"Need a ride home, Scully?" Mulder asked. He stood in the doorway to her office in his overcoat, leaning on the doorframe with his right hand.

Scully had taken her car to the shop a week ago, and thanks to their cases she hadn't been free to pick it up during open hours. She had been borrowing the FBI vehicle whenever she could manage it, but they had closed the case today and the car had been returned.

She smiled at him, taking off her glasses and setting them on the desk. "Sure, Mulder. Thanks."

She picked up her coat and briefcase, and her mind flooded with images of a sex dream she had had the night before. Mulder had walked her upstairs to her apartment, and things had…escalated from there. Her ears burned as the blush started to spread through her face, and she rigidly turned to follow him out of the office.

"Scully, you're blushing," Mulder teased. "I hope you're not embarrassed to be seen with me."

She cleared her throat, and felt her blush deepen now that she'd been called out. "No, Mulder. It just seems hot in here, doesn't it?"

He smirked. "No hotter than usual, Scully. Unless it's me you can't handle."

For an instant, embarrassment and snark wrestled for dominion. Thankfully, snark won out. "Oh, please, Mulder. The only way you're going to make me feel hot is if you give me the flu."

He mimed being stabbed in the chest and she shoved him with her shoulder. He laughed, putting his arm around her shoulder as they walked out.

Inane conversation filled the ride to her apartment. Scully largely tuned out Mulder's latest theory, but she couldn't help but retain that somehow it involved aliens, the army, and a plot to eradicate major population centers near oil reserves. Despite it all, the atmosphere in the car hovered around the unspoken, unaddressed emotion which had been building since their New Year's kiss.

He pulled to a stop in front of her apartment building, and they looked at each other. She struggled to break the silence, and a strong impulse came over her. She tried to process it, think of the consequences of acting on it, but her brain was frozen like an overloaded computer. But the silence was so thick she was desperate to break it, so she acted on the only action that her brain offered. "Hey, Mulder, would you like to come up for dinner? As thanks for the ride."

The pause between her question and his answer seemed too long as her heart pounded.

"Sure, Scully, if you're offering. I think all I have in my apartment is some sour milk."

She laughed, relieved and nervous. They got out of his car and climbed the front steps in silence. The elevator was waiting on the first floor, and they endured that ride in silence as well.

At least outwardly. Internally, Scully cursed herself for inviting him up. She didn't know what she was going to make for him; she didn't have much in the way of groceries, as they had been so busy on their previous case she hadn't had a chance to go shopping. She catalogued her pantry and fridge in her mind as the floors ticked past. She thought she might have some canned tomato sauce, and what pantry was complete without some spaghetti?

Once her mind fell into relative silence, she realized what her body had been doing unsupervised. A cold knot had appeared in her abdomen, and the heat was fleeing from it. Southward. Mulder stood so close to her she could feel his body heat, smell his aftershave, and it was having quite an effect on her. She knew exactly what she wanted to happen after dinner, something that had run through her conscious mind many times, and her unconscious mind countless more. He was such an attractive man, it was a natural reaction for her, as a human being; his appearance indicated his fitness, and the primal parts of her wanted his genes in her children.

The elevator chimed, and she jumped. He smiled down at her as the doors slid open, and gestured for her to go first.

"Guilty conscience, Scully?"

Oh, yes. Guilty that her partner turned her on so damn much, without doing anything but standing next to her in the elevator. She frowned at him in response, and pulled her apartment key out of her pocket.

"Make yourself comfortable, Mulder," she said, gesturing at her couch and television. "I hope you're okay with spaghetti."

"Sure, Scully."

She took his suit coat and he plopped on her couch, loosening his tie and undoing his top button. Damn him. Stop looking so ridiculously sexy. She was having a hard enough time ignoring her natural feelings today as it was. Her medical side kicked in then, telling her that she was at a peak fertility level for the month. Her body was telling her that she should find a genetically ideal mate and fuck his brains out a few times. The problem remained that a genetically incredible male lounged on her couch, ripe for the fucking.

She shook her head to clear it and put a pot of water on to boil. She broke out a can opener and dumped the tomato sauce. So it wasn't going to be gourmet, or anyone's grandmother's recipe. It was better than Mulder's sour milk, wasn't it? She found some packets of parmesan cheese in a drawer from the last time she had ordered pizza and surreptitiously emptied them into a little bowl. Hey, he didn't have to know her secrets, right?

