FIC: Magic
This was for xf_pornbattle , but it grew a little unwieldy. So the whole thing's here.
I can't tell you how much it bothers me to only post the end bit over there. IT DESTROYS MAH NARRATIVE INTEGRETAH. Deep breathing. I'll get over it.
Title: Magic
Author: Amal Nahurriyeh
Summary: Bedtime. Mulder's mind is stuck on death, and some other things.
Pairing: Mulder/Scully.
Prompt: pregnant sex
Rating: NC-17. Warning: Sexy Tiems Ahead.
Timeline/Spoilers: Empedocles.
Disclaimer: Intellectual property is a capitalist fiction designed to oppress the working fic-writer. That said, I don't own them either.
Thanks to aidy for encouragement and demands. *g*
Mulder's been alive again for two months and hasn't gotten laid once. Apparently the second trimester was the window for pregnant sex, and he was dead at the time, and not on-the-moon-with-Steve dead, but the real thing. Scully ticked off the reasons why now won't work: she hasn't been able to come since week 17, she has a backache all the time, she's tired, her gag reflex has amped up absurdly, and the prostaglandins in semen could trigger premature labor. She's more than a little cranky, too, not that he'd ever say that, he does value his life. (Especially now that he's been dead. He's a little stuck on that point.) And the doctor's orders following the abruption are pretty clear: no orgasms, no penetration, no way, no how. So, it is abundantly clear. He Is Not Getting Any.
Normally, he thinks he'd be enough of a gentleman not to mind too much. But the problem is that she is just so fucking sexy right now. The lush hard curve of her stomach, her swelling breasts, her glowing skin, the luster of her hair against the collar of her jacket. Plus, there is the undeniable fact that he got her pregnant, that they are actually having a baby, which is shockingly, unbelievably hot. As terrifying as the reasons and consequences might be, he can't shake the feeling that he is so amazingly virile that he managed to knock up a woman with no ova. His penis is, apparently, magic.
So he's lying on the couch with his head resting on her stomach, which is his new favorite position because the kid has a hilarious tendency to kick him in the ears. She's nodding off, and he takes his cue. "I should go. Let you sleep."
"Mmm, no, stay." She strokes his hair. "I feel like some company."
He likes that sentence, likes this new, marginally needer Scully. But he is just the tiniest bit annoyed, since he had detailed plans for the pregnant slutty Scully in his head, who has no gag reflex, no placental abruption, and can still get her legs over his shoulders. That doesn't mean he won't stay.
They're finally settled in bed, which is a process that takes enormous amounts of time since she is roughly the size of a whale (again, not said; again, life valued) and must be precisely nestled in several large piles of pillows to sleep for more than 20 minutes at a stretch. When he stays over, he takes the place of the stack of pillows at her back. At some point during the night she always tries to roll over but ends up wedged on top of his shoulder; he wakes, slightly squashed, and falls in love for the seventieth time that day. He curls a hand around her belly, and the baby immediately begins attacking it. "Baby, sleep now," Scully orders. Baby doesn't listen.
She rocks her hips back into him, adjusting. Fuck, her ass has gotten even rounder, which leads without fail to the image of his hands curled around her hips and his cock buried in her cunt, that gasping noise she made every time he fucked her from behind, and goddamn it, he was dead and now he still can't get any.
She initiates a complicated rolling procedure that involves getting to her knees briefly, and, after a moment of thrashing with the comforter, is facing him. "I'm sorry," she says quietly.
"Don't be."
"Well, I am. I don't like that pregnancy has totally demolished my sex drive. I don't like that I can't do anything to celebrate being able to touch you again. And I don't--" She laughs bitterly, and he realizes she's going to start crying. "I don't like that I've turned into an unwieldy, frighteningly unattractive blimp."
"You are not frighteningly unattractive." He strokes her face gently.
"Really." She doesn't believe a word he's saying.
"Yeah. Quite the opposite. I think I've developed a permanent thing for pregnant ladies." He leans over and nuzzles her neck, wants to bite her ear, to lick his way along her carotid artery, to fuck her, god, to fuck her.
"Really?" Now she's amused. He pulls back to kiss her on the lips, and suddenly they're opening beneath his, and her tongue is hot and swift against his. He moans, and she does, too, and he curls his hand around the back of her neck to hold her close. She runs a hand down his chest, slides it under his shirt. He moans again and she runs her hand over his cock, hard and full beneath his pajamas. She slips her hand under the waistband and it is basically the best thing he's felt since he stopped being dead. She strokes once, twice, gently but tightening up as she moves from base to tip. "Yeah?" she asks.
"Yeah," he breathes into her mouth, and lies there, gasping, as she strokes him, runs her thumb around the head, strokes again and reaches down to roll his balls in her palm.
"I don't have any lube," she mutters, as if to herself.
