Spending the Night - Requested by scullysspaceship - July 13th, 2019

Season 7 - Scully finally decides she wants to stay

Mulder wouldn't say no. She knew that for a fact. She was positive as soon as the request left her lips, he'd reply "I'll be there soon," undoubtedly arriving promptly with a smile and a desire to do whatever she needed of him.

Fuck, did she need him.

And that's precisely what was causing her hesitation. He'd always come. She'd never stay. She'd always end up with a body sated with residual pleasure she'd never quite experienced before in her life. He'd end up with a reverse strip-tease and a cold bed.

He never verbally told her how much he wanted her to stay, but she'd hear it in his sad utterance of "you're leaving?" or "you can stay, you know?" The words always twisted something in her chest, but she always had an excuse. As much as it hurt to hear him ask and have to reject him, it hurt more when she waited until he was nestled sound asleep against her breast and she had to extract herself to leave. The sad looks he'd give her the next day nearly killed her, so did his acceptance of it though because he feared calling her out would lead to this arrangement ending.

He was baring everything to her and she couldn't even spend the night. She'd slept next to him in countless rental cars in every state, in planes, and even on his couch, yet for some reason his bed was somehow too vulnerable. They'd now had sex maybe eight times, been as intimate as two humans possibly could be, and yet this little thing was causing a riff.

But that was just it. They'd shared so much of themselves with each other and the thought of giving herself wholly and entirely scared her. Even though it's what she wanted too.

She sighed and leaned her head back against her couch, idly running her thumb over the plastic buttons of her phone - always lingering for a moment on speed dial number one. She wanted this. She needed to stop fighting herself. It's not like they hadn't already reached the point of no return. She knew that damn much when she kissed him while he was trying to tuck her into bed that night. She was unabashedly and completely in love with her best friend.

If the fact he was always in the corner of her mind wasn't enough proof, the man currently was ruining masturbation for her. Ruining and masturbation, two words that should never be in the same sentence.

But tonight she layed down in her bed, horny from too much reminiscing about their last tryst, and her relief was like a cruel, unreachable toy dangling in front of her. Her fingers worked deftly in between her legs, but she kept thinking about how fantastic a much larger hand had felt there the other day, how he was able to cup her sex and play with her clit with the heel of his hand while his fingers plunged into her.

Even when she pulled out her dildo, she immediately thought about how it didn't have that little upward curve that Mulder had, the curve that made her toes curl. She thought about how it didn't pulse inside her like Mulder, or how it didn't have a beautiful, sexy male body attatched to it. God she wanted him.

And that was it. She wanted him and she knew she could have him, but after being with Mulder, the fantasies felt insultingly lack luster. She came once, sure, but it wasn't the same without the appraisal of "fuck, Scully," following it.

And she was still horny.

She'd masturbated to the thought of him more times than she's proud of in the past seven years and the fantasies had always left her breathless and spent, but now she had something better. Mulder made her orgasms better, he made her work life better, he made her happier than she'd been in a long time.

Who was she to worry about whether or not he'd make her life better when he'd given her seven years' worth of evidence and proof?

With a big intake of breath, she pressed one and then dial, listening to the ringing as she let the breath out. "Hey Scully, what's up?" his eager voice called out from the reciever pressed to her ear.

"Hey, um. What are you doing tonight?" she asked, playing with the frayed ends of her sofa simultaneously glad he couldn't see her nervous habits.

"Why? Miss me?" he teased.

"Yes," she answered honestly, hoping that her heart wasn't going to beat out of her chest. This must've been how he felt everytime he tried to get her to stay and it made her regret every time she didn't crawl back under the covers and nestle into his arms.

He seemed surprised, but not unpleasantly, at her reply. "I miss you too," he replied, accepting her honesty and matching it with his own.

"If you're up to it, I was hoping we could have a repeat Sunday night?" she asked. It still felt foreign, being able to refer to them having sex. Their sex life.

"Oh I see, you just want me for my body," he joked, much like he joked Monday morning while his eyes were screaming I thought you were going to stay that time. Why do you always leave?

"I won't deny that's a component of it, but, actually," she took a breath to gather her courage and asked, "I was hoping-thinking that um, if you weren't busy or anything maybe you'd want to have a sleepover? I mean, if you'd like to spend the night? We don't have work tomorrow so maybe we could even do something...together, maybe?" That wasn't nearly as eloquent as she'd been hoping for and she hoped she didn't ruin her change with her rambling.

She listened to silence on the other end and every second felt like hours. She was just about to apologize if that was too much when she heard his smile-tight voice say, "I'd love that, Scully. I'll grab my overnight back and I'll be there soon."