Though ever practical and rational, she's long since made some space for the intangible and inexplicable with Mulder. There are only so many ways two people can touch each other; but it's as fundamentally true that it's different when it's them. And it's no mystery to her. It's different because she loves him, even when she doesn't say it. Even when she'd left.

It's not as though no one else could get her off-- by now she's long since given up coyness. She knows what she needs and isn't shy about demanding it, or taking care of herself. With him, it's different because she wants him differently; because he is a sort of truth for her, fundamental and unshakeable. It isn't that she needs him; she wants him, desires him. Chooses him.

With a smile, she slides a hand between them to help herself along; she brushes her lips against his with a soft, needy sound, her other hand grasping tightly at his shoulder as she edges closer, her whole body curling toward him when she comes.