He's already admitted a pregnancy kink, he thinks he can let himself be a little more pervy. "Your lotion."
"Lotion?"
"Something new you're wearing. You smell like cookies and roses and whatever." He spent the first week back figuring out what was different, and the next three following her around by smell.
She snorts. "It's anti-stretch-mark oil. On the nightstand. Can you reach it, I don't want to have to roll..."
He straightens up, leans over her, snags the bottle. "It's not like I had any masculinity left to defend, anyway."
She pops the cap, and god, that scent. Then her hand is back on his cock, slick with the oil this time, so slick he can nearly imagine it's her hungry cunt grasping at him, the slide and suck of it. He wishes he was whimpering less, but it's pretty involuntary.
"Tell me," she whispers. "If we could. Tell me what you're seeing."
It takes him a moment to get his breath back, because, fuck. He licks his lips and whispers. "I'm on my back. You're--oh, jesus--you're holding onto the headboard, straddling my face. I'm balancing you by the hips and, you're, you're rocking against me, so wet and hot--" He buries his head in her neck. The image of lushly pregnant Scully, writhing and dripping on his face as he laps at her clit, head thrown back and moaning, briefly renders him mute. Talk, she wants him to talk. "You come like that, bent over, jesus you're so beautiful--" He wishes he could keep the dirty talk consistent but it's hard not to get sappy. He slips his hand down to curl around hers, makes a brief suggestion for pressure and rhythm before just hanging on lightly, just to actually feel her jack him off. "You slide down me, onto my cock, bend over again and I'm sucking your tits, you're balanced over me, stomach pressed to my chest--" She slips her hand out from under his, lets him keep working his cock while she strokes his balls, slides one finger out to tease his anus slightly. He curls into her even more, desperate. "Then you straighten up and start riding me, you're leaning back, your hips--oh, god, Scully--I've got my hands on your tits, you lean back--" She slips her finger into his ass, curls once, and he shudders, moans, comes the hardest he has in his life, this side of it, at least, probably the other half, too. He is wrapped around her, sticky, gasping. She slides her finger out, wraps her hand around his ass and holds him close.
They lay there like that for a few minutes, until he can breathe again and worries he's going to fall asleep. Then she pulls back a little, kisses his forehead. He engages neck muscles, kisses her lips. She smiles. "Two things. One, I am scheduling you now. Six weeks and one day after I have this kid, you are going to fuck me stupid."
"OK." He kisses her again."What's two?"
"Help me out of bed. I have to pee."
I can't tell you how much it bothers me to only post the end bit over there. IT DESTROYS MAH NARRATIVE INTEGRETAH. Deep breathing. I'll get over it.
Title: Magic
Author: Amal Nahurriyeh
Summary: Bedtime. Mulder's mind is stuck on death, and some other things.
Pairing: Mulder/Scully.
Prompt: pregnant sex
Rating: NC-17. Warning: Sexy Tiems Ahead.
Timeline/Spoilers: Empedocles.
Disclaimer: Intellectual property is a capitalist fiction designed to oppress the working fic-writer. That said, I don't own them either.
Thanks to aidy for encouragement and demands. *g*
Mulder's been alive again for two months and hasn't gotten laid once. Apparently the second trimester was the window for pregnant sex, and he was dead at the time, and not on-the-moon-with-Steve dead, but the real thing. Scully ticked off the reasons why now won't work: she hasn't been able to come since week 17, she has a backache all the time, she's tired, her gag reflex has amped up absurdly, and the prostaglandins in semen could trigger premature labor. She's more than a little cranky, too, not that he'd ever say that, he does value his life. (Especially now that he's been dead. He's a little stuck on that point.) And the doctor's orders following the abruption are pretty clear: no orgasms, no penetration, no way, no how. So, it is abundantly clear. He Is Not Getting Any.
Normally, he thinks he'd be enough of a gentleman not to mind too much. But the problem is that she is just so fucking sexy right now. The lush hard curve of her stomach, her swelling breasts, her glowing skin, the luster of her hair against the collar of her jacket. Plus, there is the undeniable fact that he got her pregnant, that they are actually having a baby, which is shockingly, unbelievably hot. As terrifying as the reasons and consequences might be, he can't shake the feeling that he is so amazingly virile that he managed to knock up a woman with no ova. His penis is, apparently, magic.
So he's lying on the couch with his head resting on her stomach, which is his new favorite position because the kid has a hilarious tendency to kick him in the ears. She's nodding off, and he takes his cue. "I should go. Let you sleep."
"Mmm, no, stay." She strokes his hair. "I feel like some company."
He likes that sentence, likes this new, marginally needer Scully. But he is just the tiniest bit annoyed, since he had detailed plans for the pregnant slutty Scully in his head, who has no gag reflex, no placental abruption, and can still get her legs over his shoulders. That doesn't mean he won't stay.
