jowls | open post.

Keep it down, Scully, someone's gonna hear.

[ With a play at glancing around the empty room like there's any chance he'll be found out and hauled off to the Hague for it. In another moment, he's smiling, unhesitating in his desire to charm her, possibly out of her sensible pantsuit. Possibly just downstairs and onto the couch, where he can glance back at her while he fixes dinner. ]

Anyway, it's the quality of magazines, not the quantity. They were pretty dirty.

If they're watching us here, the cat's definitely out of the bag.

[ She lifts her chin defiantly, echoing his grin. ]

By modern porn standards they barely count as vanilla.

So I'm not kinky enough for Doctor Scully, is that it?

[ It's impossible to resist kissing a smile like that - he doesn't even bother, just leans down to peck her mouth again. ]

Sounds like you're the expert here. Where's the line these days? What do I have to collect to convince you I'm a dirty old man?

I didn't say that.

[ She preens under the attention, like it's an accomplishment-- like she's managed to trick him into kissing her with her teasing. They've always been at their best when they're playful-- or maybe it's the other way around. When things have been good between them, good for them, they fall into it naturally.

Her thumbs brush his skin, just above the waistband of his jeans. ]

I'm perfectly happy with your filthy mind.

[ This is the thing he thinks most people don't know about Scully: she's fun. She's so much fun, all of it hiding inside the skin of a well-dressed doctor spending her days doing serious work to serious ends. And every time she lets that guise slip, it feels like a triumph.

The other thing most people aren't aware of is just how electric her touch is, especially at unexpected moments - but that's a secret Mulder's happy to keep. ]

If you weren't, I'd have some major questions about the turnip. [ This kiss is a little longer, a kind of I know what you're thinking, and the answer's yes. ] Besides, I think you've got your fair share of smutty ideas, just waiting to come out. If I asked you to tell me something filthy, you'd deliver.

[ If anyone guesses it-- that there's a mischievous side to her-- maybe they attribute it to Mulder's bad influence over the years. Like she never used to sneak out to parties wearing Melissa's eyeliner with a pocket of stolen cigarettes, like she doesn't have an serpent scrawled into her back in toxic ink. If anything he's helped temper her, a pressure valve to release her intermittent bouts of chaos in safer ways. ]

Funny, I feel the best ideas were always yours.

[ She smooths her palm down his chest. ]

Lately I just want you-- God, all the time. [ She pauses, smirk widening a little. ] Are you sure you don't want to work a few more weeks?

Oh, they are. [ Breezing past how conceited that sounds - he knows he's got a creative eye for things to do with Scully with no clothes on - and on to the important part: ] But I always enjoy your suggestions.

[ And then, his hands settling at the small of her back - ]

You don't want me at home? Your own personal househusband boytoy - I mean, think about it, Scully, you benefit here.

I do, [ she sighs, relaxing under his touch. He always makes her feel steady and grounded-- no matter where they are, he's her sense of home. That's been the case for longer than they've been a couple, but it's all the more evident now. ]

But if we were in the office together... [ She looks up at him through her lashes, a classic tease. ] I'm not going to fit underneath the desk much longer, that's all I'm saying.

I still need to clean out my stuff. [ Which would be true either way, but is especially true when Scully's giving him that look. ] I think there's still a VCR down there someplace, we could put on some vintage porn and you can make sure I don't miss anything under the desk.

[ The thought of actually cleaning the place out hasn't actually sunk in; he's not sure he's capable of it - even now, even knowing that it's nowhere near as cluttered as it was at the height of their work. Part of him wants the office to stay the way it is, a monument to everything they achieved. Shut it up like an ancient tomb and let some future Howard Carter discover it in a few years. ]

[ After all their years of work in that office-- all the time spent running from the monsters they dug up-- wouldn't it be nice, to leave it behind on a pleasant note? Doesn't Mulder deserve to walk out knowing that even if he's the FBI's most unwanted, she wants him more than anyone else? ]

Very thorough, [ she murmurs approvingly. Sex in the office is an old fantasy standby, and it hasn't lost its appeal yet. Her eyes are dark at the thought. ] I think we should devote plenty of time to that.

