Delayed Gratification

Title: Long Distance Love III: Delayed Gratification
Author: ML
Rating: adults only

1. Long Distance Love 2. The Genuine Article 3.Delayed Gratification

Originally posted 5/4/02
Spoilers: none
Classification: Smut. Mostly.
Keywords: Mulder/Scully Romance
Disclaimer: These characters are not mine, they belong to Chris Carter, TenThirteen, and Fox Broadcasting. I mean no infringement, and I’m making no money.

Summary: The last in the “Long Distance Love” series, told from Mulder’s POV.

=====

I could have driven to DC faster than this. Damn it, I hate waiting in airports.

When I think of where I could be, where I will be as soon as this God-forsaken plane gets to its destination…

I’m not usually so anxious to return home. I’ve never really had anything to return to, until recently. Since Scully finally opened her heart to me.

Since Scully and I became lovers. God, I love thinking that.

This is first time we’ve been apart for more than a night since we crossed that line. It hasn’t been that long, but I guess I’ve gotten used to having her around.

I put my hand in my suit pocket and feel the scrap of silk and lace I put there this morning. It belongs to Scully, though she hasn’t seen it yet. Touching it makes me think of our conversation the night before. I can’t wait to see her, and to continue the conversation in person.

Damn this delay. I’ve already endeared myself to the counter staff. I know there’s nothing they can do, and I don’t normally take out my frustration in that way, but I couldn’t help myself. I know that by the time I get to the rental car counter and make other arrangements, they’ll be calling my flight, but it’s still way too long to suit me. Anything that keeps me from getting back to Scully is bad.

I find the newsstand and pick up a paper and some seeds, and head for the gate. I’m trying to be hopeful, here. There’s always a chance the delay will be shorter than they say.

I think about Scully — as if I hadn’t been already — and what she might be doing right now. She’s probably called the airport and found out about the delay, so she’s probably still at the office, finishing up her report or something equally responsible.

As long as she’s not bringing any work home with her. I plan on keeping her fully occupied.

I can’t believe it now, but *I* was the one who tried to reassure Scully when I found out I was being loaned out to the Boston office for a while.

Well, I talk a good story, but having to live it is another thing entirely.

Here’s the thing. We’ve been in the field since becoming lovers, and we’ve done okay. I have to explain, we have certain rules that we go by. No nookie while we’re on a case, even when we’re off duty for the evening. But even without the extracurricular activities, we’re together, just the way we’ve always been. We eat our meals together, we stay up late discussing the case or whatever, and nothing is any different in that respect.

In fact, it’s so much the same that sometimes I think I’ve dreamed Scully and me making love. I’ll sit there in her motel room, listening to her state her views on our case, and I’ll be overcome by longing to touch her, to see the look in her eyes reserved for me alone. Sometimes she catches me looking at her, and she knows. She never says anything, but she smiles, and then I see what I’ve been hoping for in her eyes.

On those nights, I might try to fudge the rules a bit, but Scully keeps us both honest. The most I can get away with is a goodnight kiss that’s just this side of illegal. I can tell that I’ve almost got her, and really that’s enough for me. Just knowing that Scully wants me as much as I want her is enough to get me through the night.

Being truly apart, however, is a whole `nother ball game. There are too many miles between us, and though we’ve talked every night, I can’t see her. I need to see her as well as hear her, I’ve found.

So what did I do to survive during our enforced separation?

I could have done what I used to do. The TV in my hotel room offered a wide variety of entertainment, including some movies that used to be part of my private collection. They’re no longer very appealing. Now that I’ve had the real thing, filmed fantasy just doesn’t cut it. I do, however, have my own little theater of the mind, which has several advantages over the commercially available kind. First and foremost, they all star Scully, and equally wonderful in my book, I’m her co-star.

I’d make my nightly call to Scully, we’d talk about our days, and we’d venture timidly into more personal realms. Neither of us are very good at talking about our feelings. I felt like such a jerk, not being able to tell her I loved her over the phone. Some of it is just natural caution, but some of it is that it’s hard for me to say it, no matter how strongly I feel it. Scully is just as reticent, but I expect that from her. She doesn’t really need to tell me, because she’s so good at showing me. But with neither of us being able to see the other, it was different.

So, after we said good night to each other, I turned to my private stock of memories and took matters into my own hands, so to speak. It wasn’t great, but it was better than nothing.

