Chapter Text
Washington, D.C.
It fits me to a T
It's not the people doing something real
It's not the way the springtime makes you feel
No, no, no
It ain't no famous name on a golden plaque
That makes me ride that railroad track
It's my baby's kiss that keeps me coming back
It's my baby's kiss that keeps me coming back
They stumble out of the bathroom, having finished the shower session with another polar plunge to try and keep their inner temp down. The slush hasn't had much effect on Mulder’s lower regions, though, and on their way to the bedroom he catches Scully's wrist and pulls her gently to him, backing her against the doorframe. His hands slide down her back as he kisses the cold water from her shoulder and she trails her fingers across his stomach, combing through his wet, slick treasure trail, brushing the tips over his towel-clad cock. He licks her neck in response, tugs at her ear lobe.
In the bedroom, Scully cracks open the window. The air outside hasn't changed a bit; it's still hot and humid and they can hear people coming out from bars, getting cabs, being drunk, singing songs, picking fights, shouting love declarations to each other.
Scully drapes her towel over a chair, then sprawls out on the bed with a contented sigh. She puts her arms behind her head and breathes, eyes closed, completely bare. He watches her. Scully’s not shy, but very private. But as she lies there stretched out across the sheets in the glow from the street light it's like the last little fort that she held is gone; she trusts him completely now.
He crawls up onto the bed and cages her gently between his arms. She tilts her head and smiles softly at him.
“You again?”
He kisses the corner of her mouth.
“Just checking on you.”
She shifts slightly beneath him.
“It feels like you’ve got a very specific concern?”
“Possibly,” he says, brushing his nose along her jaw. “You up for a final round?"
She smiles.
“I can be persuaded.”
He kisses her.
“Great. I want to go slow this time.”
She turns in his arms and laughs.
“Mulder, you always go slow.”
“Hey! I can be a stud, too.”
She strokes the back of his head.
“I bet you can, you old softie.”
He squints his eyes.
“I’ve got references. If you're not nice, I’m gonna call them.”
But she’s right, and they both know it. He’s a lovemaker, not a fucker. He’s never been into picking up random people in bars just to shove his dick into them, it does absolutely nothing for him. The only time he ever got unhinged and acted on impulse like that was during Scully’s abduction.
No, sex without intimacy feels wrong to him. As sad as it may sound, he’s sometimes preferred porn to get himself going, then closed his eyes and imagined… gazing.
Diana had serious issues with eye contact during sex. She didn’t even want to look him in the eye, and when he tried, she looked so uncomfortable that it made him feel stupid and vulnerable – beneath her, like he was some kind of puppy seeking confirmation from random people on the street.
Eventually, it wore him down, made him uninterested and insecure to the point that he didn’t want to sleep with her anymore. Looking back, he thinks it was some strange demonstration of power.
Scully is the opposite. While she can be uncomfortable with certain things, and maybe she doesn't initiate eye contact as much as he does, she never lets go of his gaze because he’s too much. Not when he touches her, not when she’s touching him. Not when he’s too sappy or messy or trying too hard or isn't sure what to say. He has missed that, more than he even understood himself.
He kisses Scully's shoulder, then down. Across the rise of her breast, the curve of her ribs. Halfway down to her, um, punani again, she tugs at her hair. He looks up at her, surprised.
“Huh?”
“As much as I love you spoiling me, I think it’s my turn. Come here.”
He scoots up reluctantly.
“You really don't have to… “
“Mulder, I want to. Please, let me?”
She smiles at him. Who could deny her?
“Okay,” he says, “okay, then.”
“Unless you…” she hesitates, “don’t want me to?”
“No, that's not it, sorry. Of course not,” he reassures her. “I just –” he grins, “I just can't seem to get enough of you.”
“Well, then. There are going to be other nights,” she says.
Yeah. There are going to be other nights just like this night. His heart swells in his chest when he thinks about that. An endless pearl string of nights for him to love her.
“Lie down,” she says, “make yourself comfortable.”
He shifts onto his back and she takes his hands and folds them under his head. Interesting. She’s adorable, all flushed and, if he's not mistaken, giddy.
“As you wish, ma’am.”
Scully starts with some exploratory strokes across his chest, threading her fingers through the coarse hair there. He shudders. He’s always been fond of having his chest touched; his nipples are very sensitive. She runs the pads of her fingers over his pectorals, and he exhales, closing his eyes. It's not something he’s used to, being the object of someone’s care. He rarely, if ever, lets himself crave, need or accept tenderness from others.
