TITLE: Days of Our Lives
ARCHIVE: Please ask first
DISCLAIMER: I don't own XF or Days of Our Lives
SUMMARY: Days of our lives…
AUTHORS NOTES: Both Jess and Claire deserve a huge hug and
tons of chocolate for
helping me out on this. Jess, you're a great sounding board and thanks
for the title! I
couldn't have done this without you… your chocolate covered Mulder
has been FedExed
and will be there by 10:30 tomorrow. Claire, thanks for the last
minute beta- it was great.
As for the rest of you… take it easy on me, this is my first fic.
"I was just thinking," Scully tells him, slumped against the passenger
door of his car.
She's a vision against a backdrop of sunflower shells and empty soda
cans, dry cleaning
receipts and loose change.
He rarely sees her as anything other than strong, independent Scully.
The cool glance she
uses to chill a different man's soul ignites his own. She's a sharper
shot than he is, can hold on to her gun better. She can fold laundry,
color coordinate, spell vulcanization and play poker and win. She
hides her emotions with little effort and any sentence from her
beginning with 'I think' makes him perk up and pay attention.
"Bout what?" Mulder spits another shell onto the floor, promising
himself he'll clean the car one of these days.
"What if we hadn't met?" she asks, tracing a water droplet sliding
down the window with
her finger. It's been a rainy spring and he's been treated to a warm, wet
Scully in his car. Her hair's been curling in the humidity all week and
he's had to stop himself countless times from running his fingers
He thinks about her question as he drives one handed, adjusting the
radio and windshield
wipers with the other. If they hadn't met, he'd have never known this.
His mind flips
through seven years of memories, her introducing herself, their first
lunch together, the
first time he saw her without make up. His mind pulls up images of
movies together in hotel rooms, the way she ducks her head, how she
smiles at him, her
quirked eyebrow at one of his jokes. Their late night conversations
that are reminiscent
of pillow talk without the post coitial bliss. If he hadn't met her,
there'd be no one to straighten his tie before meetings, to fix his hair,
or to sew his buttons back on.
He looks over at her, her hair messed up and her mascara smudged,
fighting sleep and
about to start drooling on the seat belt. He shyly takes her hand and
rests both of them on his thigh.
"I'm glad we did," he tells her, and she smiles faintly.
"All I'm saying, Scully, is that kissing is far more intimate than sex."
She looks up through the window at the house they're supposed to be
scoffs. "How can you say that? It's like comparing apples and
"Apples and oranges? Are we in second grade math here?" She flicks
one of his
sunflower seeds at him and leans against the car door. "Anyways-"
"Anyways isn't a word, Mr. Oxford Education."
"-they're not completely different. One just leads to the other."
"If you're lucky."
"Are you implying something, Scully?"
She rolls her eyes and wonders how they got on this topic. She also
Mulder, who's interested in all things sexual, likes kissing better than
"I didn't say I like it better," he complains, annoyed that she's
misunderstood him when
she tells him what she's thinking. "But you can have sex with anyone;
impersonal if you think about it," he says, tipping his head towards
her, "In the modern
world it's no longer a show of affection like a kiss might be. It's a
form of release, an idea that the media throws at us day after day. But
you can't kiss yourself, when you're by yourself and lonely. In that
way, it's far more personal."
"You really think that?"
"Well, yeah, Scully. And there's so many different ways; a good
morning kiss, good
night kiss, lazy Sunday mornings lying in bed. And each one's
"So? Except for the acts themselves, they're hardly different. You can
have hard, hot
sex, slow, sweet sex. You can have it standing up, lying down like
you said, from
behind, facing each other..."
He chokes on his diet soda and glances over at her. "Are you
finished?" She gives him a
wicked glance and steals a sip of his soda as he continues. "Still, you
need two willing
parties. There's no porn tape for kissing."She giggles against the lip of
his can and he's unspeakably grateful that he can still make that
"Are you sure when they cut you open they didn't find a little guy in
there with a sign,
reading space for rent?" She's grinning as she speaks and hands back
his soda. He takes
a playful swipe at her and she grabs his ear, brushing away his hair and
inside it. "I can see the light at the end of the tunnel," she says
between laughs. He turns his head and kisses her smile, his lips firm
and soft against her mouth.