I closed my eyes and thought of Scully. I imagined my mouth on hers, tasting her sweet lips, then going beyond them into the welcoming warmth of her mouth, feeling how her tongue touched mine in greeting. I licked my own lips, imagining Scully’s on them.

I continued my virtual tour of Scully, kissing my way down her body. I enjoy the taste of her skin, no matter what part. It’s different, depending on where I land my lips. Sometimes salty, sometimes sweet, and all good.

I imagined her pressing closer to me, and the sighs that escaped as I sampled her. I imagined her lips doing the same to me, touching along my jaw, the side of my throat, in the notch below my Adam’s apple, her nose bumping gently against it. I swallowed reflexively, just thinking about it.

Her breasts…oh my. When I first start to kiss one, just along its upper slope, I can feel her heart pound, and I feel her skin shudder just the barest bit. Then I close my mouth over her nipple, and feel it harden against my tongue. I imagined her writhing under my mouth, her hands clutching the back of my head as I suckled her. I felt myself harden reciprocally just from the thought of it. It didn’t take much more for me to find my release, such as it was. No matter how hard I tried, there was no way to duplicate the way Scully feels to me as I kiss her, as I enter her, as I feel her come apart around me.

I wasn’t sure if Scully was faring any better than I was. I couldn’t bring myself to ask her, and she wasn’t saying. After a couple of days, I was in desperate straits. I’d call Scully, and just the sound of her voice was enough to turn me on. It was all I could do to keep my hand from straying to my cock while we talked. I knew it was the most boorish, selfish thing I could do, and I sure didn’t want to cut off the call to go take care of business.

So one night, I said, “I had a dream last night, Scully.”

“A dream, or a nightmare?” Scully asked. I could hear the concern in her voice. We’ve both had our share of nightmares. I hastened to reassure her.

“No, just a dream. Wanna hear it?”

“No liver-eating mutants or giant alligators?”

“Not a one, Scully. No one but you and me.” I lowered my voice to almost a whisper.

“What were we doing?” She unconsciously lowered her voice, too. I liked that, a lot.

“I’ll get to that. Let me set the scene a little. We’re in this room, a big almost bare room –”

“Are we trapped in the room?” Scully asked.

I gusted a noisy sigh into the receiver. “Do you want me to tell you the dream, or what?”

“Sorry, Mulder,” she said, but she didn’t sound very sorry. “I was afraid you were going to continue with, `it was a time of dark, dark despair.'”

“It’s not that kind of dream, Scully,” I said patiently. I thought she was teasing me. I hoped she was teasing me. I couldn’t always tell.

“What kind of dream is it, Mulder?” she asked, and this time I could hear just a tiny bit of laughter in her voice.

“Wait and see, Scully. Maybe it’s a bedtime story kind of dream.”

“Does it have a happy ending? Will it help me go to sleep?”

What’s this? I wasn’t quite sure how to interpret this question. I went with the time-honored, answer with another question ploy. “Why? Do you need something to help you sleep?”

“Mm hm,” she said, still in a low voice. “I need you.”

Huge, huge admission on Scully’s part. I was encouraged to continue.

“I need you, too,” I said. Somehow Scully saying it first allowed me to say it back, coward that I am. “Maybe this will help a little. Where was I?”

“We’re trapped in a big, empty room,” Scully reminded me.

“Scully, I didn’t say we were trapped.”

“You didn’t say we weren’t either,” she pointed out.

I decided the only way to get her to listen without interrupting was to cut to the chase. “We’re not trapped. We want to be there. And the room isn’t entirely empty. In the middle of it, there’s a big, big bed.”

“Oh…” It was a mere breath of sound, and I responded to it like Pavlov’s dog.

“You wanna know what we’re doing?” I asked.

Silence.

“Scully?”

A pause, and then, “Yes.”

I had her. “We’re lying facing each other, and I’m kissing you, Scully.”

A little sigh escapes over the phone line and I smile. I’m imagining Scully’s face, slightly flushed, her lips parted, moist from her licking them…

“Wh-what are we wearing?” Scully asked.

That’s usually my question; she’s turned the tables on me. I racked my brain. Nothing, dammit. Then, inspired, I asked, “What do you think I’m wearing, Scully?”

“Um…boxers. Silk. Black.”

Where did that come from? I haven’t owned a pair in years. But I remember with a flush of embarrassment and arousal, that Scully saw me in them once. She remembered that? Oh my, oh my…

“What am I wearing, Mulder?” she asked. Focus, Mulder, focus. I review and reject any number of ideas in milliseconds. “Well, you had on a silk gown, with thin straps. But I’ve taken it off you already.”

