jowls | open post.

"I know," she murmurs, idly dragging her thumb along his thigh. She doesn't sound disappointed; this whole gambit was one of those it's the journey, not the destination things. Has to be, because otherwise it's self-defeating.

And it doesn't matter, really; not for her sake. For his sake, she's still a little worried, because it's not her. (Because, in a way, maybe it is about her. Someone she has yet to become.)

She eases herself back towards him, stretching out alongside him, resting her head against his shoulder and absently tracing his collarbone with her fingertips.

She doesn't have to sound disappointed; he feels disappointed enough for them both. Embarrassed, frustrated - emotionally and sexually - and generally inclined towards moping about it. It all comes down to him, when push comes to shove, and he's clearly incapable.

After so much time, it shouldn't be this difficult. This is a fantasy come to life, having her back. And yet here he is, lying there with anger eating away at his stomach, even with Scully moving up his body. He wraps both arms around her, kissing the top of her head.

"Is it a cliche to say that's never happened before?" he asks, unable to keep some bitterness out of his voice. It's not strictly true - but it's never felt this dire. They'd been able to laugh about it, knowing they'd manage it later.

There isn't an easy way to respond to it; like he says, it's not about her-- so her reaction is going to be secondary. She can try not to make it worse, but she can't do much to truly make things better.

"In fairness, none of this has ever happened before," she points out, shifting so she can look at him, her chin on his shoulder. There's a part of her that wants to pick it apart, to talk about all of it-- not what happened or didn't, but the history behind it-- but she's not ready to get into it. Not in the middle of the night, still thrumming from the feel of his hands on her. The better thing would be to salvage the mood as best they can, and maybe convince him to sleep a little.

She's beautiful, looking up at him like that. He leans in and pecks her mouth, trying to recapture what it felt before they discovered the extent of his body's refusal to cooperate. It can't be helped, can't be overcome - but earlier, it hadn't mattered.

"Let me make it up to you," he murmurs, giving her a little squeeze.

As worried as she is about him, she still smiles easily.

"Because you want to?" she asks, tone light, a little wry. Not because he thinks he needs to for her sake. She doesn't feel cheated, so she doesn't need a consolation prize.

But that doesn't mean she's going to turn him down.

And of course-- she knows him, after all-- whatever he's offering to do isn't solely for her sake, the same way she'd greedily wanted to blow him.

She leans in again to kiss him properly, with a little more heat, inviting him to make it up however he'd like.

"I'll let you in on a little secret, Scully," he answers, after that kiss. He's nudging her onto her back, moving to cover her body with his own. "I always want to."

It's not much of a secret, not even in her own time. He knew better than to let his interest touch her directly, but he didn't make any effort to cancel his subscriptions or take his video collection home. But it's still worth saying, looking into her eyes now, closing the distance between them for another heated kiss.

He starts at her mouth, but soon, he's at her jaw, then her throat, down to her collarbone. Eventually, they'll get where they're going, but he's pausing at her sternum first, looking up at her from between her breasts. "You have the best rack I've ever seen, you know."

There's a part of her that has to admit she's nearly always known that, and that she's never been bothered by it. The tension between them started early, and though she'd thought they might never act on it, it's become... oddly comfortable. Familiar.

It's never made a difference to the way he treats her; that, she thinks, is why it's never bothered her. When he's challenged her opinions it's because he genuinely disagrees, not because he doesn't respect her; when he champions her, it's because he knows she's right, not that he's trying to curry favor. It's a dynamic she wouldn't have believed if she hadn't been living it.

So she rolls easily with him, her hands coming back to his shoulders; now that she has license to touch she's not going to quit. She lets her eyes fall shut as he kisses her, focusing all her attention on sensation until he pauses and speaks, making her grin as she looks back at him.

"That means a lot," she says, too earnestly to be serious. "You're a connoisseur."

He laughs, and for the moment, it doesn't matter that his cock won't work. He presses a little kiss to her breastbone. "An expert in the field."

And they've paused here for a reason. If they're here together, he's going to linger on her breasts for as long as he can reasonably justify. Little kisses to the soft flesh, little nips, mouthing lightly at her nipple - and then less lightly, catching it between his lips, letting his teeth graze over it. He's rolling over the other nipple with his thumb, sensitive to her reactions: the feel of her under him, the sound of her breath.