"One thing leads to another, huh?" he asks, their mouths barely
separated. She gulps and
smiles nervously at him.
"If you're lucky."
They stay up late one night in a motel room, pizza congealing in the
box, baseball on TV
and playing cards spread out between them. He discovered her
competitive streak early
on in their partnership and her passion for Spit not long after. He
plays it with her
because it's messy and loud, and because it gives him an excuse to
"I hit that one first, Mulder," she warns, taking a dainty sip of her beer
and letting out a not so ladylike burp. He grins, glad that they're off
the clock and that she's having fun.
"Cheater," he mutters and she swings a pillow at him. The report is
saved on her laptop,
the rental car returned and they've called a cab to take them to the
airport in the morning.
Nights like this are rare between them, and he wishes he could wrap
each on up and store
it next to his heart.
He makes the mistake of yawning, and even though he tries to cover it
up with a sip of
Coke she notices it and starts to gather up the cards.
"Mulder, you need your rest," she says sternly and he feels like a child
"Just five more minutes."
"That won't work for me, mister."
She follows him into the bathroom and sits on the edge of the bathtub
as he takes out his
contacts and washes his face. She's wearing shorts and one of his long
sleeved shirts, her hair messily pushed back from her face and her
make-up gone. She looks adorable and
cute, sitting on her hands and pretending she's not watching his ass as
he leans over the
"Did you know your tongue is your strongest muscle?" he asks, drying
his face and his
hands, feeling like his mother is watching to make sure he scrubs
behind his ears.
"Not my strongest muscle," she returns, and he's glad it's late and she's
in good enough
mood to joke around. She pinches his nose when he leers at her and
sets his travel alarm
as he climbs into bed. His shirt and pants hit the floor with a satisfying
whack and she
turns out the lights and TV.
He's warm and solid when he coaxes her to lie next to him, his breath
ruffling her hair
and his hand stroking her hip. It ought to be weird, she thinks, to be in
bed with him.
They've been in every other position possible together, yet being
together like this is still new and exciting.
"Just till you fall asleep," she murmurs, all ready drowsy herself. He
and turns on his stomach, draping his arm across her. She presses her
lips to his bare
shoulder blade, not really a kiss at all.
"I love you," she thinks he whispers but she's not sure if she's just
Mulder hits at the alarm until it quiets. She's molded to his back, her
arms around his
shoulders and her leg hooked over his hip. Scully groans and snuffles
against his neck,
pulling him tighter against her when he moves to get up. She mumbles
something as he
sits up and scratches his balls, yawning and stretching in the morning
light. He moves to
the bathroom, kicking his jeans back towards the bed and stripping off
his underwear as
Lying on the bed, Scully pulls his Muldery smelling pillow over her
head and pretends
she didn't just love what she saw. She dozes as he brushes his teeth,
enjoying the buzz of his electric razor and the sight of him in a towel
through the half open door.
When she finally tumbles out of bed, her skin creased from sleeping in
her clothes, she
trips over his jeans and curses. She wishes it was her room that they
had fallen asleep in so she could yell at him about being a slob but
instead she simply picks up his wayward wallet.
"Scully," he calls over the sound of the sink. "Can you toss me my
She digs in his suitcase for it, dumping his deoderant and contact case
on the floor before she finds it. She turns the Irish Spring over in her
hands and lifts it to her nose when she's sure he isn't looking. She's on
Mulder scent over load, the memory of waking up with her nose in his
neck still fresh in her mind.
"Scully," he repeats, a note of irritation creeping into his voice. "The
She thinks nothing of walking into the bathroom while he's all but
naked, the towel slung
low on his hips giving her a nice view of his flat stomach and the line
of hair that trails enticingly downward. He flicks water at her, her
punishment for being so slow and she thinks about sinking her teeth
into his neck, marking him as hers.