Once we've figured out everything under the desk, I'll have to clean off the top of it.

[ With all the time they spent down there, it's a wonder they didn't make more use of the office to X-rated ends. There's something to be said for making up for lost time. To that end: ]

And I can't retire without screwing you on the desk, Scully. Just once.

[ The anticipation will be the end of her. She slides her hand from his hip to palm his ass, unable to hold back.

Really, the only reason she's stayed adamant about no sex in the office is not wanting to compromise the focus on their work. (Okay, and maybe there's something a little special about the idea; if they went for it, maybe it wouldn't work as well whispered in his ear with her hand down his pants.) But if they're wrapping things up-- it's like a special occasion. It's a fitting end to the professional side of a partnership that has come to mean everything. ]

Maybe twice, [ she counters, demanding as ever, a little bit breathless. ]

Maybe twice.

[ Like he was going to demur that offer. He flexes his ass under her hand, bending down until they're nearly forehead-to-forehead. ]

I've been waiting close to thirty years to cash this check, Scully. [ All those idle daydreams, all those times she murmured something to him that was pure smut, every time he ever imagined pushing her up against the back of the door and fucking her so hard that someone upstairs noticed. And here they are, Mulder grinning like a cat who just realized someone left the birdcage door open. ] If you wanted me back on duty, you could have said so.

[ It's ridiculous how badly she wants him. After so long-- it's not just the hormones, though wow that makes things more intense. But it's no wonder she's never been able to truly break it off with him. She wants him-- she loves him-- she can't deny it.

She cranes up to kiss him, soft and glancing, before sinking back down on her heels, pressing herself full-body against him. ]

I thought I just did.

[ And really, she wants them to see it through-- to end their work, together, just how they started it. Sentimentally and practically. But she can't deny that the idea of finally giving into that last fantasy, crossing that one inviolate boundary, is hot as hell. She gives him a quick squeeze. ]

Let's go downstairs. [ Not to cook dinner. They can get to that eventually. ]

"No, no. Meddling from you is..." Welcome is probably too obvious as a lie, if a partial one; he doesn't mind when she sticks her oar in, but when they're not together, it - as the kids say - hits different. Not unexpected is more cruelty than she deserves, especially after what she's taken today. He drags a fry through ketchup like he might find the answer there, in the viscous trail it leaves. "It's worth listening to."

That, at least, is true. Even if he can't imagine himself standing at the front of a class, refusing to let a lesson on staging versus signature get boring, Scully can, and that means something. Maybe he should contact Quantico, make not-overly-sarcastic ha, ha noises when they inevitably ask if he's thinking of a class on little green men, and see what he'd actually be on the hook for. Or, hell, the local community college, where he could drone on about Maslow's hierarchy of needs and wonder where he landed on it.

He wants so badly to touch her foot under the table, to ask why they're torturing themselves like this, to scoop her up into his arms and carry her away someplace neither of them have ever been before and make love to her like they'll die tomorrow. By her metric, this was probably a terrible idea; he's supposed to be over the idea of them. But being around her feels more like living than anything he does on his own, no matter how deliberate he is about it. Running and cooking, medication and therapy, cleaning on nights when he can't sleep - it's all rote memorization of what life's supposed to look like, a fake-it-til-you-make-it existence. Time spent with Scully feels real.

So maybe she's right. He might have to allow for that. Maybe he needs something else to fill his days than a half-assed attempt at a memoir and endless collections of newspaper clippings.

"But that does put me in position to meddle back." He eats his fry and doesn't try to touch her. "You're opening yourself up to some risk, Scully."

