I once had an icon of Mulder and Scully in the elevator and her going down on him. It would fit almost perfectly to this post if I could find it again. Oh the hardships of the world.
Title: On The Road
Prompt: free square: vehicular kink
Summary: You're beside me on the seat / Got your hand between my knees / And you control how fast we go by just how hard you wanna squeeze
Spoilers: Nothing, though extra cookies for you if you spot the occasional episode references. Takes place sometime during the 'big piles of manure' of season six.
Rating: NC-17. Sex and lots of frenzied swearing.
They spend far too many hours on nameless roads, roads recognisable only by a number and sometimes not even that. It's inevitable, then, this moment of insanity after four hours in a rented Taurus, this moment that seems like an out of body experience on a deserted Nevada freeway with his hands strangling the steering wheel and Scully's stern, "Watch the road, G-man," while her left hand fists around his cock and strokes. Hard. Hard and entirely too fucking slow.
"Jesus." He's so glad this is a desert road. If he crashes at least they'll probably survive. If he manages to live through what she's doing, anyway. "I'd have pulled over," he says hoarsely, and she laughs, which combined with the way she's working his cock is nearly enough to send them off the road right there. He swallows. Fuck, she's so good at this. "If this is you keeping me guessing," he gets out and if there's a moan in there, he's not taking the blame, "then clearly we need to - oh, fuck, Scully," and she's sliding her thumb across the head of his cock and she's going to kill them. "Don't do that..."
"You like that," she says, and yeah, he does, he really does and that's the problem.
"I like being alive," he counters from between gritted teeth. Oh, fuck. Oh fuck. This is such a bad idea.
"You're not going to crash," she assures him. He bites out a laugh.
"You wanna bet?"
He should not have said that. Not to Scully. He dares to glance at her for half a second and she's grinning. Scully doesn't grin very often, and given the situation and the very literal power of life and death she's very literally holding in her hand, he's sure he's not the only one who'd be just a little afraid of that look. She leans over as he looks back to the road, and he can see her sinful lips in the corner of his eye, her chin almost resting on his shoulder. "A twenty says I can make you come before you run us off the road," she murmurs in his ear, and he groans loudly.
"I'll give you a hundred if you let me stop the damn car first."
"That's dangerously close to prostitution, Agent Mulder. You should know better." She gives a slow tug on his cock to emphasis the point. He bites his lip. Hard.
"Wishing you'd never thought about doing this, I'll bet that," she murmurs. Another long stroke down. God, her hand is incredible.
"Wishing I'd never told you, that's for sure." His heart is hammering in his chest as if it's going to explode. They're doing seventy because they were doing seventy when she got his pants open, and now he can't concentrate enough to remember how to slow down - he's only just holding the car in a straight line. This is not at all the way it looks in badly-shot porn videos - it's seriously less sexy and seriously more dangerous and really, really -
- really, so much better than he imagined it would be. Scully is giving him a very thorough hand job in a car, and how could that not be good? "Uh, Scully...?"
Her voice is quiet and sing-song in his ear. "Yes?"
He is not going to close his eyes, but oh, the way she's stroking him, slow, long strokes, that slight twist of her hand each time, it's so fucking perfect, it's agony not to be able to just lean back and let her go at it without fear of oh, let's see, dying in a flaming wreck in Nowhere, Nevada. He tries to clear his throat and it nearly hurts. "Mm, uh, we're gonna have a little - problem - if you don't want to lose the deposit on this thing..."
"You think I haven't considered that?"
"I'm not sure I want to admit it," he mutters under his breath. Six years together, of course he knows what she's considered. What she's considering. What she's very probably going to do, and just the thought of Scully's hot mouth around his cock at seventy miles an hour on the interstate makes him nearly come right then and there.
"Admit it, Mulder. You want me to." Damn that grin. He doesn't need to see it, he can hear it. She's got him so completely whipped. "Admit it, because I'm not going to do it until you do."
He's pretty certain he's going to leave permanent fingernail impressions in the steering wheel. "Please, Scully, come on, give me a break here..."
"All you have to do is say it, Mulder..."
She's going to keep saying his name like that until he gives in, he knows that too. Damn her. "I will crash the car if you do," he says desperately. Jesus, is his voice shaking?
"No, you won't. I won't let you."
He snorts indelicately. "It'll be a little hard to see the road from down there, Scully."
"You won't crash," she says firmly. "You know why?"
He almost laughs. "Why?"
And then her voice is soft for a moment. "Because I'm in the car with you." And you wouldn't let anything happen to me.
He does laugh, somehow, low and hoarse, because it's ridiculous how that can possibly be true, and how the impeccably logical Dana Scully can possibly believe it. "Yeah, okay." He can't exactly argue with her. And her hand feels so good, so fucking good, moving up and down his cock, still just that slow, and okay, he might not crash but he might still have a heart attack if she doesn't take some pity on him soon. She turns her wrist again; her thumb flicks over the head of his cock, one side to the other and back again, and he actually thrusts his hips and the edge of the seatbelt biting into his naked skin is possibly the most twisted thing that's ever turned him on. "Please," he grates out. "Show a little mercy, Scully, come on..."
