[ 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. ]
[ 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 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. ]
[ 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. ]
Work-Hawaii doesn't sound as nice as vacation-Hawaii, but I still like the sound of it.
[ She sighs at his touch. Practically purrs, really. The tips of her fingers trace idle lines at the nape of his neck, and she arches her back to press into his hand.
Her gaze sweeps hungrily down his body, and she trails her hand from his neck, over his shoulder; her palm smooths slowly down his chest before she brings it to rest on his hip. ]
What's the case?
[ She wants him, but also, her curiosity is piqued. They can multitask, it's fine. ]
[ He's not above making work and pleasure align - particularly now, at the end of his career, and here, under Scully's affectionate touch. She's enough to make any man forget about ethics in fieldwork, especially one whose interest in justifying his expenses has always been minimal.
As he talks, he keeps stroking her breast. This is the convergence of two of his favorite things - the paranormal and foreplay - in what might be the ideal Venn diagram intersection. Who wouldn't take the opportunity to tell Scully about ghosts and touch her at the same time? ]
A series of murders. Every one of them should be impossible, but every one of them happened. Three so far, but if our killer's tried it three times, I don't think he'll stop there.
You could be nine months pregnant with triplets, and you'd still look hot in a bikini. [ Happily pulled along with her, mouth falling to her jaw, kissing up toward an ear. ] You just might need some help getting into it.
[ And that would lead to Mulder trying to get her out of it, and the bikini bottom probably wouldn't actually make it all the way up her legs, but he thinks the point still stands. One hand still on her breast, luxuriating in the satin and the flesh just beneath - ]
Locked rooms, security footage that shows no one going in or out. Places where there's enough security footage to wonder about it. Now I know you're thinking suicide - [ a nip at her earlobe ] - but the only time people commit suicide by multiple gunshots to the back of the head is when a Russian coroner lists the cause of death.
[ Her tone is as sweet as the grin that accompanies it, though. She loves his inability to be objective about her. Granted, it's mutual; close like this she's definitely taking the opportunity to get her hands on him, sliding her palms over his back as he kisses her throat. ]
I'm not thinking suicide, I'm thinking-- hmn-- [ he almost successfully distracts her with that one. ] I'm thinking a staged suicide. Maybe some kind of remotely triggered device.
I could release my findings to a peer-reviewed journal, and they'd publish me.
[ So biased. So, so biased - but just look at her. How could she be anything less than one of the hottest women ever born? Beautiful, smart, and touching him at this very moment: no one else comes close. ]
For that, you'd need evidence of a remotely triggered device. I haven't seen anything that suggests a wall-mounted gun.
Only because you're peerless. An unparalleled expert in the field of leering at me.
[ Delighted, she gives him a quick peck of a kiss, smoothing down his hair with light fingers. ]
It doesn't have to be a wall-mounted gun. Some kind of explosive? I mean, you'd expect to see some trace of it but... We haven't even explored the possibilities yet. Which we'll have to do, between sipping drinks on the beach.
[ okay, that's a lie-- she'll be all business until they sort things out-- but the idea has a certain rebellious charm. ]
[ Or outlasted them, maybe. Either way, he'll take it as a compliment; here he is with her, reaching beneath her to unhook her bra, the world's greatest expert on Dana Katherine Scully. ]
Mai Tais and Blue Hawaiians every night. [ They'll be non-alcoholic, they can be a little less than 100% business under the circumstances. Shifting off her just enough to get her bra off - ] And we'll explore all kinds of possibilities.
It's been a long time since you had serious competition.
[ Even when they were apart. She's saying it to flatter him, but it's simple and true-- a fact she hadn't wanted to confront when they'd started talking again, but the truth is, it's been him since they were just friends. Certainly since the first time they'd admitted to wanting more than that. ]
Extreme possibilities.
[ She gives him a cheeky grin. Fresh air and sun and his appreciative gaze on her bare skin-- he's barely touched her but she already feels incredible. She rests a hand on his face, thumb stroking his cheek. ]
It sounds perfect.
[ just like this.