She doesn’t know when her social group became one UFO chasing
man and three
computer geeks but the move was slow and sure. She thinks nothing
of an evening spent
sitting around a monitor with them, eating pizza and drinking beer.
Mulder invited her,
of course, and she couldn't resist his gravely I-just-woke-up voice.
His arm rests on the back of her chair and she leans slightly into him,
aftershave and leather scent. She'd like to drag him somewhere private
and inspect his
slapdash shaving job up close but settles for circling her finger on his
thigh and watching him squirm.
The Gunmen pull up some vintage computer game and ask Mulder to
play; they look
suspicious when he declines, affronted that he'd chosen her over them.
Get used to it, she wants to gloat but it's still too soon to lay such
definitive claims on him.
He leans towards her and his lips brush her ear. She's glad the
Gunmen are engrossed in
their game so that they don’t notice the flush that spreads across her
face at his closeness.
She's surprised at how comfortable he feels next to her, the same man
she does case
reports with is now tracing her ear with is lips.
"What's happening between us?" he asks, his breath puffing against
her neck, his fingers
starting to draw lazy patterns on her arm.
"Hmm?" she murmurs, enjoying how warm and solid he feels.
"Never mind," he says, losing his nerve and drawing away slightly.
She kisses him when they leave the Gunmen's later that night, tasting
pizza and beer in
his mouth. She hopes the Gunmen see her arms around him, her
tongue in his mouth,
marking him as hers.
He can't truly remember having a woman cook for him; Diana
certainly never went near a
stove, and he didn't trust English cooking enough to eat what Phoebe
made. His mother
cooked a bit before Samantha was taken and afterwards he was on his
own to find food.
He watches as Scully drains the pasta, a cloud of steam curling the
ends of her hair and
knows the other women couldn't have come close to this.
It's a non-date; they claim they're just spending time together at her
they'll go over some cases after dinner or watch a movie. He imagines
colleagues at the FBI would think of Mr. and Mrs. Spooky wooing
each other over pasta
primavera, white wine, and smiles.
"What are you laughing about?" she asks, brushing her hair back. Her
gorgeous in the soft light and he can see the faint marks he left a few
"This is weird," he replies, waving at the space between them. His
legs are sprawled out
from where he's sitting at the kitchen table and she steps over them on
her way to the
fridge. "You, me, us."
"Good weird or bad weird?"
"It's never been like this for me."
She gives him an odd look and hands him a glass of milk.
"Drink up, you need strong bones." She stirs the sauce and tosses the
away from him for a moment before responding. "I'm no good at
relationships either, if
it's any conciliation."
"That makes me feel a whole lot better."
He grabs her wrist when she passes him, setting forks and knives on
the table. I'll cook
and you clean, she had said when she answered the door.
"Scully…" She looks down at him, his thumb circling the back of her
hand, his eyes
bright and intense. "Go out with me."
She laughs and looks away, amazed at the sixth grade feel of this, the
excitement. As if they have all the time in the world to work this thing
out between them, as if there's no rush. It's never been like this for her
"Mulder…" she replies in much the same tone, drawing his name out.
He looks up at her,
all bright eyes and tan skin. God, he's gorgeous, she thinks and has the
urge to rip his
shirt over his head and never let him leave her sight again. He's
nervous, she sees and
thinks it's ridiculous that after all this time he could think she doesn't
want him. "I'm scared," she whispers, unsure of where that came
"Of what?" He's genuinely confused. "I don't think I'm that scary."
"What if it doesn't work out?" she asks. What if you don't feel the
same way about me as
I do you? She doesn't speak her greatest fear aloud, trusting him to
read it on her face.
"We'll take it slow," he declares, as if that will fix everything. "We'll
figure it out."
"What about work? What happens in hotel rooms, on cases-?"
"Whoa, Scully, I said slow," he reminds her and she's embarrassed for
jumping so far
ahead. She nods and squeezes his hand in hers.
