Any lingering exhaustion from last night has dissipated in the heat of his gaze. Fox Mulder has learned, finally, to make his own luck; in this moment she could be convinced of nearly anything.

She sighs, tension melting visibly out of her shoulders, dragging her nails loosely over his scalp. The moment feels timeless-- like an endless lazy morning in the gold glow of the sun, unhurried and hazy. There are a lot like this to look back on; the good times, really, were very good.

And maybe there are more ahead. A soft sound, a hummed moan, escapes as he leaves his mark. It's an understatement to say he can get away with it. She nudges him with her other knee; half tempted to drag him back up to keep kissing him, but God, she's feeling too selfish for that.

"You always do."