“Ohhh…” That breathy little sigh was almost enough to send me off.

“And then…”

“Yes?”

“Then…the dream ends.”

Dead silence. I thought for a moment she’d hung up, but I waited. I wanted her to speak first.

“Mulder.” She used her normal tone of voice, and there was a definite edge to it. “That’s it?”

I stifled a laugh. “Maybe I’ll tell you the rest tomorrow night, Scully. Or maybe you’ll have something to tell *me.*”

“Mul-der…” there is a definite whine to her voice.

“Good night, Scully. Sleep well,” I said, and hung up.

She didn’t call back, which is good, because I was…busy for a bit. I suspect that she was, too.

I had great hopes that the next night would not be a solo performance, even though I’d still be in Boston, and Scully in DC. I had set the stage, and now I hoped that Scully understood what I intended her to do the next night.

I should explain something here. Scully doesn’t really like to talk during sex. I’m the chatty one. I’ve coaxed Scully into talking to me a little bit, asking her questions about what she likes, what she’s feeling, but her answers are usually pretty succinct.

I can tell that she likes it when I talk to her, though. Oh yeah. I can see the look on her face, her eyes huge and dilated. I don’t know if it’s just the sound of my voice or what I’m saying. I’m sure I can attribute the look to more than my verbal skills, but I know that it’s part of the package for Scully.

She tries to reciprocate, she really does. Sometimes her attempts almost make me laugh, except I know that if I laughed, she’d never say another word to me in bed, and maybe not even out of it.

Well, I’m not laughing now. What she did for me last night was so amazing I may never look at a phone the same way again.

With very little prompting, Scully took my little idea and ran with it. If she ever decided to leave the FBI, she could have a second career as a romance novelist. Or a phone sex operator. Not that I’d ever tell her that.

She inspired me enough to make a stop at shopping center on the way to the airport, and pick up a little something to surprise her with. I found a gown that matched what she described, I think, and a pair of panties too.

The panties are in my pocket, right now. I finger them and think about the things Scully said the night before, and how they made me feel.

I’m so lost in the memory of Scully’s sultry voice, saying words I never thought I’d hear from her, that I almost miss the call for my flight.

x-x-x-x

This has to have been the longest flight in history. We are in a holding pattern for a while, circling the airport. I look out the window and try to see if I can make out Scully’s car along the arrivals circle. Silly, I know. At last we’re cleared to land and we taxi to the terminal. Everything seems to be moving in slow motion.

We start to disembark and I shuffle along the aisle, stopping to pick up my garment bag from the front closet. The attendant was nice enough to allow that, and I hardly had to flash my badge at all. I won’t have to wait at the baggage carousel, and I’m grateful.

It’s too much to hope that Scully will be here already. She’s so good about confirming times and getting to the airport on time, not a minute before. Just this once I wish that she’d just be here.

I shift my garment bag over my shoulder and try to edge around the crowds of people in the jetway, but no one seems to be in that big a hurry. I almost run into the woman in front of me who stops short and is engulfed in a hug by someone. I can’t help it; I gaze at them for a moment, and think what it would be like to have someone waiting for me at the gate.

Well, I tell myself, at least you have someone waiting for you. I shoulder my bag again and move on.

“Mulder.” I hear a familiar voice at my elbow. When I look over, I can’t contain my surprise and delight.

Scully smiles back at me, and I feel this incredible surge of happiness at the sight of her. I’m this close to dropping everything and sweeping her into my arms.

Then better sense prevails and I give her the normal, partnerly greeting that’s acceptable for two people who are supposed to be coworkers and nothing else.

But we both know the truth, and understand the subtext. I can see it.

When Scully takes my carry-on from me, I use my free hand to touch her and I’m amazed at my reaction. I wonder if Scully got that same sense of electricity from the feel of my hand on her back? I’ve taken comfort from this gesture for years, and hope that it’s imparted the same to Scully, but now it’s different.

It’s a little weird, and awkward, being in public like this. Maybe it was a bad idea for Scully to pick me up; I’d much rather our reunion be private. I feel thwarted in my desires. I’d like to drop everything and sweep her into my arms.

She asks me something about baggage and I lean down close to her and tell her how much I want her. She flushes slightly, and a tiny frown appears on her face, but her eyes are sparking. I back off.