"Shit, the sauce-" She jerks away from him and hurries to the stove,
turning off the heat
and moving the pan to another, cooler, burner.
"Scully…" He fidgets, unsure of himself now that he can't see her
"Ok," she answers, fixing their plates and finding her nice napkins.
"Scully," he hisses, grabbing her shoulder and shaking her. "Scully,
there's *bugs* in my room."
She reacts on pure instinct to his scandalized voice and wide eyes,
shoving the covers
down and jumping out of bed. It's not until her feet hit the floor and
she's wildly looking for her gun that she processes what he's said.
"*Bugs,* Mulder?" she asks. "*There's…* Mulder, are you feeling
She puts the back of her hand on his forehead and he slaps it away,
*bugs.* I *hate* bugs."
She remembers a case with a certain entomologist and rolls her eyes.
"Why don't you
call Bambi to help you out on this?"
He shifts from side to side, clearly agitated as Scully flicks on a lamp,
light on his bare muscles.
"Mulder, it's forty degrees outside," she admonishes him, pulling one
of his shirts she
won't admit to having out of her suitcase and throwing it at him. He
pulls it on, covering the smooth skin and she swallows.
"I hoped to give you a thrill," he quips.
"Why are you here again?" She pokes at the lumpy hotel pillow and
resisting the urge to
smooth his messy hair.
"*Bugs,* Scully," he grabs her hand and pulls her towards him.
"You've got to help me."
Dear God, she thinks, eye level with the few strands of hair peeking
from his collar. She swallows again, her mouth dry and allows herself
to be propelled from her room. She is reminded of running through
the Antarctic snow with Mulder; all though it isn't nearly as cold here,
her bare feet burn as they hit the pavement, hurrying across the
parking lot to Mulder's room. Anyway, they've actually kissed now.
And there's *bugs.*
He tosses the door open but refuses to enter and she nearly collides
with him in the
doorway. Images assault her as she looks from Mulder to the room
and back. His panic
face in Dallas, his midnight confession about his fear of bugs,
swarming locusts in
Africa… The room's not nearly as bad as she thought from his fright,
but it is a little
"How did you not notice this before?" she asks, watching a colony of
ants march up and
down the wall. She approaches the bed, carefully lifting the pillows
and dislodging two
mating spiders. The bathroom reveals a wasp nest in the medicine
cabinet and another
ant colony in the shower head. The bed frame has termites living in it
and carpenter ants have left a nice pile of sawdust outside the closet.
"I was, um, busy," he stammers, still outside. He peers in cautiously
and she glances at
"Cleaning your gun and watching porn again?" she asks, amused when
sheepishly. "Call the manager in the morning," she suggests and
brushes past him on the
way back to her room.
"That's it?" he whines. "In the morning? Scully…"
"Mulder," she says, stopping in the middle of the parking lot and
facing him. He looks
like a lost boy with is hair standing straight up and his pajama pants
too, she decides and indulges herself for a moment, admiring him in
the dim light. "I'm
tired, my feet are dirty and bugs aren't going to kill you."
She thinks about how they must look, him tall and lanky, his skinny
frame back light by
washed out lights. She knows the dim lights conceal the shadows
beneath her eyes, but
without a robe she's cold and crosses her arms tightly around her
middle. He cautiously
touches her elbow and pulls back quickly, moving ahead of her and
She thinks of herself, arms wrapped around her waist, shivering
against the cold and
trudging determinedly past him.
"I'll lick them clean," he suggests pitifully, jogging to catch up with
her. The white lines dividing the parking spaces glow eerily and she
nearly trips over the curb, opening her door. "You feet that is. Can I
sleep on your floor?"
"I'd have to listen to you complain about your back all of tomorrow,"
she says, wiping her pavement blackened feet on the carpet and
flipping down the bed covers.
"Your bathtub?" he asks hopefully as she checks the alarm.
"Get in bed, Mulder," she sighs, hoping she doesn't sound ecstatic at
"Really?" She shoots him a look and slides under the covers, adjusting
herself on the
lumpy mattress. A large arm slides around her waist and she feels him
"Good night," she says, reaching out to turn off the light and relaxing
back against him.