As she searched for something to make it seem like she actually had groceries in her apartment, she found a bottle of champagne stashed in her fridge. It was from New Year's, but, as usual, they had been on a case, so she had never gotten to open it. She also had half a package of frozen breadsticks and a pint of chocolate ice cream. Close enough.

She dumped some food onto a couple of plates and brought it to Mulder on the couch. She tried to ignore her mind and body taunting her. Her mind mocked her for trying to make her arousal so scientific when, it insisted, there were emotions involved. She disagreed vehemently. Whatever was going on here, it was purely physical. It had to be.

"Sorry it's not fancier," she said with a laugh as she returned to the kitchen for the champagne.

"Looks wonderful. I probably would have been ordering cheap Chinese from the place down the street."

She set the champagne on the coffee table with two glasses and sat next to him on the couch. They started to eat, and she tried to ignore her pounding heart. Mostly, she had to avoid looking at him, and she stared instead at the bubbles in the champagne bottle.

"This is good, Scully. Thanks." She glanced up before she could stop herself. He watched her with those eyes that she knew saw everything. She had been on enough cases with him to know he didn't miss much.

"No problem, Mulder," she said, dropping her eyes back to her now-empty plate. Her skin seemed overly sensitive, as if anticipating his touch.

Desperate to somehow break the spell, she poured two glasses of champagne and cleared the dishes. She rinsed the tomato sauce off the plates, wishing she could rinse this inconvenient sexual mood off as well. She supposed that was the very purpose of a cold shower, but never before had she been so frustrated that she was actually tempted to enact the cliché. Of course, she couldn't gracefully shower while Mulder was still here, and if Mulder weren't here there were much more…pleasant ways to deal with her predicament. She sighed, shutting off the water.

She returned to the couch. Mulder had put his feet up on the coffee table. Funnily enough, she didn't feel an urge to tell him to move them. It had everything to do with how much the posture suited him, she supposed. Scully sat down, hoping to make herself comfortable. His nonchalant pose was not helping her predicament. As her natural urge to eat was satisfied, her other urges were expanding to fill the gap.

Her clit was burning between her legs, and she shifted to try to alleviate the discomfort. She glanced over at him to see if he had noticed and immediately regretted it; it was looking at him that had caused the problem in the first place, and seeing it again only made it worse. She took a deep draw of champagne, hoping to dull her senses even a little.

"So, Scully, what's for dessert?" Mulder teased, looking oh-so-very charming as he sipped his champagne.

I know what I want, said the randy part of her mind, high on hormones and a little bit of bubbly. A big slice of Mulder pie, with chocolate syrup.

"Chocolate ice cream." Or at least that's what she thought she said. Which only added to her confusion as she took inventory of her surroundings.


Scully was kissing him. He didn't know how it had happened. He hadn't even seen her move. One second he was lounging on her couch teasing her, and the next they were making out like hormonal teenagers in the back of a first car. He remembered asking for dessert, but he had been expecting a couple of Oreos, not this.

I mean, Mulder never considered himself a dessert man, but he would convert for this.

This came out of nowhere. They had kissed, he supposed, but that was on New Year's. He had considered it a romantic impulse, but he hardly expected her to think of it as any more than a friendly gesture. Tradition. In fact, he hadn't ever guessed that Scully had any romantic leanings toward him at all.

And yet she was on top of him, kissing him like he had never been kissed before.

To his chagrin, his cock reacted, too. To be fair, she had shocked him. He hadn't had time to prepare himself for the onslaught of sensation. Oh, and such sensation!

He wondered what had brought on her actions. It could be simple biology, he supposed. He could assume from her schedule as well as their evening phone conversations, that she hadn't...gotten any for a while. Maybe she was desperate. No, he didn't like that explanation. It slighted his ego; he wanted to be the object of her desire for more reason than just the fact he was the closest victim.

Maybe, just maybe, she found him particularly attractive. Oh, he liked that idea, a bit too much. In fact, he felt his pants tightening by the second. This was embarrassing! He hadn't been this out-of-control since he was a much younger man.

He expected for her to come to her senses at any moment and kick him out of her apartment, lipstick metaphorically (and literally?) smeared across his face. But, strangely, she seemed to only be getting more passionate. Her fingers tugged at his tie until it came undone, and she pulled his shirt out of his waistband. Oh, God, his nerves were on fire!

And then he realized something else: Scully was unabashedly humping his leg. He wasn't sure at first if it was just coincidental motion from their kisses, but it had shifted from a subtle, occasional back-and-forth motion to hard, unmistakable grinding against his femur. She was breaking their kisses more often now to gasp a breath, and he realized just how turned-on she was. Scully was freaking humping his leg!