Scully gives me the car keys and I’m glad. My plan is to go straight to her apartment. I’m afraid if she drove, she’d drop me off at my place, and I’d have to drive over later, delaying my plans even more, and increasing the awkwardness. The drive seems to take forever, and though we’re alone in the car, I can’t think of anything to say.

Scully seems lost in her own thoughts. She’s obviously aware that we’re headed to her place, but she makes no comment about it. I begin to wonder if maybe I pushed her too far last night. She’s so self-contained, I see it as a challenge to help her lose it. That’s a win-win situation, as far as I’m concerned. But it’s possible that it was just a bit too much for Scully, even though she seemed willing enough last night. She might have felt differently about it later. I’ll have to try and broach the subject before it becomes a bigger deal than it is.

We’re finally in her apartment, and Scully puts down my bag and turns away from me to put her keys down. I thought I might just pull her into my arms and give her the greeting I’d wanted to give her in the airport, but the set of her shoulders is tense and she doesn’t turn back right away. Maybe she doesn’t like the idea of me being underfoot so much, either. I have a few things that I keep here, with Scully’s permission, though it’s not like we live together or anything. She keeps a few things at my place, too, but we seem to spend more time here.

I head down the hall to dump my stuff in the bedroom. As I start to take off my jacket, I remember the panties in the pocket…and the Victoria’s Secret bag in my carryon. Now there’s an ice-breaker if I ever saw one. Presenting Scully with it will tell me what I need to know, in a hurry.

I hide the bag behind my back and call her into the bedroom.

Scully’s reaction is everything I could hope for. She tries to cover it with a teasing comment, but I can tell that I’ve scored a few points here. And when I pull the panties out of my pocket, I think I’ve made the winning basket. Nothin’ but net.

I don’t know if she’s more turned on by the panties themselves, or by the thought that I’ve been carrying them around in my pocket all day. It’s not the panties per se that do it for me, it’s the thought of Scully wearing them, and me taking them off of her.

Maybe for her it’s the thought of me taking them off her, too. I like that idea a lot.

Then Scully pulls the boxers out of her lingerie drawer, and I realize that I’ve been outscored.

As I go into the bathroom to wash up and change into something more comfortable, I’m struck by the strangeness of it. I mean, we’ve seen each other naked. It’s weird that I’m putting clothes on to go make love with Scully, and that she’s doing the same for me. It seems like we go about everything in the most complicated way possible.

And I’m standing in the bathroom, the black silk of the boxers dragging against my skin in the most erotic way, imagining how good Scully must look in that slinky gown I got her. Why am I doing this, when she’s in the next room, waiting for me?

Anticipation is making the main event that much more exciting. I’m all for instant gratification, but knowing what’s to come is almost as sweet as the reality. My pulse is thrumming, my cock is trying to fight its way out of the boxers, and Scully is in the next room, waiting for me.

Waiting for me. But not for long.

She’s standing in the middle of her bedroom, looking a little shy. The gown fits her like a second skin, the lace of the top part showing off as much as it conceals of her breasts. The skirt smoothes over her waist and hips and flares out just below them, stopping just short of the floor. I could see her toes peeking out from under the hem. She takes my breath away.

Then at last, she’s in my arms, and I can feel what I’ve been imagining, dreaming of, all week long.

Scully twines her arms around my neck and I press her body close to me. I can feel her through the lace of the gown, and the combined sensation of the slight scratchiness of the lace and her hard little nipples practically sets me aflame. I take a deep breath, and try to concentrate on Scully instead of my reaction to her.

I take my time kissing her, getting reacquainted with the feel of her. For a long time, that’s all I do. I kiss her beautiful, soft lips, pressing against them and gently sucking on either the top or the bottom one, just once in a while putting my tongue into play. I’m gratified by her soft sighs and the way she nuzzles against me. She’s trying to get me to move a little faster, but I’m not giving in. She wriggles against me and it makes me gasp, and I feel her smile against my mouth.

Two can play at this game, Scully. I let my hands drift down to her waist, and then to her butt, and pull her tighter against me. At the same time, I kiss her a little more deeply, now allowing my tongue free access to her luscious mouth. Scully matches me, nip for nip, caress for caress.

Our kisses get a little sloppy as we grind against each other. I pull away from her mouth to draw breath and nibble along her collarbone and back up to her ear. We’ve been nearly silent up to this point, except for some breathy moans and gasps. I whisper in her ear, “Do you like what you’re feeling?”