Again, he gives her an eminently reasonable reply. It's a surprise, and mostly a pleasant one, though there's that little part of her, still frustrated by the bad years, that can't help wondering if it's intentional-- a way to needle her, to say see, you had no reason to leave, everything could have been fine if you stayed. She knows he doesn't mean that-- even apart she trusts him too much to seriously entertain the idea-- but quieting her own worst impulses is easier said than done.

She doesn't expect him to be over them, exactly. Obviously she isn't-- if she was she wouldn't be here, watching him across the table and wishing they were leaving together. Her brand of fantasy is both more and less intimate than his: she misses being able to lean on his shoulder, misses waking up on cold mornings in a warm embrace. Scully has always been good at being alone, and that's why she's all right without him. But she misses not having to be alone.

"I guess I am," she concedes, careful. "That seems fair."

But if he'll be as reasonable in meddling as he has been responding to it, maybe that's not the end of the world. She'll at least hear him out.

Outside.

[ Downstairs is fine, the couch is fine - hell, the line of Scully's body right here is, even if the drying-paint smell isn't exactly an aphrodisiac. But there's still daylight, not to mention a field that belongs to them, too far from their neighbors to expose them. ]

I'll get a blanket. [ One more kiss, before he gets a crick in his neck, and reluctantly, his arms drop from her. ] You get...I don't know. Surprise me.

[ A bottle of wine, a selection of toys, her own adventurous spirit? He's not picky. ]

[ If he'd countered with right here she'd have agreed easily. Not a single second thought, even though the floor's probably filthy and the paint fumes not good for either of them. There's very little she couldn't be talked into.

Under other circumstances she might make a comment about tick-borne illness, but-- she wants him, she wants nothing but him. And the idea of laying together beneath the open sky, heedless of anyone else on this earth, is very appealing.

Scully slips away with nothing but a smile-- one that might have tried to be coy, but the truth is she's always beaming at him these days, even when she doesn't mean to, and especially today.

She does consider bringing wine-- and maybe some food-- but practicality wins out; if they're hungry they can come back in, and not have to worry about knocking over glasses or getting dirt in the brie. So instead she goes to change into matched lingerie-- nothing scandalous, but at least it looks nice, dark red satin with touches of white lace-- and a silky robe belted loosely over it. Satisfied, more or less, she heads outside to find him. ]

[ She claims the bedroom, and he heads downstairs to find the picnic blanket - which, historically, hasn't spent most of its life folded messily on a shelf someplace. They should do more of this kind of thing, picnics and stargazing and screwing outside. And since the first two are probably going to be the easiest options when there's three of them, Mulder's all in favor of taking advantage of their opportunities to do the third.

He skips the wine, too, mostly because wine is a serious misnomer while Scully can't drink, and he wouldn't pour himself a glass of cabernet while she was stuck with carbonated apple juice. It'll just be them and the deer ticks out there. And, in a fit of inspiration, he strips down to his boxers and kicks his clothes under the porch swing. If a man can't wander around in his skivvies on his own plot of land, out where the population's so small they don't bother putting it on the city limits sign, then where can he?

Which is all to say that she'll find him stretched out in the late-afternoon sun, the softening flesh of an aging athlete on display. He's content with watching the clouds drift overhead, right up until he hears Scully's feet crunching over the wild plants. ]

Glad you could join me. Think that one [ pointing up at a cloud ] looks like an elephant?

[ It makes her think not only of the early days here, when the luxury of a place that was theirs and only theirs had been intoxicating, but of countless half-forgotten nights in between places. Pausing on a long drive to look at the stars, camping in nameless forests. Back when the world was just the two of them, when that was all they could ask for, when it was enough. ]

African or Indian?

[ She squints up at the sky to consider it for a moment-- really it looks more like a Thanksgiving turkey to her-- before letting her gaze fall back to Mulder, reclining on the blanket. Sure, softer than he used to be, but-- and admittedly she's the most biased of audiences-- he's still strikingly handsome, strong and tall and agile; the father of her children, the love of her life. He looks even better now than before she left, she thinks-- he's at ease in a way she can't remember seeing in ages.