He usually tells himself it has to do with his restlessness; he’s used to being very active in whatever he indulges in, and that applies to sex, too. But honestly, that’s not the only reason. Giving tenderness doesn’t make one vulnerable, but receiving it… It feels like he’s offering Scully his heart on a tray, exposing himself fully to her.
He feels his eyes tear up behind closed lids. Oh, Fox William, how sappy can you get? And as if she could hear the thought, Scully runs her fingers over his nipples, and he hitches – cock twitching, reaching for her. He opens his eyes. Scully is looking right at him, smiling like a freaking angel as she slowly drags her fingers across his chest. His nipples stiffen under her touch, and when she pinches them lightly, he lets out a slow, low moan.
She smiles and keeps stroking his chest, his nipples and after what feels like an eternity she slowly drags her hand down his stomach. He swallows as her hand hovers over his cock and he tries to shift his hips towards her, trying to have her cut to the chase, so to speak, but no, Scully is apparently conducting research for a new kind of torture method. She traces one single, featherlight stroke up his shaft, from base to tip, with just her index finger. Then she pauses.
He lifts his head to look at her.
“Just so we're clear – are you trying to kill me? And if so, could you at least make it quick?”
She smiles at him, maybe blinking away a tear, maybe blushing a little; it’s hard to tell in the low light.
“No, Mulder, I’m not. You're just so, um... astonishingly beautiful. I… I just wanted to look at you.”
She means it, he can tell, and it fills him with a strange mix of embarrassment and thankfulness. He reaches for her.
“Come here.”
She lies down beside him, and at the same time, she takes him in hand. His breath hitches. For a moment, she just holds him, and he feels his heart thumping in his chest. He turns his head to look at her and she’s looking back and they watch each other for an eternity and he loves her, God, how he loves her.
She begins to move her hand slowly along his shaft. The head is already slick with pre-cum, but she deliberately avoids it. If it weren’t so undignified, he would beg, yes, yes he would. Instead, he opts for another dignified choice: whimpering. And as he does, he squirms.
She huffs a little laugh, kisses his neck, and then runs her thumb over the taut string along the top of his cock. He moans, loudly this time. She hums into his ear and rubs her thumb over it again. And again.
Dear Lord, this is torture.
“Scully…” he lets out between gritted teeth, “um…”
She tugs at his earlobe.
“I’m not done yet.”
She settles her head onto his stomach and opens her mouth and is it going to happen, what he thinks is happening and yes, it's definitely happening: she laps lazily at him, once, twice, while gently cupping his balls with one hand and stroking his shaft with the other. She does it a couple of times more, lap, stroke, cup and it feels like he is going to explode and that would not be just his load, no, his entire body will go up in flames in three, two, one…
“Nope,” he says and sits up abruptly, “no, I take it from here.”
She looks at him, lazily.
“Yeah? And what would that mean?”
“This.”
He flips them over so that she’s on her back and he’s on top of her, watching her lying there flushed, lips swollen.. He nudges her thighs open and one of his hands cups her cheek while the other slips between them, guiding himself to her.
“Look at me,” he whispers.
She does. Eyes wide, flushed, trusting. He nudges forward, just the tip, and they both gasp at the first slick slide of heat. He pauses, giving her time, giving himself time, because at this point it takes the combined self-control of every man on this side of the Milky Way not to just slam into her. He closes his eyes briefly and thinks of England.
“You okay?”
She rocks her hips a little, trying to get him inside. She makes an impatient noise.
“I'm gonna be okay when you're inside.”
Good to know. He pushes in, just the slightest, and she gasps. He exhales shakily, then eases in the rest of the way, slow enough to maintain some sort of control. She puts her legs around his waist, trying to get him deeper. When he’s fully seated, they just breathe – forehead to forehead, chests brushing with every inhale.
“God, Scully,” he manages, “you feel…”
“I know,” she whispers, fingertips tracing the damp hair at his nape. “Me too.”
She kisses him, open-mouthed and messy, tries to get him closer, but he grins at her:
“Hey, hey, slow, remember?”
“You’re the one moving,” she says, then gasps when he gives a careful, deeper thrust. “Not that I’m complaining.”
“Could’ve fooled me,” he says, smiling against her cheek.
He adjusts his angel slightly and her whole body arches. The sound she makes shoots straight down his spine.
“There,” she whimpers, and actually claws a little on his back. “Like that.”
He lets the slow roll deepen into a steady rhythm, a little harder for each stroke. She clutches him closer, gasping, and he can feel her start to tighten around him, pulse after pulse. This is not going to last long.