She props herself up a little so she can kiss him. ]
[ She's playing directly to him, giving him everything he loves: casual touch, her hand light at his cheek, the kind of kiss that always leaves him wanting more, one of her rare grins. Scully smiling is always cause for celebration, a victory that always feels as satisfying as all the work that goes into it.
(If he stops and thinks about it, he knows she does it more this time around. She's happier than she was; from this vantage point, it's possible to see just how miserable some of those years were, but just look at her now.) ]
Going in for extreme possibilities, Agent Scully?
[ With a teasing smile, one hand covering her bared breast. She's beautiful, tempting the way an all-you-can-eat buffet is tempting. Where do you start? How much do you take? All of it, everything - but you have to start somewhere. ]
[ Being together as long as they have means she doesn't have to put on a show for him, not really. But the advantage is, when she wants to, she knows just how. (And, really, they're lucky; she likes to touch him as much as he likes to be touched. Maybe his tactile habits rubbed off on her over the years.)
The smiles, though, are all genuine. How could they not be, when they're here like this?
She hums thoughtfully. ]
They say you're an expert on that kind of thing.
[ and he's an expert in her as well; the way she relaxes into his touch is unmistakable, her gaze flitting to his broad hand spread over her. She shrugs the robe off her shoulder so it puddles around her, caught still on an elbow but doing nothing to cover her up. Maybe living out in the sticks was the right idea. ]
Sure you don't want to keep going until we can cross off every state? We must be close.
[ And at this point, he knows her so well that putting on a show could be as simple as tipping her head at the right angle; it doesn't take much to get him going, and if the bulge in his boxers is anything to go by, she's got him going.
(It's what she says, as much as anything else. The things she murmurs for him alone are usually guaranteed to catch his interest, whether it lands at his dick or lodges somewhere closer to his heart.) ]
How many more can we possibly have? [ He tweaks her nipple lightly. ] What if Hawaii's it?
[ It's not like he can't do the same thing to her-- a glance across the room, or even a shift in the way he stands beside her, inviting her to lean in against him. Her legs shift subtly, a hint of restlessness as her body responds to his touch. ]
There have to be other places. [ She threads her hand through his hair again, and though her tone is all business, the way she looks at him is hungry. ] At least, I think. I'm surprised you never made a map.
[ All business as well, his hand wandering down her side. He's curious how long Scully can keep this veneer of professionalism up, whether it'll shift as soon as he slips a hand into her panties, or if it'll take some actual work on his part. Down to her hip, massaging over the flesh there, thumb pressing lightly against her pelvis. ]
Name a state, and I'll tell you what we did there.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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[ 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.
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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. ]
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[ 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. ]
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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. ]
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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?
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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. ]
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[ 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.
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She scoots a little closer, an undignified wriggle. ]
I assumed you wanted to keep everything we could sneak out.
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[ 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.
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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.
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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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[ She sighs at his touch. Practically purrs, really. The tips of her fingers trace idle lines at the nape of his neck, and she arches her back to press into his hand.
Her gaze sweeps hungrily down his body, and she trails her hand from his neck, over his shoulder; her palm smooths slowly down his chest before she brings it to rest on his hip. ]
What's the case?
[ She wants him, but also, her curiosity is piqued. They can multitask, it's fine. ]
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[ He's not above making work and pleasure align - particularly now, at the end of his career, and here, under Scully's affectionate touch. She's enough to make any man forget about ethics in fieldwork, especially one whose interest in justifying his expenses has always been minimal.
As he talks, he keeps stroking her breast. This is the convergence of two of his favorite things - the paranormal and foreplay - in what might be the ideal Venn diagram intersection. Who wouldn't take the opportunity to tell Scully about ghosts and touch her at the same time? ]
A series of murders. Every one of them should be impossible, but every one of them happened. Three so far, but if our killer's tried it three times, I don't think he'll stop there.
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[ She shifts her hip to roll back a little, tugging him toward her; she doesn't want to pull him fully on top of her, just close. ]
I should object to misuse of federal funds-- but I'll only be able to wear a bikini for so much longer...