"Admit it," she says again. Her tone is wicked. God, she's evil.
"I admit it. I admit it freely. Jesus, woman."
"You need to say it, Mulder, I'm not doing it until you do."
There's something in her voice that brings a sudden, wicked smile of his own to the surface. "This turning you on, Scully?"
"What the hell do you think?"
He swallows. The rough, deep voice that comes from his throat suddenly doesn't sound like his own. "Is it, Scully? Tell me. You can tell me."
She leans her forehead against the side of his head, so close he can feel her breathing against his neck, and it's the hottest thing he's ever felt. "God, yes. I'm honestly terrified you're going to run us off the road, I can't believe I'm actually doing this, and you - Jesus, Mulder, you should see yourself right now."
"I'm not going to run us off the road." He won't. He can trade off and be certain about that for her, at least for a minute. He won't let anything happen to her. "And I'd look, but I'm finding it kinda hard," and then his voice strangles as she squeezes just gently on the up stroke and he groans, writhing his hips into her hand, "oh, shit - kinda hard-" and she does it again, hand sliding down and Christ, maybe he should just repeat that word a few hundred times...
"Hard?" she murmurs. Wicked, wicked woman.
"Hard to concentrate," he gets out, somehow. He is in love with her all over again, in love with her left hand and the sound of her breathing in his ear, and he's going to go mad if she doesn't - oh, fuck, he's going to have to admit it, he can't - "oh god, you want to, right? Tell me you want to."
"I want to," she whispers, hot, dirty promise right in his ear. He shudders full-length against the seat.
"Go down on me, Scully, please, please, right now - oh, shit," and for a moment he finds himself panicking because she is, she's unsnapping her seat belt and holy shit, she's actually going to - "oh, god, this is a bad, bad, bad idea-" and then he's sliding into her mouth, the soft, wet, fucking beautiful heat of her mouth, and whatever he might have said next flies out of his head. "Oh, yeah, god, Scully..."
Her hand is still around the base of his cock, sliding a little, which feels amazing and is very good because he can't keep from writhing or pushing his hips up, and he's terrified he could probably do some serious accidental damage to one or both of them in this position if he gets carried away. And he wants to get carried away. He wants to shut his eyes and put his hand on the back of her head and fuck into her mouth, her soft lips and her quick tongue that's currently curled around his cock, running up the underside of it, tracing the thick vein there like he's a full-fat Mulder-shaped ice cream dreamsicle.
The fact that he's not going to last more than two minutes is a blessing and a curse in the very classic sense. God, her mouth. Sheer force of will is all that's keeping his eyes on the road and his hands on the wheel, and even that is dangerously close to slipping. "Scully," he whispers. His voice really is shaking now and he couldn't care less. "Yeah, Scully, yeah, that feels so good..."
She hums around him and he all but jerks out of his seat. He hears himself say something that might be, "oh, shit," and she does it again, hint of a laugh in the sound, and even though she can't be comfortable she sounds like she's enjoying this as much as he is. He'd give anything to find out. To touch her, slip his fingers into her, feel how wet she must be by now if she's making those kinds of sounds...
She pulls back and he moans. "Don't, don't stop-"
"You're going to come now," she says over him, without even looking up, and he nearly chokes on his tongue. Her breath is like pure heat on his aching cock, and then her mouth slides over him again and she sucks on him hard, her lips tight around the head of his cock and her tongue, Jesus, her tongue is right there lapping at him and he thrusts just once into her mouth, he can't help himself, and comes so fucking hard he can't see the wheel between his hands let alone the road ahead.
She swallows. That was the point, his one rational thought reminds him. They have a rental deposit to account for. But she swallows, easily and without hesitating and with a loud moan that sounds like he's the most delicious dreamsicle ever and Christ, it only makes him come harder.
At some point it hits him that he should really being paying some attention to the road. When his eyes refocus he's slumped back into the seat, they're going at nearly eighty-five and Scully's free hand, gripping the wheel at its lowest point, is what's keeping them at least mostly on the right side of alive.
"You owe me twenty bucks," she murmurs in his ear as she slides back into her seat. He laughs shakily.
"Doesn't count. I'd have driven off into a cactus at the end there if you weren't steering." He feels hopelessly fucked. His hands are trembling on the wheel. A mile or two in the distance he can finally see what might be a curve in the road - hell, a few minutes later and he might really have driven them off into the desert.
She waits almost five minutes before reaching across to him again. This time her touches are absurdly tender as she tidies him up, even carefully re-zips his pants for him when he obligingly lifts his hips. Another ten minutes and he takes a deep breath and switches his foot from the gas.
"It's a little late to pull over," Scully says as they slow down. When he looks across at her, she's smiling, at him, deep red lips and dancing eyes, and he feels like the luckiest guy anywhere. He smirks back and slams the car into park.
Scully sits there as he unlocks his seat belt, opens the door and gets out, and only then does her voice rise a little. "Mulder? What are you doing?"
He leans back down to look at her through the open door, perfectly trained-FBI-Special-Agent serious but for his smile. "It's your turn to drive."