He loved Fridays. Well, Friday nights anyway, and in particular this one. For Fox Mulder, the week had started slowly enough, pouring over the first draft of his latest work, paying careful attention to minor amendments that Carter, his editor, had suggested. He'd spent all of Monday morning rewriting the same sentence, the pressure he'd exerted on the keys becoming heavier with each restart. The phone call from Skinner had seemed like a gift from heaven. By lunchtime he was eating his words. A spate of mysterious abductions spread across New York City had left the NYPD baffled. By Wednesday afternoon Mulder had found the link between the victims and tonight Donald Freeman sat in police custody, and was expected, by morning, to confess to the revenge killings of thirteen people.
To his relief, however, the week had not ended in the same way it had started. Now he sat, beer in one hand, remote in the other, and a half naked woman lying across his lap. He'd hardly seen Scully all week, what with the combination of his regular trips to DC and New York, and her turn at night shifts coming around. She'd arrived home that morning at six, just to see him on the way out and tell him that she planned to sleep all day so as to feel refreshed by the time he arrived home later in the day. Whether she'd meant that the same way he'd heard it, he wasn't sure, but it was the thought that had kept him going all day as they had traipsed from one grisly crime scene to another, making sure that nothing had been missed.
Now, he watched the flickering screen, as Sigourney Weaver blasted her nemesis into space only to watch it try to bounce back up again like a yo-yo on a string. Funny how something that seemed so frightening at the time, now seemed so ludicrous. The credits rolled and he pointed the remote at the television, turning down the volume, looking down at the body whose waist and legs lay across him. "You ready for bed?" He asked, yawning to the full, every second of it lending him some satisfaction.
"I only woke up four hours ago, Mulder." She replied, not moving. Her head lay against a stuffy pillow; her knees and calves fell across his lap, anchored down by the hand holding the remote.
"We don't have to sleep." He dropped the remote, pulling first at the hem of the t-shirt, and then walking his fingers up underneath to give a sharp tug on her underwear. Taking it as a sign of encouragement when she turned over to lie on her back, he tugged again, climbing her body like a jungle cat. The soft kiss of her lips sent a ripple of pleasure through his body, his attention suddenly diverted as his hands went to her hair, his mouth becoming hungry, insistent. The clinking sound of his belt brought her sensibility to the fore. As soon as his mouth temporarily left hers, she voiced her concerns.
"Here, Mulder? What about last time? I thought you said…." She stopped suddenly, sucking in her breath as his warm mouth made his way over her knee and to the inside of her thigh.
"It's okay, I got it worked out, Scully. You go on top, we stay as stationary as possible, and then nobody has to suffer." She struggled to stifle a quiet snigger, remembering their last escapade on the couch. On that occasion, things had spiralled out of control when, in a moment of excitement, he had sent them both to the very edge of the couch, causing it to tip, resulting in a nasty cut on his head from the nearby table.
The smile disappeared from her face as she felt his warm tongue lightly touching her. He was gentle at first, stroking his tongue against her folds, before grabbing her thighs and pulling her closer against his mouth. He flicked his tongue against the tiny bundle of nerves, now swollen from his onslaught.
It drove her crazy when he did that. Often she'd stop him half way through, so turned on by what he did to her that she would feel the urge for them to be connected there and then, letting her show him how she felt. She did that now, pushing him away from her, straddling his lap and kissing him full force, taking every inch of him inside her. She looked directly at him and caught him looking straight at her, carefully watching her face for any sign of pain, seeking permission to begin to move. It wasn't possible for her to love this man anymore then she already did. The thought of ever losing him crippled her; the thought of him with anyone else made her sick. As he took hold of her waist and began to push up inside her, she shoved those dark thoughts away. This was forever. She'd fight anybody that thought otherwise.
His heart thundered in his chest, his lungs heaving with exhaustion. For a man pushing fifty, he thought he did pretty well, but as time went by his body took longer to recover from such exertions. It didn't always happen so energetically, but when it did, the excitement and gratification he felt overrode the nagging muscle pain that he would experience the next day. Although he had prepared himself to have to tip toe around her today of all days, he'd found that she'd been her normal self. He hoped these feelings were genuine, but he feared it to be more of a façade that may later crack in private. She was so beautiful. He still couldn't fathom how she came to be with him, that no one else had snatched her up instead.
"I love you," he blurted out.
"I know you do." She smiled, moving to get off him.
"No." His hand caught the side of her face, gently but firmly steadying her face in front of his. "I mean it. I love this; I love us, here together like this. I won't ever get tired of this. It's everything I want." He brought his other hand to her face. "You make me so happy. I'd do anything to make you as happy as I am now. Anything." His words touched her. She leaned back, really looking at him now. Looking into his eyes and trying to figure out what he meant. She knew what he had said and she knew how he felt. But why was he saying this? Why now and with such tenacity?
"What is it, Mulder?" She watched his face, the intensity of his stare making her nervous. Finally, he softened, moving his hands from her face, down her neck, over her breasts and laid them to rest on her hips.
"Nothing." He sighed. "I love you, that's all." His smile certainly went a long way to allaying her fears. He was such an intense person in so many ways; it only made sense that the strength of his feelings for her would show in some way. She leaned forward, enclosing his bottom lip with hers.
"I couldn't be happier, Mulder." She reached for her t-shirt, sliding it over her head before easing off him, heading for the bathroom.
"What do you wanna watch next?" he hollered as she padded out of the room, across the hall and into the en-suite of the spare bedroom.
"You choose, I don't mind," she shouted over the sound of running water.
* * * * *
She returned after twenty minutes, her hair soaking wet and a line of mascara lying stubbornly under each eye. She slumped down next to him, her arms encircling his neck. Her attention was momentarily seized by the noise blaring from the television set.
"Oh Mulder, 'The Hills Have Eyes'? Really?"
"What? It's a classic American movie. It's the original, too, not some lousy re-make. C'mon, Scully, I'll let you cover your eyes at the really scary bits."
"It isn't the scary parts I'm afraid of, Mulder; it's the hammy acting and horrendous special effects. I'd rather watch one of your old adult videos than this garbage."
"That can be arranged." He smiled, knocking back the final dregs of his beer, knowing that now he was in a win-win situation.
The phone interrupted his next thought as he reached over to silence it. "Mulder," he answered.
"Mulder, it's Skinner. I need a favour."