops me up in his arms and holds me curled up to him. “But later,” he says with a yawn, and I kiss him.

“Later,” I agree, closing my eyes, and barely have time to think I’m falling asleep before I do.

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