Fuck, now he would never get control of his erection. Seriously, had he time-warped back to high school? He couldn't remember the last time an adult sexual encounter had started with dry-humping, but maybe it was simply a testament to how horny Scully was.

He glanced down at the champagne, thinking she must have had more than he thought. But, her glass wasn't even empty and the bottle couldn't have had more than two glasses poured from it. This was pure Scully, with nothing in her but a plate of spaghetti and half a glass of champagne. What was in that spaghetti, anyway?

She unbuttoned his shirt and laid kisses down his bare chest. He shuddered as every inch of him went icy-hot with sensation. He shifted, adjusting his pants on his erection, which was so hard now it was almost being strangulated by his clothing. She followed his hand and eyed the bulge in his trousers. He caught her eyes with awe and admiration, seeing nothing but lust in her gaze. Arousal prickled down his spine, tightening his gut. He wondered if he had forgotten how to breathe.

"Scully," he heard himself moan, and wondered if the sound would break whatever trance had fallen over her. Instead, it seemed to spur her on. She tore her shirt over her head and clambered off of him to tear off her own pants.

He swallowed forcibly. Someone had to be the responsible party. Scully was not acting herself. He opened his mouth to speak, to ask her if she was in her right mind, if she wanted to—

"Shut up, Mulder," she said, and she tore off her bra.

He had never been more content to shut his mouth in his life. This animal side of Scully was quickly becoming his favorite side. He couldn't count all the times he had imagined this very thing happening, the times he had fantasized about Scully doing this to him. The fact that it was Scully's idea was fulfilling his most arousing fantasy, and he wasn't sure how much longer he could endure the foreplay. Just to imagine that he had this effect on this incredible, amazing woman brought him more than half-way to orgasm, and he worried any more stimulation would push him right over the edge.

He looked at Scully again, feeling like he had briefly lost consciousness. She was naked, her breasts swinging slightly as she straddled him again. This time, her pussy sat on his crotch and he thought he might die.

Fuck. He had never been this aroused in his life. He was so achingly hard he didn't know how he wasn't cumming from the sight of her, from the pressure of her cunt on his cock. He stared at her stupidly, his brain short-circuiting at the sight of her rosy pink nipples, her soft breasts, and her lustful expression.

He knew he was making stupid noises, choked groans and gasps, but he couldn't stop himself. She was doing incredible things to him, and she hadn't even got his pants off yet. He couldn't even get her name out fully, but instead broken syllables escaped from him. Finally remembering his arms, he reached out to touch her breasts, eliciting from her a thrilling gasp. She smiled down at him, biting her lower lip in an expression made for sin, and slid backwards.

Oh, God.

She unbuttoned his fly, unzipped his pants. Her touch was light on him, but electric jolts were traveling straight to his heart with every warm graze. His diaphragm couldn't function properly under the pressure, and he wondered if he could become hypoxic from such shallow breaths.

Scully smirked at him, raising one eyebrow, and drew off his pants and boxers. His erection sprang free and he was immediately relieved from the feeling of entrapment. He strangled a groan in his throat as he looked down at himself, rigidly prepared for copulation, and realized that she was looking, too. He had to shut his eyes tight for risk of cumming on her from just the sensation of her eyes slipping over him.

She settled back down on his lap, and oh god was she wet! She moaned at the skin-against-skin contact and the sound chased goosebumps down his skin. He had definitely never been this aroused in his life. He was absolutely throbbing.

"Mulder," she said throatily. She was seemingly unable to resist the temptation of rocking her sex against him, and he was rigid with the effort of not throwing her to the ground and fucking her like an animal. "Look at me."

A sound of agony escaped his throat as he obeyed her. She smiled, lifting herself off his lap and taking her erection in his hand. He braced himself, unsure if he would be able to bear the abject ecstasy of being inside her, but knowing he was about to find out.

She slid down onto him as if in slow-motion. They moaned in unison as her pelvis met his. He panted as he looked up at her with disbelief. She felt so good around him he wondered if they were two cosmic puzzle pieces that had somehow found their match.

The look on her face was rapturous, like this was what she needed more than anything to feel alive. Maybe it was. Certainly, he had never felt more alive. All of the conspiracies in the world couldn't matter in this moment; he had found the meaning of life on Scully's couch.

She reached down with her right hand to pleasure her clit, and he suddenly felt like the least chivalrous man in the world. Here he was, laying paralyzed with pleasure on her couch, letting her do all the work. He caught her hand and held it in his.