I take her low humming as a yes. She’s kissing me with fervor, but she pauses to ask me a question that I’m barely cognizant of. But it must be rhetorical, because she answers it herself:

“What feels best to me is you. Just you.”

I’m not sure how I answer her in words, or if I even do. I’m too busy showing her how much I liked hearing that by trying to absorb her into my skin. I love her so much, and I missed her so much.

I kiss her deeply, and my hand drifts up to her breast at about the same time she reaches between us and decides to shake hands with my cock.

I think I see stars for a moment, but fortunately there’s no explosion. I cover her hand with mine and gently pull her away before the grand finale starts.

I take a deep breath and step out of my boxers. Scully watches me, and I’m awestruck by the hunger in her gaze. She stands, watching, waiting. I pull the gown off over her head, letting the fabric rub against her as I do so. She’s trembling by the time I’m done, and it’s got nothing to do with being cold.

As I thought, the panties look wonderful on Scully, revealing as much as they conceal, but I’m done with them for now. I pull them gently down her legs and put them aside.

Scully is a sight to behold, all flushed and trembling, moist lips and huge eyes. I resist the urge to pull her to me again, and lead her to the bed.

I think I’m shaking a little too, from exerting self-control as I try to relax myself enough to keep from rolling onto Scully immediately. Part of me thinks, why not? She’s ready, you’re ready, just go for it.

What’s the fun in that? Okay, I withdraw the question. It’s just that there’s fun and then there’s *fun*, so why not make it last as long as you can? We’ve had a week of relative celibacy, and I want to take more than five minutes to end it.

The brain is the biggest erogenous zone we’ve got. “Smart is sexy,” Scully said to me once. I happen to agree, and I’ve got the smartest, sexiest woman in the world in bed with me right now. I have no intention of rushing things.

I find her mouth again, and begin to taste her more thoroughly than before. My hand finds her breast, and I fondle it languorously. I begin to kiss my way down her body, listening to Scully’s nonverbal communication, gauging what she likes best from the sounds she makes.

I fasten my mouth over one breast as my hand finds her sweet spot. Her hips jerk up as I touch her. I’m feeling almost blissed out, suckling first one breast and then the other as my fingers stroke and tickle her below.

Scully can’t keep still, and she’s making all manner of noises that go straight to my groin, which is the only part of my body not completely happy with the way things are at the moment.

Then Scully reaches out her hand, and the tables are turned.

Advantage to Scully, I think dazedly, and through the fog of lust that’s suddenly completely clouded my brain, I think I hear myself begging. Lucky for me, Scully is compassionate. I feel her hand guiding me, and her leg swings over my thigh as I slide into her at last.

All conscious thought dissolves into pure sensation. Scully says she loves to hear me talk when we make love, but half the time I don’t think I’m aware of what I’m saying. I’m concentrating on what I’m feeling, and whatever comes out must be stream of consciousness. Sex is my truth serum; at least, sex with Scully is.

I think about how good she feels, the heat and slickness that surrounds and embraces me. The feel of her hands on my hips or my butt, alternately squeezing and stroking. Her legs, wrapped around mine, holding me close. The smoothness of her skin, the feel of her lips, the sound of her breathing. The way I’ve grown to recognize the signs that she’s on the brink, and how I can now instinctively do exactly what she needs. The way it feels like this could last forever, right up to the moment that we reach the peak and start the exquisite slide back down again.

This time, Scully comes so hard and fast I’m taken by surprise. It’s like being hit by a tsunami, and the waves carry me right along with her. All I can do is close my eyes and hang on.

I can barely speak when I come to. It’s all I can do to pry myself off of Scully so she can breathe again. I kiss her, and I feel her lips go slack under mine as she conks out. I’m on the edge of following her, but I keep my eyes open as long as I can, watching her eyelids twitch as she dreams of waking up in my arms. I hope. That smile has got to mean something.

I carefully push my arm under the pillow where Scully’s head is and pull the covers up over us. I think back over the day, and how it’s gone. From anticipation, to gratification, to contemplation. Quite a ride, and one I don’t think I’ll ever tire of, as long as Scully is a part of it.

I kiss her forehead and settle back to rest myself. The evening is young; I’m hoping that I’ll have another chance at our mutual gratification tonight. For the moment, caught between waking and sleeping, afterglow and anticipation, I’m content.

end.