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[ And that would lead to Mulder trying to get her out of it, and the bikini bottom probably wouldn't actually make it all the way up her legs, but he thinks the point still stands. One hand still on her breast, luxuriating in the satin and the flesh just beneath - ]
Locked rooms, security footage that shows no one going in or out. Places where there's enough security footage to wonder about it. Now I know you're thinking suicide - [ a nip at her earlobe ] - but the only time people commit suicide by multiple gunshots to the back of the head is when a Russian coroner lists the cause of death.
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[ Her tone is as sweet as the grin that accompanies it, though. She loves his inability to be objective about her. Granted, it's mutual; close like this she's definitely taking the opportunity to get her hands on him, sliding her palms over his back as he kisses her throat. ]
I'm not thinking suicide, I'm thinking-- hmn-- [ he almost successfully distracts her with that one. ] I'm thinking a staged suicide. Maybe some kind of remotely triggered device.
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[ So biased. So, so biased - but just look at her. How could she be anything less than one of the hottest women ever born? Beautiful, smart, and touching him at this very moment: no one else comes close. ]
For that, you'd need evidence of a remotely triggered device. I haven't seen anything that suggests a wall-mounted gun.
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[ Delighted, she gives him a quick peck of a kiss, smoothing down his hair with light fingers. ]
It doesn't have to be a wall-mounted gun. Some kind of explosive? I mean, you'd expect to see some trace of it but... We haven't even explored the possibilities yet. Which we'll have to do, between sipping drinks on the beach.
[ okay, that's a lie-- she'll be all business until they sort things out-- but the idea has a certain rebellious charm. ]
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[ Or outlasted them, maybe. Either way, he'll take it as a compliment; here he is with her, reaching beneath her to unhook her bra, the world's greatest expert on Dana Katherine Scully. ]
Mai Tais and Blue Hawaiians every night. [ They'll be non-alcoholic, they can be a little less than 100% business under the circumstances. Shifting off her just enough to get her bra off - ] And we'll explore all kinds of possibilities.
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[ Even when they were apart. She's saying it to flatter him, but it's simple and true-- a fact she hadn't wanted to confront when they'd started talking again, but the truth is, it's been him since they were just friends. Certainly since the first time they'd admitted to wanting more than that. ]
Extreme possibilities.
[ She gives him a cheeky grin. Fresh air and sun and his appreciative gaze on her bare skin-- he's barely touched her but she already feels incredible. She rests a hand on his face, thumb stroking his cheek. ]
It sounds perfect.
[ just like this.
She props herself up a little so she can kiss him. ]
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(If he stops and thinks about it, he knows she does it more this time around. She's happier than she was; from this vantage point, it's possible to see just how miserable some of those years were, but just look at her now.) ]
Going in for extreme possibilities, Agent Scully?
[ With a teasing smile, one hand covering her bared breast. She's beautiful, tempting the way an all-you-can-eat buffet is tempting. Where do you start? How much do you take? All of it, everything - but you have to start somewhere. ]
I don't know. Sounds kinda...spooky.
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The smiles, though, are all genuine. How could they not be, when they're here like this?
She hums thoughtfully. ]
They say you're an expert on that kind of thing.
[ and he's an expert in her as well; the way she relaxes into his touch is unmistakable, her gaze flitting to his broad hand spread over her. She shrugs the robe off her shoulder so it puddles around her, caught still on an elbow but doing nothing to cover her up. Maybe living out in the sticks was the right idea. ]
Sure you don't want to keep going until we can cross off every state? We must be close.
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(It's what she says, as much as anything else. The things she murmurs for him alone are usually guaranteed to catch his interest, whether it lands at his dick or lodges somewhere closer to his heart.) ]
How many more can we possibly have? [ He tweaks her nipple lightly. ] What if Hawaii's it?
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There have to be other places. [ She threads her hand through his hair again, and though her tone is all business, the way she looks at him is hungry. ] At least, I think. I'm surprised you never made a map.
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[ All business as well, his hand wandering down her side. He's curious how long Scully can keep this veneer of professionalism up, whether it'll shift as soon as he slips a hand into her panties, or if it'll take some actual work on his part. Down to her hip, massaging over the flesh there, thumb pressing lightly against her pelvis. ]
Name a state, and I'll tell you what we did there.
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