"G'night," he murmurs, his voice muffled.
"Are you smelling my hair?" she asks, identifying the snuffling
"Smells good," he grunts, pulling her closer. She flips over to face
him, stroking his face, not surprised when he leans in to kiss her. So
this is what happens in hotel rooms, she thinks, backing up to their
"Mulder, we're on assignment," she admonishes him, pulling her
traitorous hands from
his shoulders and wiping her mouth.
"Risky, isn't it?" he sighs, pressing his lips to her neck. Oh God, she
thinks as he moves over her, large and ungainly. He's all long limbs
and knobby knees, his elbow digging into her side and his hair tickling
her nose. He's perfect.
"Mulder…" she grinds out, slapping his hand away from the buttons of
her top. "C'mon,
Mulder, not in some hotel room."
"Sorry." He immediately pulls away, flopping on his back and
pressing his fists in his
eyes. "I'm sorry, I probably shouldn't sleep here."
She tugs him back down, kissing his hair and wrapping her arms
around him tight.
"Relax," she whispers, and he snuggles deeper into her. She thinks
he'd crawl inside if he could. "Anyway, there's *bugs* in your room."
Her knees digging into the floorboards of Mulder's apartment and his
hand fisted in her
hair, she is strangely reminded of sucking on her thumb as a child.
Except her thumb
never groaned her name, never squeezed its eyes shut when she
reached for its fly and it
certainly wasn't this big. Thumbs don't have flies, she thinks absurdly
as she slides him a little deeper in her mouth. Then again, neither do
Scully has an irrational worry that she's doing it wrong, sucking too
hard or not hard
enough, her hand pumping too slow or too fast. She remembers going
down on Jimmy
McFarland in tenth grade, her braces nearly drawing blood. Good
God, she thinks,
listening to him moan and feeling the shudders racing through him as
she cups his balls
gently, that was nothing like this. It's been so long since she's had
substantial in her mouth. And rocket pops don't count.
He moans her name as he comes, slumping against the wall and
dragging his hand across
his face. He's flushed, his lips swollen from her earlier kisses, his
chest rising and falling as he catches his breath.
"Shit, Scully," he moans, dragging his pants back up and stumbling to
the couch. He sits
on the edge, still shaky enough that he slides off and ends up sitting
against it, his knees drawn up to his chin.
She leaves him there and walks to his bathroom, pulling out the
toothbrush she keeps
there. She'd expect to look different, like something fundamental
about her has changed
in the last half hour but she finds the same face as always staring back
at her. She
straightens her hair, running her fingers through it and untangling what
He clears his throat from the door way and she turns around, suddenly
terrified. Will he
expect sex now? To go down on her? To look over the case files
stacked on his desk?
He still looks shaky standing there, one hand braced on the door frame
and the other
toying with the hem of his shirt. She remembers licking the line of
hair trailing just under his hand and gulps.
"Mulder, I think-"
They grin sheepishly and he holds out his arms to her, drawing her
against his warm bulk
and kissing her hair.
"Much better," he murmurs, and she holds on to his waist tightly. The
back of his shirt is wet with sweat and she trails her fingers up and
down his damp spine, kneading the
muscles there. She can hear the faint sounds of his neighbors, a car
honking in the street and is amazed that life still goes on after this.
"It’s early," she says, drawing away to rest her forehead on his. She
pulls her hand up his back and glances at her watch over his shoulder.
"Not even seven." He grunts and
tightens his hold on her, his own watch digging into her hip and she
swears she can feel it ticking slowly, they’re so still.
"Did you know the average person spends two weeks of their life
kissing?" he asks her.
"A one minute kiss burns 26 calories," she returns, briefly feeling up
his ass and watching him bite his lip.
"If we spent 30 minutes a day kissing, does that mean you'll stop
putting that bee pollen
crap in your food?"
