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“-we probably shouldn’t get into at this late hour.” He laughs softly, mostly to himself, he can’t count how many late night conversations that end only when one of them gives up their point or the other runs out of things to say.
He expects to hear Scully’s laugh as well, but when he looks over at her, he sees that she has fallen asleep, mouth open, head dropped back against his couch. He strokes her hair away from her face, a feeling he can only describe as extreme tenderness washes through him, settling like warmth in his chest.
The blanket he pulls over her is scratchy and old, he’s had it ever since he moved into this place, but it’s all he’s got, besides, at least it’s clean.
Mulder levers himself off the couch, careful not to jostle Scully awake. She’s always telling him to get some rest, he doubts she ever listens to her own advice. He crosses the living room to the bedroom he almost never uses, pulling his sweater and t-shirt over his head as he goes, crawling into bed the second his knees bump the mattress.
Oh what a relief.
He hadn’t realized how tired he’d been--he never does when he and Scully get to talking, but flying all the way to England to be disappointed by a false lead is seriously catching up to him.
The pillow is soft beneath his head, and he wonders idly if Scully will want to get breakfast in the morning, then falls asleep between one breath and the next.
Sometime later--not nearly enough time later, he’s so tired, the bed dips beside Mulder, startling him awake. It’s just Scully, he knows that without opening his eyes. He recognizes the smell of her, and they way she curls up behind him, stockinged feet press against the backs of his knees.
“You okay?” he murmurs, the words thick with sleep. Scully’s nails trail up and down his bare arm gently, soothing him.
“I’m fine, Mulder. Sleep.”
And he does.
Only to be awoken what feels like two minutes later because for some reason, Scully is incapable of lying still tonight. Does she not get how tired he is? Mulder squeezes his eyes tight, willing himself not to snap at her and start an argument at...well, whatever the hell time it is in the morning.
“Scully-”
“Shit!” she gasps, “Mulder, I thought you were asleep, you scared the crap out of me.”
He rolls over to face her, rubbing at his eyes blearily, “I was asleep, you woke me up.” The room is dark so he can’t see her expression, but he can tell by her silence that something is bugging her.
“What’s wrong?” he sighs. The possibility of him getting in any sleep tonight is flinging itself out the window.
Scully let’s out a harsh breath, they’re faces so close that Mulder feels it against his forehead. “I don’t know, Mulder. I just feel...restless. I guess.” The sheets rustle as she makes to scoot out of bed, “You should sleep though, you’re tired. I’m sorry I woke you.”
“Scully-”
“You just got back from a different time zone, for Pete’s sake-”
“Scully-”
“I’m going to drive home, I shouldn’t have fallen asleep here to begin with-”
“Scully!” He makes a grab for her hand before she’s completely off the bed.
“What?” she asks, sounding completely befuddled. Sometimes talking to Scully is like talking to a brick wall.
“What do you think? Get back in bed.” He says, just as incredulous, “You aren’t driving anywhere at-” he pauses to check his alarm clock, “3 o’clock in the morning.”
She encloses his hand in both of hers, they’re barely enough together to cover one of his, “Mulder, I don’t want to keep you awake.”
He gives her a tug, only satisfied once she’s back by his side and he can wrap his arms around her, curve his body around hers, “I want you to keep me awake.”
Scully laughs softly, “Alright.” She turns her head as much as she can, pursing her lips softly against the side of his mouth.
He turns his own head to catch her lips with his, and they stay there for a moment, somewhat uncomfortable, until the moment passes and they break apart. Mulder rubs the tip of his nose against the back of her ear, then touches his lips there as well for good measure.
“Whatever it is keeping you awake,” he whispers, nuzzling the back of her neck, “I think it’s given us both a rather interesting opportunity.”
“Oh yeah? And what’s that?”
Mulder presses against her purposefully, his nuzzling more like kissing and less like soothing brushes of skin, “Well, you know. I’m awake...you’re awake...this is a bed, we’re both relatively young...do you see where I’m going with this, Scully?”
She laughs, this time louder than before, “You’re incorrigible.” she says, but she turns in his arms to kiss him anyway.
From there it’s a downward spiral...or an upward spiral, depending on how you want to describe it.
Sex with Scully is never just sex. It’s one of the few times in Mulder’s life where he’s not only maintaining a physical and emotional connection with someone, but also 100% focused on the here and now.
He’s not idly watching porn to pass the time--read: his loneliness.
When he and Scully are together this way it’s like falling head first from an alien spacecraft.
(Obviously he never uses that analogy with her.)
“Mulder, are you going to make me do all the work?” Scully lifts her head, sitting back on his thighs, from where she’s been doing a decent job of working her way from his neck to his chest.
He shakes himself from his reverie, settles his hands on her hips, “I thought you like doing all the work?” he jokes, trailing his fingers up her sides, pushing them beneath her shirt as he goes. He is nothing if not smooth.
Scully lowers herself over him again, this time slotting there mouths together, and dropping her hips so that she’s hovering right his crotch. “If you’re just going to lie there, Mulder-”
He takes the opportunity as he sees it, tightening his hands at her sides, pulling her down and rolling over her, knees on either side of her hips, and elbows bracketing her head.
He can’t see but the whites of her eyes in the dim glow of the street lamp outside of his window, but he can hear her quickened breathing, feel the way her heart beats against his chest.
Scully is quiet when they have sex. Aside from the occasional whisper of, “Mulder” and the sound of her breathing, the contrasting difference to the porn he so often seeks solace in is glaring in its obviousness.
Mulder, himself is actually not the most quiet sexual being. He gasps and pants, begs, says “Scully, Scully please.”
He may be on top of her, but he’s more at her mercy when they’re like this than he ever is when he has to convince her to follow him on whatever case has fallen into his lap that day.
He needs her. Needs her.
Mulder wonder sometimes if she knows just how much.
He buries his face in the crook of her neck when he comes, hiding away his vulnerabilities.
Scully’s fingers stroke gently through the short hairs at the back of his head, down his neck, and back up. “You know, Mulder, I have no doubts that I was meant to be here with you. None.”
Mulder swallows, he is overwhelmed. With gratitude, with love, not romantic love, though he can’t deny it isn’t a long way off, but instead with a plain love, a love given and returned.
If ever there were a word to describe them it wouldn’t be lovers, but partners, in every sense of the word.
“I’m glad you’re here.” With me.