#he's so soaking sopping wet he wakes up in a puddle of his own piss

[godspeedmajortom]

Hi, my name is Harrier Du Bois, and this is my video essay for why I am tumblr's poor little meow meow 2023

("Party Time" by The Northern Boys || Art by @bearshome_art)

[slippinmickeys]

Fools In The Rain

Inspired by the prompt set forth on Twitter by @IngridDaS1013: “Mulder and Scully get caught in the rain on the way to Mulders apartment so they go up and Scully has to wear something of Mulder’s while her clothes dry…”

XxXxXxXxX

It had been a bit of a shitshow from the start, Scully thought, as they ran down the wet cobbles of Prince Street, dodging puddles and doing their best not to slip and fall.

What had started as a weekend work session at Mulder’s apartment had turned to pell mell running through a deluge when lunchtime rolled around and Mulder had nothing in his fridge or pantry but a jar of pickles and 3 month old milk.

Scully supposed she was partly to blame as well, having turned down Mulder’s offer to have pizza or Chinese delivered, and they headed out into Old Town without checking the weather.

They’d landed at the Majestic, which had a salad Scully had been craving for weeks, and midway through lunch, the sky had opened up and the heavens wept. And wept. And wept.

Their waiter suggested they stay as long as they needed to for the weather to clear, and, feeling bad for taking up a table on a busy Saturday, they both ordered a drink. And that’s how they found themselves, 3 Yuenglings and 2 rather large Sauvignon Blancs later, dashing through Old Town, and the 15 minute break in the rain they thought they had ended up being only about 5.

It was pissing rain, they were soaked to the skin, and as uncomfortable (and tipsy) as she was, Scully wasn’t about to soak the back seat of some pour cabbie’s ride when Mulder’s apartment was only another 3 blocks away.

When they were one block away, Scully had almost fallen twice, and at that point, Mulder took her hand and didn’t let go.

Hegel Place loomed ahead, and of course Mulder fumbled with his key, dropping it twice before they practically fell inside, finally out of the weather.

Scully looked at Mulder as they ambled toward the elevator bank. She hadn’t seen him this soaked since the hurricane thing with Arthur Dales down in Florida, and his hair plastered to his head, with little rivulets running down both cheeks reminded her of an otter. She thought of Mulder holding a rock with two hands trying to open a clam shell and she laughed out loud, the sound of her guffaw echoing down the hallway. Mulder shot her a look askance.

This was the last time, she promised herself, she was ever drinking in the middle of the day again.

XxXxXxXxX

Mulder was glad Scully thought this was funny, because an hour ago, he was pretty sure she’d wanted to kill him.

Not just for the fact that he had no food in his house when he’d invited her over, but he’d also forgotten the envelope of receipts in the office that they needed for their last two expense reports, which is why they were working on a Saturday in the first place. He’d been as chivalrous as he could while they were out, hoping to make up for it – picking up the tab at lunch and helping her over giant puddles at several intersections too deep and wide for her to jump over.

He suspected her mood had more to do with the ¾ bottle of Marlborough’s best she’d had after lunch than his own quiet acts of heroism, but he let her lighthearted laugh take some weight off of the day’s general mood.

He grabbed another look at her as they stepped off the elevator on the 4th floor, and he forgot about his own discomfort at the sight of her.

She’d dressed down, it being a weekend, and had been wearing an apple green fitted sweater and a pair of lightweight black slacks. Both were now clinging to her almost lewdly, plastered to her body like they didn’t want to let go. Her hair she’d pushed back with both hands and it was slicked back away from her face. He was reminded of the old Sports Illustrated Swimsuit issues he’d hoarded in college, and his mouth went dry despite the humidity.

“Mulder?” Scully said, looking at him quizzically.

It took him a moment to realize they were standing in front of his door. He shook himself and unlocked it.

XxXxXxXxX

The second they were inside, Mulder disappeared into his bedroom and was back a moment later, shirtless, toweling off his hair with one hand, while he held out a towel to Scully with the other.

It took her a moment to take the proffered linen, momentarily distracted by the sight of his bare chest.