"Let me," he said. She didn't protest.

He had no trouble finding it. If this was the hardest he had ever been in his life, he would not be surprised to learn this was the hardest she had ever been in hers. She rewarded his discovery with a sinful moan and a lazy circle of her hips. Her breath caught in her throat and she leaned back, causing everything to feel very different.

"Yes, Mulder," she gasped. "Yes, Fox."

He was so aroused he could do nothing but lay there and rub her clit like his life depended on it. He could only delay his orgasm so long, so he focused on accelerating hers instead. He moved his finger in little counterclockwise circles, growing faster and harder as his pleasure tried to break through his determination. Suddenly, he couldn't help but buck his hips against her slow, tight strokes. She was practically writhing atop him, her pink lips hanging open to allow breaths easy access.

She twitched, apparently on the edge of orgasm, and he lost muscle control for just long enough that his finger pressed her clit to the bone.

"Oh," she moaned, the sound seeming to fill her whole body. Her pussy tightened around him, and he knew they were both seconds away from blackout-worthy orgasms.

Her upper body tilted backwards, and her hand clutched his like she was falling. She drew in a huge breath. The contractions of her orgasm around his cock shoved him well past the point of no return.

His shoulders lifted from the couch with the strength of his ejaculation. He had never cum so hard in his life, even when he had the misfortune of being forced to go 10 whole days without masturbating as a teenager. When he had finally returned to the solitude of his bedroom, he had barely shut the door when he took his cock in hand and came so hard he swore he might've hit the ceiling. And yet, it paled in comparison to this. This, pure and simple, was nirvana.

Moments later, they had both stilled. She collapsed atop him, their sweaty chests pressed together, and her thighs still occasionally twitched. As far as he was concerned, they could stay like that forever. Or at least as long as it took his heart to slow down, which, honestly, might be forever.

Suddenly, he realized his hand was still trapped between them, and he was overcome with a wicked idea. Men may have been slighted with the one orgasm limit, but women could have more. And if Fox Mulder could do something to make Dana Scully make that gorgeous, blissful face again, there was nothing in the world that could keep him from doing it.


She didn't know what had come over her, but she felt no regret. That was definitely the best orgasm she had ever had. Of course, it didn't hurt that she had been so goddamn horny when they started, but Mulder knew his way around a clitoris. Honestly, that was maybe her new favorite thing about the man. Good looks and roguish charm aside, there was something about a man that knew how to pleasure a woman!

And, damn, he was still doing it.

Contentment and determination were commingled on his face, and he eagerly watched her for reaction once she realized what he was up to. Certainly ballsy, Mulder, she thought with a smirk. For all he knew she had never been multi-orgasmic. Of course, she had, but he didn't know that. From his self-assured expression, though, he thought he would be successful, regardless.

He was right.

Her hands clenched into fists as she curled atop him. Her face was buried into his shoulder, and she focused simply on breathing. His free hand traced a pattern on her back and she whimpered with growing pleasure.

"Don't you dare stop, Mulder," she said, raking her teeth across his skin. She clutched him for dear life as her toes curled so hard she thought she might sprain them all.

"Fuck," she groaned, drawing out the word to at least four syllables. She was soaring, her cunt convulsing, and she had decided she was never going to let this man go. A wonderful warmth and contentment spread through her body from her core to her fingertips. She felt liquefied by the sensation, but not before oxytocin whispered one thought straight into her brain: I love Fox Mulder.

She peeked up at him, smiling at her like a predator who had ensnared its prey. He blinked sleepily, and she knew she had maybe a few seconds before he was snoring on her couch.

"Mulder?" she said, gently trying to extricate herself from his arms.

"Mmm?" he answered. His eyes had drifted closed.

She slid off of him, starting towards the bathroom. "Come to bed," she said.

"In a minute," he murmured, his voice thick with sleep. She smiled. Well, he would probably wake up horny again in an hour or two, and she assumed he would find her bed then.

"Mulder?" she said again, pausing in the doorway to her bedroom.

"Mm."

"If you wake up wanting another round, you better fucking wake me up too." She slipped into the bathroom, closing the door. About a minute and a half later, she heard his response through the door.

"Scully," he said only half-sleepily. Her bold statement must've jolted him, because he had to be in her bedroom now from the sound of his voice. "I think I love you."

She smiled to herself, turning on the sink to wash her hands. "You know what, Mulder?" she said through the door, reaching for a towel. She opened the door to find he had crawled into bed, and she did the same, snuggling into his arms. "I think I love you too."