They stand there awkwardly and Scully has to fight the urge to fidget,
uneasy with the
tension between them.
"The Yankees are playing."
"Scully, I didn't think you cared."
He kisses her on the nose because he loves her and is beginning to
think that's ok.
Scully is making her bed, jerking at the mattress pad and smoothing it
down again. She
nearly twitches with irritation and Mulder considers simply leaving.
"All, I'm saying is-"
"I don't care what you're saying," she snaps back, throwing four
pillows at him and their
cases. The rain pelts against her bedroom window and he flashes back
to their first case, standing in the rain and laughing. "You told me I'd
be able to spend this weekend at home."
"You were home last weekend," he points out helpfully.
"That. Was. Last. Week." She accents each word with a pull on the
sheet and Mulder is
sure that she is going to rip it soon.
"Did you know the average America walks four or five miles making
their bed each
"Unless this is a case about a homicidal bed maker, you're not being
He pouts and picks up one of the pillows, shaking it into the case and
throwing it back at her. Stop it, he wants to shout, to grab her and
shake her until they can get back to the point they were at a few days
ago. Things were going so well, he thinks.
"-don't see why we have to fly to New Hampshire anyway. This is
barely a case and I'm
sure the local PD can handle it without us. If you would just stop
sniffing around for
"Five unexplained deaths isn't 'barely a case,' Scully. *Unexplained.*
As in they just
died, no cause of death whatsoever. The local PD called the Boston
bureau and they
forwarded-" He stops short, half bent over to grab another pillow case.
"Sniffing? I don't sniff, Scully."
He straightens and rubs his eyes with the heels of his hand. He doesn't
happened since that night in his apartment. He reviews it carefully in
his mind; ate
dinner together, did the dishes, she gave him a blow job, they watched
the Yankees game
and he kissed her goodbye. Was she expecting something more? he
thinks, his blood
chilling at the thought. Was that where I went wrong?
"You can meet me at the airport at eight tomorrow," he finally says,
carefully not look at her, afraid he might be right. Should he have
pressed the whole sex issue that night? Shit, should he have gone
down on *her?*
"I'm not going, Mulder," she says, settling the comforter over the bed
and tucking her hair behind her ears. She plants her hands on her hips,
facing him and getting prepared for a fight. "I've had enough of you
dragging us to the middle of nowhere on half assed leads. There's no
case here, and certainly no X-file. No more of this; from now on I
want a say in what cases we take and when we take them. Did Skinner
even see the 302 for this, Mulder? He didn't, did he? You're just
going again, no regard for protocol-"
"Eight o'clock," he interrupts, sliding his jacket back on and heading
out the door. "I'll see you then."
The woman in front of her is pregnant. She's sure of it, the slight swell
tank top, the way she orders decaf coffee. Scully watches the woman's
approach, the way his hand slides over her stomach as he kisses her.
Damn it, she thinks, leaning around them to grab extra napkins and
Scully heads back to where Mulder's sitting, slouched against the back
of the booth, his
reading glasses perched on his nose. He looks adorable, she admits to
wonders if it's still acceptable to lean over and kiss those pouty lips.
"She's pregnant," she informs him and he barely glances up, reaching
blindly for his
"You didn't get me a straw?"
"Bet it's their first, the way they're acting."
"Scully, I asked you to get me a straw."
"Shut up, Mulder."
He glares at her, dragging himself out of the booth to get his own
straw. He doesn't fit in McDonalds, him with his overly expensive
suits, his impeccable manners, and the slight
swagger as he walks.
"Who's pregnant?" he asks, sliding back in and blowing his straw
wrapper at her. She
bats it away and plays with her salad. He finally tears himself away
from the case report
and looks up at her. "Scully?"
"If we get involved, I can't have your children," she states calmly,
spreading her salad
"Is that what this is about?"
She shrugs and picks at her dinner, her knee bumping the congealed
gum on the bottom
of the table. It's a concern of hers, that she's somehow inadequate for
him even if she
knows it's not true.