She hums agreement, and threads her fingers through his hair. It's such a simple pleasure just to touch him; there's been this odd tension since she arrived, and in retrospect there's no question that it was just distance,, that he wasn't letting her get as close as she was accustomed to, like he didn't quite know where the boundaries should be. But the boundaries, for them, have never quite worked right.

It makes it doubly clear that this is as much for his pleasure as her own; she watches him until she can't anymore, tipping her head back with a sigh. Mulder is undeniably an expert; he has the advantage of experience, but really, she thinks his enthusiasm would be enough even without that.

And it doesn't take her long to forget entirely about any awkwardness; beneath his lips and fingers she's soon flushed and wanton, shifting against him, her fingers tracing abstract paths on his scalp, her breathing a little ragged. God, she didn't know she could get this hot and bothered just from this.

(But Mulder, of course, is never just anything.)

Once she's worked up, her hands in his hair, he draws back and lets his breath blow cool over her breast. This time, he doesn't say anything - but he flashes her a knowing smile. Whatever else is true, he's still got it in this one respect.

He keeps moving down her body, dropping the occasional kiss on her soft stomach, his eyes never leaving her face. Once he's in position, he presses another kiss to her mound, tempted and tempting all at once. "You told me once that you knew I'd be good at this because I eat so many sunflower seeds."

The rush of air gets a little gasp from her; she twists a little so she can look at him again. He looks pleased with himself, which she has to admit is well-deserved. She can't help a little shiver of anticipation, realizing his intentions.

"Oral fixation," she murmurs, a tease with no sting because, well. She'd be self-conscious in this moment with anyone else, but not with him. How can she be? She shifts her knees apart to give him a little more room, eager to find out what she's been missing.

"With you? Always." He's smug, but there's something almost joyful about it; there's a real pleasure to knowing what he can do to her. For her. Scully's a puzzle he'll never tire of solving, rewarded each time by the ways she responds. For years, he'd honed his technique, finding new and ever more satisfying ways to get her off. Having the opportunity to show her everything he's got is a surprising new horizon for him.

When he lowers his head to her pussy, he starts slow, wanting to drag things out as long as he can. Little flicks of his tongue, long swipes, the teasing stroke of his fingers - tasting her, listening for the hitch of her breath and those soft sounds she makes. She's already hot and bothered, just from her tits, and in a just world, he'd be fucking her the way she deserves. Until that's where they are, though, Mulder sets about getting her to come undone - leisurely, completely - beneath his mouth.

Even if she didn't stand to benefit from this-- immensely-- she'd be thrilled to see the way he's lit up. In the moment the heavy sorrow he carries seems a little lighter-- maybe not set down, but set aside.

As deliberate as he is, he doesn't give her enough time for her arousal to ebb-- she shifts into this new rhythm easily, with a soft huff of breath marking the first time his tongue touches her, little needy whines as his fingers fill her. Of course she wishes it could be different-- that they could have overcome whatever's keeping him in his head-- but there's no chance of him leaving her unsatisfied.

"God, Mulder," she murmurs, regretting a little that it's so dark-- she wants to watch him, knowing she'll find him just as enrapt as she is. And, oh, he really does know what he's doing. She tangles a hand in his hair, tugging lightly.

Maybe next time - if there is a next time. If he doesn't wake up to an empty bed tomorrow, or worse, wake up to the Scully who left him. Maybe they'll get there, one way or another. Until then, he's determined to make sure this is good enough that she doesn't feel like she's missed out. This might be all there is, after all.

He hums an answer against her clit, lips vibrating with it, and lifts his head just enough to meet her eyes in the darkness. It's satisfying just to be here, ultimately - feeling her hand in his hair, wondering whether he can make her yank harder. Little things might be different, the weight of a thigh over his shoulder too light, but what matters is the same. Scully is Scully, and the way she says his name is something he's going to think about for nights to come.

And then he gets back to work, so to speak, pulling out every little trick he can think of, everything he remembers her loving. She's not necessarily an easy lay, generally speaking, but Mulder's got the home team advantage.