“Come with me,” he groans, and slips a hand between them, rubbing her clit to help push her over and one thrust, two. That’s all it takes for her to break.
Her body shudders, and she cries out against his shoulder. She clenches around him and there's absolutely no turning back from here. He slams into her a few times, hard, and tips his head back growling.
He comes so hard he sees stars. All of Georgetown most likely hears him howling but he doesn't care, he wants every citizen in the greater D.C. area to know that Fox Mulder and Dana Scully finally did it.
He collapses on top of her, utterly spent. He doesn’t move right away, and she doesn’t ask him to; she just holds him close to her chest. They lie there, tangled and sticky and soft, listening to the sounds of Georgetown’s night drifting through the open window.
“I’m crushing you,” he murmurs, starting to lift himself off her.
“No, please stay,” she says quickly. “I like it. It’s been such a long time since…” Her voice trails off.
They lie there for some time. He plays with her hair, winding soft, damp strands around his fingers, and realizes he’s never been happy like this. At least not since he was a child, not since before Sam was taken. He is utterly and entirely happy in this moment. He’d long forgotten what that even felt like.
Scully shifts slightly beneath him, and he adjusts to cradle her better, one leg sliding between hers, arms wrapping more securely around her. She yawns a little, curls up against him.
“Need to brush my teeth,” she says into his chest.
"You can't be serious," he replies. “Are we done for tonight?”
Scully lifts her head to check the alarm clock on her nightstand. “Hate to break it to you, Mulder, but we’re supposed to be at the office again in six hours. And something tells me we need to shower before going in.”
“I never wanna see Skinner again,” he says. “I’ve got so much better things to do.”
He lets his hand slide over her round buttocks, and Scully watches him in disbelief.
“You're thinking of a forth round?”
He slides his hand over her again, and his cock twitches. Just a little, but noticeably.
She looks down between them.
“Fox Mulder, you're a medical wonder.”
“Well, he’s very fond of your behind.”
She cocks an eyebrow.
“He?”
Scully props herself up on one elbow, looking down at him with suspicion.
He looks at her. She is going to hate what comes next and it is going to be so much fun. He puts on a very serious look.
“Yes, he.”
“Mulder. It’s not a ‘he’.”
“He sure is.”
He titles his head a little, watches her innocently from under his lashes. She hides her face in her hands and exhales.
“Do you want to know his name?” he asks sweetly.
Her voice is muffled under her hands.
“Your penis has a name.”
There's no question mark at the end. She's stating a fact. Correct, because it is a fact.
“Of course he has.”
“Of course,” she repeats slowly.
“Don't you wanna know it?”
“No. Absolutely not.”
“He’s called Augustus Roswell.”
Scully just stares at him.
“No,” she says flatly. “It is not. It. Is. Certainly. Not. Called. That.”
“Yes, he is. Augustus Roswell. First of his name. Keeper of secrets. Explorer of the unknown.”
She lets out a horrified laugh and buries her face in the pillow.
“Why. Why did I just sleep with a man who named his genitals after a Roman emperor and a UFO crash site.”
He rolls toward her, trying to pull her closer but she holds her hands against his chest.
“Because he gives you mind-blowing orgasms.”
He lets go, but instead waves his flaccid dick at her.
“Hey, Miss Scully, you should say thank you to Augustus!”
“Mulder! I’m throwing you out of this bed!”
He nuzzles her neck and pushes his pelvis against her back.
“But he misses you already.”
Scully shrieks and tries to shove him away, but she’s laughing too hard to succeed.
“Stop it! You’re never getting laid again.”
He grins against her shoulder.
“Tell that to Augustus' face.”
She groans and pulls the sheet over her head.
“Augustus Roswell,” she mutters. “God, I have terrible taste in men.”
But she’s smiling underneath the sheet, he can tell. And ten minutes later, when they’ve brushed their teeth and she’s curled up on top of him again, skin against skin and his hands on her back, she whispers that she loves him. Apparently, she’s not that disappointed with Augustus after all.
Scully drifts off, eventually. Mulder lies awake for some time, too happy to go to sleep. He just lies there, feeling Scully breathing, watching the ceiling fan whir gently above them. Apart from that, and a bird chirping just outside, D.C. is finally somewhat quiet. The sky is still dark, the lights in the neighboring buildings shut off, but if you looked east, you could almost sense the dawn beginning to stir on the horizon.
Over in Crystal City, Walter Skinner is fast asleep. He doesn't know it yet, but in seven and a half hours, he’s going to scold two of his subordinates for violating Bureau policy by feeling each other up in a bathroom on the second floor of the J. Edgar Hoover Building.