Chapter Text
It had been one of those cases in which they just hadn’t been able to see eye to eye. To the point where Scully hadn’t even tried to hide her eye-rolling as he went on about ectoplasm, mediums and poltergeists. Or as she liked to categorise them: green jello, hacks and bored teenagers.
Despite their constant disagreement they both admitted to the fact that it had been an entertaining case, that their reports would once again be exponentially different and that Mulder owed Scully for another pair of perfectly good shoes ruined by exposure to some disgusting substance.
They were both sitting in the well-worn couch at Hegal place. Their coats draped over chairs near the entrance. He had changed out of his work clothes into well-worn jeans and a grey shirt, and she had caught herself admiring the back of him as he bent over to get beers from the refrigerator.
But now the coffee table is covered with empty bottles, and through the sluggish feeling of mild inebriation, Scully wonders why on earth Mulder has so much alcohol in his apartment. “Mulder, “ she asks, slurring slightly, “where you planning a party?”
He smiles to himself as he takes another long swig of his beer. “I used to be an Indian Guide, Scully. I’m always prepared.” Rather than retort, she finishes her drink, sets it down, and tucks her legs underneath herself. He stares at her stockinged legs and wonders what her skin must feel like underneath the flesh-coloured fabric.
“You still believe that medium was the real thing, don’t you.” she states rather than asks, knowing full well that Clyde Bruckman cancelled out the fraudulent Stupendous Yeti in his book.
“There have been documentation of mediums for years and years, Scully.” he says flushed. The alcohol lowering the pitch of his voice to a sultry baritone. Even in the Bible, the Old Testament has the prophet Samuel, that consulted his former mentor about a battle. There’s been a myriad of cases in the 19th century, and there are even some scientists that have studied spiritualism and have become converted. Even Pierre Curie, who was a Nobel laureate. And Arthur Conan Doyle, who, I shouldn’t have to remind you, was a physician besides being a writer. I have no doubt that the mind can access portals of communication that we can’t even begin to understand. That perhaps there are different dimensions, and that certain individuals can access a trancelike state in which they can become portals to these dimensions.”
Scully listens patiently, paying more attention to the rich velvety quality of his voice. It makes her think of honey and molasses. She squeezes her thighs to relieve some of the pressure and heat that she suddenly feels between her legs. Mostly, she wonders what his voice sounds like when he orgasms. She decides that she wants to find out.
He keeps going on about rasping noises, telekineses and spirit manifestations until in a sudden surge of alcoholic courage she says, “Please shut up, Mulder.…I just….I can’t stand how appealing your voice is. Even if what’s coming out of it is absolute hogwash.”
He stops mid-sentence, more as a result of the second part of her statement than the instruction to stop talking. He studies her face and can’t decide whether the flush on her skin is the effects of beer or arousal. He decides he wants to think it’s the latter.
He shifts until his shoulder is touching hers and leans until his lips are almost touching her ear.Okobogee, he thinks and exhales through his nose, moving the wispy hairs that frame her lobe. “How about now,“ he murmurs softly, trying to fluster her.
The tables turn when Scully twists her head and catches his lips with hers. His eyebrows shoot upwards as her tongue tentatively touches his. She pulls away from him, blushing and out of breath. “Oh. So this is how I get you to shut up.” she marvels, licking her lips.
He looks at her with awe and takes note that 5 is the number of beers that it takes for Scully to lose her inhibitions. He vows never to have less than that in his house.
“No more talk about mediums then, Scully?” he whispers.
“No more talk at all, Mulder.” she replies while she leans in to kiss him again.