At various times in their partnership, Scully had had the opportunity to see Mulder shirtless – generally while he was injured and under duress – and she’d seen him both sprinkled lightly with chest hair, and shaved bare. He was currently the latter, his skin smooth and slightly tanned, the definition of his rectus abdominis pointing like an arrow to the area of his anatomy she shouldn’t be thinking about but definitely was.

“Here,” he said, as she took the towel. “You can have the bedroom to change. Grab anything in the dresser to wear – if you put your wet things outside the door, I’ll run them down to the laundry and throw them right in the dryer.”

She ran her eyes over him again as she nodded and walked slowly back toward his bedroom, closing the door behind her and giving the towel a dubious sniff for freshness.

It smelled like Tide and Mulder, a heady combination that brought her to flashes of his clasping embrace, of evidentiary conversations in rental cars, in interview rooms -- his low brushing voice three inches too close. It was fresh breeze and moschate, and she pushed her nose into it and let herself have the briefest of moments.

Moving herself off his rug and onto the hardwood,  she peeled off her clinging clothes, leaving gooseflesh in their wake. She toweled off quickly and moved to his dresser, assessing her choices.

She dismissed dress shirts and slacks, passed by jeans that she’d practically swim in. Finally in the bottom drawer, she found what might work – a tatty pair of grey sweatpants with a drawstring and a faded Knicks T shirt.

She gave herself a quick look, realizing that all her clothes without exception were completely soaked through, and she’d have to sit in Mulder’s apartment for a good hour wearing his loungewear sans bra and panties.

She’d have driven home right then and there if she felt like she wouldn’t be driving slightly under the influence.

Gathering up her sopping clothes and holding them in front of her like a shield, she headed for the door.

XxXxXxXxX

Mulder was rifling through his desk drawers on a mission to find quarters when he heard the door to his bedroom snick open.

He turned toward her, and there she stood in an old pair of sweatpants and his Knicks shirt, dwarfed by their size, looking like a bird just emerged from an egg. She held her wet clothes out in front of her like a sacrifice proffered the gods.

“Never let it be said,” Mulder said, straightening, shoving the loose change he’d found into a pocket, “that no one looks good in sweatpants. You’ve proved the adage wrong.”

She gave him a small smile, and he leaned forward, taking the bundle of wet clothes from her.

The rain had stolen whatever makeup she’d been wearing and she was fresh-faced and nubile—her skin having the dewy collagen look of a Neutrogena commercial, and Mulder thought his best course of action was to get down to the building’s laundry room before he embarrassed himself.

He changed into jeans and a grey T shirt quickly and bounded out the door, careful not to look behind him.

Once in the laundry room he discovered that all it took was a rainy Saturday for the rest of his building to decide that it was laundry day -- all the dryers were currently being used. He threw the pile on top of one that had the least amount of time left on it and made his way back upstairs.

He opened the door to find Scully leaning over his desk almost suggestively, peering out the windows.

He cleared his throat and she straightened.

“There’s definitely going to be flooding by the river,” she said, looking at him over shoulder. “It’s still coming down out there.”

A few years ago there had been more precipitation than normal and the river-adjacent areas of Old Town had flooded – he and Scully had gotten close once and watched people with canoes and kayaks paddling down the street. He thought back on the memory fondly.

“The dryers are all in use down there,” he said to her as she turned and made her way to his couch. “It’ll probably be another—“

He cut himself off as she sat on his couch, tucking her feet under her. The loose T shirt pulled at her chest as she settled on the couch and her nipples were pert and erect, pushing against the fabric.

“It’ll be…?” Scully said, looking at him expectantly.

He cleared his throat and turned, looking for something he could busy himself with.

“Probably at least 30 minutes before I can get all the clothes in,” he said. “Would you like some coffee? I’m going to make some coffee.”

Scully declined and he beat a hasty retreat into his kitchen. How he was going to survive this day with his reputation and manhood intact, he didn’t know.

XxXxXxXxX

Scully pulled down the blanket that had been resting over the back of the couch the second he was gone and wrapped it around herself like a cocoon. As soon as she’d sat down she could feel her nipples pushing against the soft cool cotton of his T shirt, and while it felt divine – she couldn’t remember the last time she’d sat around in just loungewear (probably college) – she could feel her cheeks burning with embarrassment.

She was feeling a little drunk, and a little in love with her partner, and a little morose because there wasn’t a damn thing she could really do about it.

