Grief Sex - Requested by (No one, I just had an idea I wanted to try) - March 15th, 2022
Scully seeks out comfort while grieving. He just wants to be there for her.
In all the years he'd known her, she'd never looked so defeated. Despite this, she walked into his apartment like a woman on a mission, and all he could do was close the door behind her and wait to see what she'd do.
"Melissa once said there is no right or wrong. Life is just a path. You follow your heart and it'll take you where you're supposed to go," she told him. The weight of the last few days looked like they were taking their toll, and he was worried she was going to collapse under the pressure.
He walked to her slowly, as if he was approaching a wounded animal that was bound to lash out. "But I feel so lost," she sobbed as her face crumpled and she wavered on her feet.
Closing the distance between them, he pulled her into his arms and held her while she cried. Her nails dug into his arms and he knew there would be bruises tomorrow, but he wouldn't complain. It was rare for Dana Scully to show her vulnerability, and even rarer for her to seek comfort from someone else. He just wanted to help her. Take away the pain however he could.
And that's exactly what he told himself when her eyes searched for his through her tears and when she pressed her lips desperately to his. She needs this, is what he told himself when he felt her trembling hands reach for the waistband of his pajamas. She just wants to feel something, is what he thought when she pushed him onto the couch and dropped to her knees in between his legs.
Grief sex.
It was a term he'd heard a few times in his life. Hell, something he'd sought out himself in his worst moments. But he'd never imagined Scully —rational, level-headed Scully— would take solace in such a thing.
Maybe that just showed how lost she felt. Coming to him in the middle of the night was her last-ditch effort to try and find a semblance of herself. She had to know he loved her. He hadn't expressed it with those words, but he hoped he'd proved it to her with his actions. Maybe that's why she felt safe coming here rather than finding comfort in a stranger. Maybe she figured reveling in his affection for her could remind her about who she was.
She was being rough. Though, not with him. God, between her hot mouth exploring him and the way her hands were mapping his skin, his pleasure was her main focus. But she wouldn't let him touch her. He wasn't sure if his touch would make it too real or if she thought she didn't deserve to feel good.
She wasn't wet yet, and he felt her hips jerk as she sheathed his length into her tight heat, her body shying away from the pain of accommodating him. "Hey, slow down," he whispered. He tried to stroke her arm gently, but it only resulted in her grabbing his hands and pinning them on either side of his head against the couch.
This wasn't how he wanted this, but this was for her. If she needed to feel in control, he'd give it to her.
Scully was gyrating on top of him, frenzied and desperate. He'd dreamt of this moment for so long. Thought of what it would be like for Dana Scully to be in his arms, to smell her worn perfume in the crook of her neck as that raspy voice of hers crooned in his ear.
His orgasm started to build in him in tandem with his guilt. He felt like he was taking advantage of her in a vulnerable moment. Even as she rubbed her clit in between their bodies, as little whimpers of pleasure escaped her lips, there were tears rolling down her cheeks — falling in warm rivulets onto his chest.
"I'm going to-" he whispered, only to have her mouth descend on his to silence him.
After a few more minutes of grinding against each other on his worn sofa, he felt her walls clamp down around him as he spurted inside her.
"Mulder," she cried into his neck, rolling her hips softly as he grew limp inside her.
Then she just cried.
He grabbed a blanket from off the back of the couch and drew it around her, easing her off his lap as he carefully pulled his pajamas bottoms back up. All prior moans and whimpers of pleasure were replaced with those of mourning.
He held her next to him for hours, whispering words of comfort into her hair.
But he knew the wound on her heart was one that would never heal.
There was only one person who could truly comfort her, and they'd just buried him today.
Skinner looked through the curtains of his apartment at the stars twinkling in the night sky and hoped Mulder would forgive him.
Wherever he was.
