She's still got it. Years apart, spent alone and with others, and she still knows exactly where to drag her nails over his scalp, what to murmur in his ear, how to angle her hips with every one of his insistent strokes. Mulder suspects she could point out standard erogenous zones across humanity and the limited number of variants the missionary position offers, but it doesn't matter. She touches him like they've never been apart, and the fact of it is as heady as anything her hands and mouth are doing.

He's close, he realizes, and he doesn't want to be anywhere near the end of this moment. (He should have figured out tantric sex back when Sting made it a trend, but like the old song goes: he's not into yoga, he has half a brain.) When he breaks their kiss, his lips still a whisper at the corner of her mouth, it's to grind out, "I wanna feel you come around me, Scully. I wanna feel you -"