And Mulder was of course sashaying around in bare feet and jeans and a tight grey T shirt, with his damp hair and his delineate biceps and she wondered how many years past seven she would possibly be expected to not jump his bones.

It wasn’t fair.

He came into the room then carrying two steaming mugs. She lifted her eyebrows at him as he held one out to her.

“Tea,” he said, by way of explanation since she’d declined coffee.

She accepted with a small smile, but thunked her head into the back of the couch in defeat, still feeling petulant. He was even being thoughtful. Why the hell did he have to be thoughtful and sweet right now?

She took a small sip, careful not to burn her tongue and the heat of the brew sliding down her throat made her shiver.

Mulder noticed, his brows creasing in concern.

“You’re cold,” he said in a voice tinged with frustration, and Scully could tell just by looking at him that he thought he’d somehow let her down again.

“Here,” he said, moving toward her, opening up his arms and gesturing with one hand toward himself.

She was feeling buzzed and weak and sorry for herself, so she just stood and walked into his embrace, the blanket falling down behind her.

It’s so effortless, she thought, her arms tucking perfectly under his ribcage and around his waist, her head snuggling under his chin . It’s not fucking fair.

She breathed out a sigh and so did he, his warm breath wafting around her, smelling sweetly of the yeasty fug of beer and a warm, masculine scent of what was just indefinably him.

She wondered how long they could stay like this. How long until the phone would ring or the doorbell would chime or another monster would come to call.

She could feel her hair starting to soak a wet spot through his shirt, so she pulled her head back, turning up to him to apologize, and found him closer than she expected, his head bent down as if to tell her a secret.

Later, she would blame the wine (it wasn’t the wine), or her time of the month (it wasn’t that) or the lunar pull of Mercury in retrograde--anything to blame but her own weakness—but whatever it was, she found herself on tip toe, pushing her lips into the cushy softness of Mulder’s own, his breath sucked in in surprise.

There was a split second where he didn’t react, his body tense and unmoving and her belly dipped low, the rip of embarrassment of his not reciprocating about to tear through her, but then he did move, his lips suddenly pushing into hers urgently, his arms pulling her into him, locking like vices.

The tip of his tongue tentatively touching her lips was all it took for her to let go. She could feel something inside herself unclench and suddenly she was filled with an insouciant lightness and she smiled, she actually fucking smiled and let her own tongue dart out to meet his.

Fuck it, she thought.

XxXxXxXxXxX

It had to be her call. It always had to be hers, Mulder knew, and that she’d called it today of all days, in his cluttered, dusky apartment, her hair slicked back, pluvial and sleek, the tips of her breasts pushing toward him through his own worn T shirt was almost too much to take in. He felt like he was living out a good bad dream.

Scully hummed low in her throat when he plunged his tongue inside her mouth to taste her and the sound turned him animalistic. He reached down to grab her ass, grinding his hips into her and that move elicited a gnarl from her as well, so he continued on lifting, hoisting her up into the air. Her legs instinctively wrapped around him and he could not believe how perfectly she fit into his arms. It was like she was made for him. Strategically, specifically crafted for ultimate Fox Mulder compatibility. Breathless from the realization, he almost didn’t notice that she was yanking at the bottom of his shirt, and he leaned back, trying to catch her eye. Her eyes flicked to his and her tongue rested on her upper lip as she drew breath. He shuffled his feet a bit and backed her up against the wall outside his bedroom, her breath catching as he pressed her into it. “I like where your head’s at,” he said, gently nipping at the flesh of her neck, “but I don’t want to put you down.” “Shirt. Off.” Was all she managed to get out and he grinned into his ministrations. He pressed her further into the wall and brought up his knee, using it to hold her in place while he took his hands off of her and ripped his shirt up and over his head.

The next thing he knew, she was grinding herself into his leg, using the friction from the whole of her weight pressed into small square inches of his knee.

“Holy shit,” he whispered.