They're finally settled in bed, which is a process that takes enormous amounts of time since she is roughly the size of a whale (again, not said; again, life valued) and must be precisely nestled in several large piles of pillows to sleep for more than 20 minutes at a stretch. When he stays over, he takes the place of the stack of pillows at her back. At some point during the night she always tries to roll over but ends up wedged on top of his shoulder; he wakes, slightly squashed, and falls in love for the seventieth time that day. He curls a hand around her belly, and the baby immediately begins attacking it. "Baby, sleep now," Scully orders. Baby doesn't listen.
She rocks her hips back into him, adjusting. Fuck, her ass has gotten even rounder, which leads without fail to the image of his hands curled around her hips and his cock buried in her cunt, that gasping noise she made every time he fucked her from behind, and goddamn it, he was dead and now he still can't get any.
She initiates a complicated rolling procedure that involves getting to her knees briefly, and, after a moment of thrashing with the comforter, is facing him. "I'm sorry," she says quietly.
"Don't be."
"Well, I am. I don't like that pregnancy has totally demolished my sex drive. I don't like that I can't do anything to celebrate being able to touch you again. And I don't--" She laughs bitterly, and he realizes she's going to start crying. "I don't like that I've turned into an unwieldy, frighteningly unattractive blimp."
"You are not frighteningly unattractive." He strokes her face gently.
"Really." She doesn't believe a word he's saying.
"Yeah. Quite the opposite. I think I've developed a permanent thing for pregnant ladies." He leans over and nuzzles her neck, wants to bite her ear, to lick his way along her carotid artery, to fuck her, god, to fuck her.
"Really?" Now she's amused. He pulls back to kiss her on the lips, and suddenly they're opening beneath his, and her tongue is hot and swift against his. He moans, and she does, too, and he curls his hand around the back of her neck to hold her close. She runs a hand down his chest, slides it under his shirt. He moans again and she runs her hand over his cock, hard and full beneath his pajamas. She slips her hand under the waistband and it is basically the best thing he's felt since he stopped being dead. She strokes once, twice, gently but tightening up as she moves from base to tip. "Yeah?" she asks.
"Yeah," he breathes into her mouth, and lies there, gasping, as she strokes him, runs her thumb around the head, strokes again and reaches down to roll his balls in her palm.
"I don't have any lube," she mutters, as if to herself.
He's already admitted a pregnancy kink, he thinks he can let himself be a little more pervy. "Your lotion."
"Lotion?"
"Something new you're wearing. You smell like cookies and roses and whatever." He spent the first week back figuring out what was different, and the next three following her around by smell.
She snorts. "It's anti-stretch-mark oil. On the nightstand. Can you reach it, I don't want to have to roll..."
He straightens up, leans over her, snags the bottle. "It's not like I had any masculinity left to defend, anyway."
She pops the cap, and god, that scent. Then her hand is back on his cock, slick with the oil this time, so slick he can nearly imagine it's her hungry cunt grasping at him, the slide and suck of it. He wishes he was whimpering less, but it's pretty involuntary.
"Tell me," she whispers. "If we could. Tell me what you're seeing."
It takes him a moment to get his breath back, because, fuck. He licks his lips and whispers. "I'm on my back. You're--oh, jesus--you're holding onto the headboard, straddling my face. I'm balancing you by the hips and, you're, you're rocking against me, so wet and hot--" He buries his head in her neck. The image of lushly pregnant Scully, writhing and dripping on his face as he laps at her clit, head thrown back and moaning, briefly renders him mute. Talk, she wants him to talk. "You come like that, bent over, jesus you're so beautiful--" He wishes he could keep the dirty talk consistent but it's hard not to get sappy. He slips his hand down to curl around hers, makes a brief suggestion for pressure and rhythm before just hanging on lightly, just to actually feel her jack him off. "You slide down me, onto my cock, bend over again and I'm sucking your tits, you're balanced over me, stomach pressed to my chest--" She slips her hand out from under his, lets him keep working his cock while she strokes his balls, slides one finger out to tease his anus slightly. He curls into her even more, desperate. "Then you straighten up and start riding me, you're leaning back, your hips--oh, god, Scully--I've got my hands on your tits, you lean back--" She slips her finger into his ass, curls once, and he shudders, moans, comes the hardest he has in his life, this side of it, at least, probably the other half, too. He is wrapped around her, sticky, gasping. She slides her finger out, wraps her hand around his ass and holds him close.
They lay there like that for a few minutes, until he can breathe again and worries he's going to fall asleep. Then she pulls back a little, kisses his forehead. He engages neck muscles, kisses her lips. She smiles. "Two things. One, I am scheduling you now. Six weeks and one day after I have this kid, you are going to fuck me stupid."
"OK." He kisses her again."What's two?"
"Help me out of bed. I have to pee."