There's what she'd argue with-- she hasn't missed out on anything; every moment she gets is something she wasn't meant to have at all. And so she's just fiercely glad to be with him. Would be, even if they'd just fallen asleep.

But this.... is better, of course. He meets her eyes and it nearly makes her shiver, the depth of his affection still overwhelming. She can't keep her head up for long-- he's too practiced at what he does, nudging her closer and then easing back to keep this from ending. She feels half-melted, deliciously powerless to do anything but feel and react, impossibly wet and whimpering softly in a way that might have embarrassed her a week ago, but the thought doesn't even cross her mind, now. (Maybe later; maybe insecurity will creep back after the afterglow fades. But she doesn't think so, somehow. The way Mulder looks at her-- even knowing she's broken his heart-- she's starting to suspect there isn't anything that would make him think less of her.)

Reflexively her hips shift under his hand, and as much as he tries to draw it out-- there's only so much she can take before she comes, crying out his name again and pulling his hair without meaning to, her thighs clenched around him.

She's exactly the Scully he remembers, and that means she's perfect - absolutely beautiful, attempting to hold out and then attempting to lose herself in the sensation, and then just riding it out with a little cry. He rides it out with her, and at least this much is true: Even if he's not participating in the ways he'd like to be, he's here with her. He's a part of this, unmistakably, and while it's happening, it's enough.

And after, when she's catching her breath, he wipes off his face and crawls back up beside her. Pulling her in close, he kisses the top of her head; if he knows her (and in the moment, he can truly believe nobody knows her better), she's going to want to curl up with her head on his shoulder.

Already she's a creature of habit, without even knowing it. He's back beside her before she's totally conscious of his movement, and it's the easiest thing in the world to fall into the warmth of his embrace, to rest against his shoulder and cling to him. He has been a rock in a storm, this whole time; but now they have a moment of calm together.

She sighs, like she's finally managed to shake loose some of her tension. He's warm and solid and of course she loves him; how could she not? What a marvel to be able to be obvious about it.

(And it makes it obvious, too, that the question she's been trying to avoid-- why did she leave-- still hangs in the air. It feels too essential to keep ignoring, but for the rest of tonight, at least, she's going to.)

For now, she's going to bask in this and let herself zone out a little to the steady thump of his heartbeat beneath her palm.

"Glad I got you to come to bed," she murmurs eventually.

"Mm," he agrees, though he's been trying not to think too specifically about bed. At least it's her come he wiped off on her sheets, and not his. Once he's no longer focused on Scully, the rest of their lives comes back into focus, and what he can see still doesn't look great for him. Either he'll be explaining all this to her, shame-faced, or she'll be lost to time forever, and neither choice is a good one.

But even without the clarity of an orgasm, he can mostly set the thoughts aside. Mostly because Scully's still holding onto him, and his attention's narrowing in on her again. "When you go back to 1998, don't be disappointed if I'm not that good. I haven't learned everything you like yet."

Not that he's going to make a bad showing - at least, as far as he knows - but some part of him can't help but wonder if he's setting up an impossible standard for a man who has no idea it exists. And besides that, all he wants to do right now is tease her, and let her respond with whatever sleepy repartee she can come up with.

"Hmm," she murmurs, shifting to sprawl more fully against him. "When d'you think you have it figured out? I'll see if I can detour."

Her tone is amused, untroubled. This was unquestionably incredible, but she can't imagine Mulder would ever let her down. Practice is probably a factor but the connection between them has been there for what feels like forever, already. He touches her like he knows her, but that's because he wants to know every part of her. That isn't a recent development.

"You must have known," she murmurs eventually, thinking of her own time, "how I feel."

In the darkness, it's easier to talk about this sort of thing; she's not sure she could have said it face to face, only skin to skin. He must realize she loves him-- even in '98-- even though she can't say it.

"Sooner than you'd think," he answers, teasing, "but probably not as early as I'd think."

There's a question in what comes from her next, even as she speaks it as a fundamental truth - and so it is, Mulder thinks, in the afterglow. Whatever either of them knew or knows, it had been there long before they'd finally given into it.