"Scully," he says softly, leaning across the table. "I want to work this
She shrugs again and fumbles for his hand, grasping his long fingers
and squeezing. He
curls his hand around hers, his foot finding hers under the table and
stepping lightly on
"I want this to work," she confesses, pulling his hand closer and
cradling it in two of hers. "And I'm terrified that it won't."
He speaks slowly, choosing his words. "I think that we've proven we
can do just about
anything," he says, putting his elbow in his ketchup so he can lean
closer to her. "I think that after all these years, all the monsters, all the
injuries and heartache that we deserve this."
"Tell me it's all going to work out."
He draws back, a bit surprised at her uncertainty. They seemed to
have switched roles
here and he smiles softly. "It's all going to be fine."
They lay for hours on his motel bed, rolling around a bit, talking in
rough voices. They
kiss endlessly, his mouth warm and skilled on hers until she can't
think. Her entire world has shrunk to him, his hand under her shirt, his
long thigh in between her legs and his tongue stroking along hers. She
can feel the low fire burning in her, throbbing between her legs and
running in her blood. She thinks that if he were to let go now, she'd
float away on endorphins and Mulder scented clouds.
You're my tether, she wants to tell him as he grinds his hips into her
leg. She wonders
where the whole touchstone business went and decides she doesn't
care when he pinches
her nipple between his thumb and forefinger.
Later they lie under the covers, getting used to being naked around
each other. Their
entwined hands lay on the bedspread and Scully presses her cold toes
against his leg. His erection bumps her hip and they smile shyly at
"I'm kinda nervous," he confesses, tucking her hair behind her ear and
grinning stupidly. "I feel like I'm losing my virginity again."
She feels the same way and gingerly moves closer to him until their
bodies brush against
each other. He whimpers when she traps his erection between their
stomachs and she
rolls over him, her face tucked into his shoulder. His hands run
soothing lines up and
down her back and she kisses his neck.
"Don't go looking for an impressive performance," he warns as she
raises her hips up a
bit. "This could be over real quick; it's been a while."
"M'kay," she slurs, sliding down on him and bracing her hands on his
chest. He cradles
her face in his hands, pulling her down to kiss.
"This isn't weird," he says as if he expects it should be.
"Shut up, Mulder," she says for the second time that night, tipping her
head back and
closing her eyes. He thinks of all that's lead up to this, the fights, the
flirting, the shy kisses.
He traces her throat with a finger then leans up and kisses it. No, he
thinks. This isn't
weird at all.
To his mild disappointment, he's found she still fights with him.
"I don't care if it's raining," she says. Breakfast is the topic this
morning and he huddles down into the blankets. Her bare back is
gorgeous in the soft morning light and he traces her tattoo with his
finger. She bats his hand away and keeps on talking. "You said you'd
go get bagels because you ate all my cereal yesterday and anyways,
I'm out of coffee."
"Anyways, Scully, MD?" he teases, prying himself out of the warm
cocoon of her bed.
He's still a bit sticky from last night. Or was it early this morning? No
matter, he feels great and glances at the woman sprawled under the
covers. "I love you," he murmurs, bending down and kissing the back
of her neck. They're still giddy with revealing these feelings to each
other and she slaps his ass affectionately.
He drags on his jeans and goes to her dresser where he's started
keeping some of his
clothes. The sheets rustles around her and when he turns around she's
on her back, light
spilling over her breasts and stomach. How can I walk away from
this? he asks himself
and kneels by the bed, his hand sliding under the covers and finding
her. She's all ready wet and moans quietly as he explores with his
"Stop lurking and go get breakfast," she says, rolling away and pulling
up the sheet to
hide the flush on her cheeks. He grins at her word choice and kisses
her ear. "Dilly
dallying, wasting time, whatever, just go."
"It's my birthday in two weeks," he says, backing out of her bedroom
and taking on last
look at her. "I know what you can get me."
"You share your birthday with nine million other people," she shoots
back. "Now get."
He chuckles and runs his fingers through his hair, pulling on his jacket
and closing the
door behind him.