XxXxXxXxXxX

She shared the sentiment. Their pull toward each other had always seemed elemental, gravitational—an undeniable force more than a fleeting biological imperative. Had she known touching him this way would feel like this, she would have done it ages ago. It was electric. Anywhere his skin touched hers, it sent a frisson of awareness through her, of lust.  She remembered that gravity was the most powerful force in the universe. When she ground her hips into his knee again, he gave a strangled moan and hoisted her up, moving them through his bedroom doorway and into the room. He paused at the foot of the bed, his mouth on her neck and mumbled into her— “Do you… do you want this?” She almost laughed. His concern about her consent was touching –she also felt a nudging in the back of her mind – a pinging worry that they both might regret this later and she knew he was feeling the same—but the fact that he was asking while she was dry-humping his hips was a comedy unto itself. “Yes, Mulder, Jesus,” she answered, just as he sunk his teeth into the skin where her neck met her shoulder. He laved his tongue over the bite, an apology, and tipped her back onto the bed then, needing no further encouragement. Before she knew quite what was happening, his hand was under the waistband of the sweatpants and his fingers were curling into her sex. Her hips bucked up off the bed at the sensation. “Jesus, Scully, you’re so—“ she nodded at him, knowing the evidence of her arousal would not be hard to come by and she blew out a lusty breath, looking him in the eye. “I need you,” she said, “now .” He stood quickly and raked his jeans down over his hips, kicking them aside. She moved to do the same—wanting no barriers between them, but he held out a hand and stopped her. “No,” he said, “leave it on. Leave everything on.” He knelt back down on the bed, and reached a hand to cup her breast through the thin material of the T shirt, squeezing gently and rubbing his thumb over where her nipple was straining through. She wrapped her arms around him, her nails digging into the hot flesh of his back as he brought his mouth to her other breast and sucked on her through the shirt, his breath hot through the material, his tongue soaking it through. He moved then back up to kiss her and the wet spot he left on the shirt turned cold and she thought she might come just from the sensation. He kissed her soundly, thoroughly, and she could tell he was trying to draw the experience out, but she pushed into him and turned the kiss ruttish, reaching down to grab him, stroking him while trying to draw him to where she most wanted him, not wanting to wait, not able to.

She felt him reach down and pull the waistband of the sweats down, just enough. He positioned himself at her entrance and canted his face back just enough to catch her eye before easing into her.

She returned his look, unblinking, and his top teeth bit into his bottom lip as pushed himself the rest of the way into her, pausing at her apex, filling her right up to her soul.

Love. She’d felt it for him for years, but couldn’t say it. How could she put a word to something so much bigger and stronger than herself? How could mere words contain it? Four letters. Seven years. Miles and miles of feeling inside of them.

Other people felt love, but they didn’t feel this. It was too big, too consuming, too frightening. If other people felt love, she was sure, it was merely in the prinprick light of a star — what they had filled the whole of the sky.

She felt tears forming in her eyes, so she shut them tight and nudged him with her hips. He took the hint and started moving, slow at first, but quicker as she dug her fingers into his back and pulled her knees up to his shoulders. The new angle had him hitting her perfectly and she could feel the slow tingle of orgasm starting to build.

She could tell by his breathing that he was close too, and she pulled him tightly to her, his head tucking into the curve of her neck, the wet slap of their coupling the only sound in the room save their urgent breaths, syncing together as they seemed to do with everything else.

And then she was there, her orgasm starting with a rush from her toes that flashed up through her body like quicksilver, pulsing at her center in a rush. That was all it took for Mulder to come undone as well, and he groaned once and clasped her to him, and they rode out his climax together.

XxXxXxXxXxX

He kept his head tucked into her shoulder, but reached up as their breathing slowed, running his fingers gently down her cheek and into her still damp hair.

“That was...” Mulder mumbled into her shoulder, not knowing how to finish, “I feel like we should high five.”

He finally tilted back to look at her, and caught her wearing an impish grin, her cheeks flushed and rosy.

He felt something dip heavily in his heart and he turned serious.

“I can’t go back to the way we were,” he said, “knowing what this is like, how this feels.”

“Do you think it’ll be too much?” She took his hand from her hair and held it to her cheek.

“I think it’ll never be enough.”

“I… I know what you mean.”

XxXxXxXxXxX

“Do you forgive me for forgetting the receipts?” He asked her after a few minutes of comfortable, reverential silence.

She blinked at him slowly and ran her fingertips lightly up his arm, goosebumps following her touch.

“Ask me again once my clothes are dry,” she said, and crooked a finger at him, all things forgiven.

XxXxXxXxXxX

The End