That's part of the reason it's hard to remember just when things fully clicked between them. The early days had been full of the thrill of discovery, and then with longing and loss and reunion; every time he'd gotten her off, it had felt like victory. But it was underpinned by a level of trust that had lived between them for years before that point.

So he thinks about it, idly tracing the outline of one of her vertebra. Tries to remember what it had felt like to wonder, without replacing the old feeling with all the things he wonders about her now. "I...hoped. I knew you trusted me with your life, the same way I trusted you. My own feelings moved past friendship years ago, but I was sure a combination of dirty magazines and 1-900 numbers would be enough to keep me from saying anything."

A little sigh, slightly amused. "What I knew depended on the day, how I was feeling about the cases we were working on, whether we'd argued recently...sometimes I was sure you were in the same boat, and sometimes I thought the idea had never crossed your mind."

That makes a fair amount of sense; she can't help the huff of laughter at his comment about the porn, drowsy and fond. It's the kind of thing that would constitute a hostile work environment if they weren't who they are.

"Right now..." Well, not now, but in the now she left behind. She curls her fingers around his arm, half possessive, half like she's trying to keep herself from floating away.

"With everything happening... I wanted to think you knew. Even if I didn't want to say it."

With her death looming closer every day, she means. As much as she doesn't want to leave him missing her, there's a part of her-- contrary as always-- that wants him to know what he's meant to her, in all the time they've had together.

"We expressed it the only way we could." She isn't there yet, not at the worst parts. The time when he'd visited - perpetually cheerful and making up irreverent puns on the Lord's Prayer - as much as he could, fearful all the while that one day he'd walk into the hospital to the worst possible news. He'd been half out of his mind at times, but he'd done his best always to seem affably convinced she was three steps away from perfect health. "I couldn't exactly get down on one knee and confess with your brother breathing down my neck, either."

There's no bitterness there, just amusement - for all Bill had despised them in those days, Mulder ended up getting the better of him in the long run, at least for a while. (The man's probably back in the Fox Mulder anti-fanclub, Mulder realizes suddenly, but that doesn't really bother him, either. Scully's opinion is the only one he cares about anymore.) And even at the time, he could understand just why Scully's brother felt the way he did; he just resented the hell out of it, found it insular and cowardly.

But she's not there yet. And the idea of telling her just how bad it'll get, how papery her hands will come to look resting on a hospital blanket, isn't going to give her any comfort. So instead, he adds softly, "I didn't need to know how you felt to love you, Scully. Knowing you were there, still in the world with me...that was enough."

It's hard to know whether he has something specific in mind, but it's a beautiful notion anyway. There are a hundred little moments she could point to-- hot coffees on stakeouts, dumb jokes, takeout orders, weary nights in forgettable diners-- and it's the best they could do. And somehow, marvelously, it was enough.

And maybe it's odd, being here-- in the house she'll move into when she leaves him, face to face with the sorrow she'll leave behind-- but all she can think of is, if she goes home and she really survives, there's so much ahead of her. Terrible motels and movies and leftovers and children and years of learning each other's bodies, and even if it all ends badly, it seems like it'll be worth it.

She props herself up a little to kiss his jaw before slumping back against his shoulder. It's all the answer she can muster.

Her gentleness in moments like this will never cease to amaze him. She's generous with him, even when he doesn't deserve it, and there's a sleepy grace to every gesture. Scully is Scully is Scully, no matter when or how she's lying in his arms, the tension gone from her. If he could only find a way for her - the right her, the one who belongs here - to stay.

"Get some sleep," he tells her, tilting his head down to kiss her head one last time. He might even manage the same, if he's lucky - feeling the rise and fall of her breath always helps lull him.

If she could, she'd give him more. Try to stay up long enough to see him off to sleep, or see if his body might choose to cooperate now that things are a little less urgent. But, God, she's tired. The emotional discoveries today left her wrung out and Mulder's attentions have tired her body to match.

So she doesn't argue; just hums sleepily and settles against him. Strictly speaking she's not usually a cuddler, but Mulder is an exception in most areas, and pinning him down might make him get some rest.

It won't take her long to drift off.

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