Sinking to her knees, and then stretching out on her side beside him, she props her chin on her hand. She, too, is softer than she used to be-- in obviously different ways, still slight enough to be explained away or camouflaged, though undressed like this it's obvious, the way her curves have filled out. ]

I really do miss you all day. [ It's a little shy; but she feels like she needs to say it, needs him to know how much he's with her even when he isn't with her. ]

Cartoon.

[ Cartoon elephants are exactly the right kind of indistinct that lends well towards cloud-watching - though Scully in a bathrobe is enough to draw his attention away from the sky. Who wants to look at clouds when she's right there, just waiting to be unwrapped? When she lies down beside him, Mulder turns onto his side to face her. ]

I miss you, too.

[ There's always more to do here: more ideas for baby-proofing things, a vague desire to build a swingset now so they won't have to later. But with Scully around again, with the knowledge that he can be with her day and night if he wants to, how can he say no?

Maybe it's superstition that's kept him from suggesting he come back to the Bureau, at least until she leaves. Scully loves him - that's not in question - but being around him twenty-four seven hadn't been good for either of them last time. And if things go that way again...well, this time, the cost is higher. Even if they're both in a better place now, even if there's no way she'll leave him again, some part of him can't help but wonder if he's in danger of screwing everything up.

On the other hand, she says she wants him there, and it's not like she was shy about wanting her space when everything fell apart. He believes her, he really does. Maybe they can go out on one more case together. ]

And I can't let you take the office apart by yourself. [ He reaches for the bathrobe's tie, giving it a light little tug. ] You won't know what I want to save.

[ It's an understandable sentiment. After all, she'd worried about moving back in-- even now, the condo is still there, if largely abandoned; eventually maybe she'll sublet, or they'll look at options when Turnip Katherine or Fox Junior is ready for school. It sounds wrong to say that she might have taken this more slowly if she hadn't fallen pregnant, as though coming back was an act of desperation. Little could be further from the truth. If anything it's more like a sign, an affirmation. Like making a snap decision to consider it in the aftermath and figuring out you were right all along.

She scoots a little closer, an undignified wriggle. ]

I assumed you wanted to keep everything we could sneak out.

Okay, maybe you do know what I want to bring back here.

[ This time, when he pulls at the bathrobe's belt, it tugs free entirely. Half the robe flaps open, and he pushes the other half back. He'd half-expected her to come out here with nothing on underneath, but this is better. This is satin and lace hugging her curves, his hand moving over her hip to feel the way it's been warmed by her skin. Beautiful, unquestionably beautiful.

(The condo, he'll ask about sometime, maybe after he's gotten her off. Whether it's going to go the way of every other empty house in their pasts, whether she'll still want to use it - that's the stuff of a conversation post-orgasm.) ]

In that case, I can't let you take apart the office when you're in a delicate condition. [ Leaning in to kiss her, affectionate. ] You can supervise.

[ She lifts her chin a little, pleased as punch as he uncovers her. She does, she knows, look damned good for her age; and really Mulder is as receptive an audience as one could hope for. Framed in satin, she looks all the paler, but not delicate; not with the way her body is soft around the edges, curved and lush.

He kisses her, and she revels in it, reaching to curl her palm around his neck, to keep him close for a moment. ]

I like the sound of that.

[ And he likes this: the skin-to-skin contact, the taste of Scully's mouth, the way she quietly, lightly, just barely takes control. When they break the kiss, he doesn't try to draw back. ]

Besides, I have a case we can look into. How do you like the sound of Hawaii?

[ Possibly the only state they never visited, while they were really working at this. They'd gotten to Alaska relatively easily by comparison. One of his hands settles at her ribcage, thumb brushing up over the satin covering her breast. ]

You're allowed to fly until you're at thirty-six weeks. I checked.

[ pregnant woman airplane lurks somewhere in his search history. ]

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