Work Text:
“Mulder,” she pleads, but I kiss the corner of her grinning mouth and erase all protest, just for a moment.
I’ve never seen her hair this mussed before; the street light is creating a fuzzy halo around her head so that she looks like a human flame. She ferociously bites my lower lip and I think yes, she is made of fire, because everything about her is viscerally hot.
Her palms rest on my chest and warm my heart. The pool of desire at the nexus between her legs is nestled in my lap, occasionally bucking and grinding when she can’t help it any longer. And god, her mouth is searing, and just the awareness of what we’re doing causes me to hum contentedly. The spell I cast with my kiss breaks and she pulls back to look at me with an expression that simultaneously admonishes and rewards me.
“I have to say goodnight. You should go,” she reminds me and reaches to the car seat beside us to recover her jogging clothes.
“We don’t have to, you know.” At her back, I play with the ends of her hair with my hands (which I now know can cover each of her shoulder blades in their entirety while I hold her).
As my fingernails travel up to massage her scalp at the base of her skull, she melts into my embrace, but my Scully is never at peace with stillness, so eventually she slips her shirt over her head. Seeing it on her again reminds me of how we ended up in the backseat of my rental car in the first place. The built-in shelf bra does nothing to obscure the contour of her breasts and her lean figure is exquisitely visible in such a pretty light blue color.
I’m briefly captivated by the mole above her lip, the pink tip of her nose, the smear of mascara under her eyes from every time she squeezed them shut and cried my name. Has it really only been twenty minutes since we were overcome with hunger, stumbling into the first private place we could find? I doubt this motel parking lot is as private as it seemed when our brains were stupid with lust. One look at the west and east corners of the building tells me we were likely caught on camera, but what do I care when she’s soft and pliable and warm in my arms?
Not for long, it seems. She’s wrestling on her shorts. The benefit of a case in the south in the deep of summer is seeing Scully’s shapely legs exposed to the humid air. There’s something enduringly alluring about catching a glimpse of rare parts of her, even after three years. I want to grab her ankle and bite her calf, but such a maneuver is unlikely to be successful in our current confines.
“You could stop by my motel room,” I offer, the picture of innocence, “review the case some more.”
One quirk of her eyebrow and I know she’s not buying it. At last, she hauls herself off my lap, sitting next to me on the seat for a moment to catch her breath. I may not have the pleasure of having sex with her for a second time tonight, but I do have the pleasure of seeing her look thoroughly fucked; messy hair, kiss-stung lips, blush across her cheeks and neck. I can’t help it, I lean down and connect my lips with the spot below her ear that makes her mewl. I get exactly the reaction I want until she swats away the hand cradling her jaw.
“I’m going,” she announces and exits the car. I’m tripping over myself to follow.
Our rooms, as usual, are adjoining. If I’m lucky, there will be a door connecting them, just in case she needs me… just in case she changes her mind. Once she’s keyed open her door, she stalls for a minute to look me up and down. An insecure part of me, the part that knows just how beautiful Scully is and just how lucky I am to have tasted her, hopes she likes what she sees.
“Goodnight Mulder.”
“Goodnight, Scully.”
And before she slips out of my grasp for good, I take her hand and kiss her knuckles. The flying saucers of her eyes tell me she wasn’t expecting it and I wonder if she feels the same growing connection gnawing at her heart as I do.
With one more dazzling look, she disappears into her motel room. My back hits the door of my room and with a loud thud, my head follows, tilting up to look at the night sky. In that moment, I realize how monumentally, cosmically fucked I am.
I’m in love with Dana Scully.
A laugh bubbles up from my chest before I know it’s coming and soon, it’s all I can do, laughing at the sky like a madman. Of all the things that make me nuts, being in love with Scully is the most precious, most usual, and most insane. Oh well. What’s one more obsession?