Old Ending to the story:
They both woke abruptly when the lights and air came back on. He was curled around her, both of them on top of the covers, his hand nestled between her breasts.
As soon as he gained his bearings he rolled away and pressed his face into the mattress, remembering his promise to close his eyes. He heard her moving around, popping the tab on a soda and ferreting out some more pills from the baggie he’d brought her. Then she was digging through her suitcase, switching off lamps and slipping into the bathroom. Closing the door.
He let out a breath he hadn’t been aware he was holding.
He checked his watch. Three. He wondered briefly if he should decamp to his own room as he had told her he planned to. Of course that was before. He smiled as he recalled her trembling under his hand, his mouth on her breast, her whole body taut and straining as he rubbed her.
He raised his hand to his mouth, ran two fingers along his lips. The ones he’d used to tease and mash her fat little clit. God. He touched them to his tongue, tasting a vestige of her salt and musk. Oh fuck Mulder, she’d said just before she came. She’d been so open, so responsive. So… so… so… God.
Forget his pink itchy dick, he’d need to see a doctor when he got home about a lobotomy in order to tear this page from the book of his life.
He rolled onto his back and settled a pillow under his head. The stream of conditioned air passing over his torso felt pleasant, drying the sweat that had collected on his skin as he slept pressed against her. He scratched idly at his chest, remembering her hands on him.
He had no idea her state of mind, but he hoped she wasn’t regretting it. He closed his eyes as he heard the bathroom door open, bracing himself for whatever was to come next.
He turned his head away from her as she slipped quietly into bed, this time under the covers. She’d left the bathroom light on and the door open a sliver. After she arranged the sheets and settled in, he stole a glance at her. She was resting her head on her pillow looking at him, a smile, thank god, playing at the corners of her mouth he still had never even kissed.
“I thought you were asleep,” she said.
“I was dozing,” he said. He wanted to play it cool, but he was dimly aware that he was grinning big like an idiot. “How you feeling?”
“Good,” she said. “Better.” Still smiling. He smelled her soap. Her minty breath.
She seemed to have changed into a tank top of some sort. No bra. Her pajama pants and underwear he’d pushed down and she’d kicked off at some earlier fevered moment were still balled at the foot of the bed. He wondered what she was wearing under the covers.
“Must have been the ibuprofen?” he offered.
“Yeah,” she said. “That stuff works wonders.” She bit her bottom lip and buried her smile in her pillow.
“Somebody’s a little shy…”
“Maybe,” she said. “Then again there is a strange man in my bed.”
“You have no idea just how strange…”
“I think maybe I have some idea.”
“Probably you do,” he conceded.
He knew he should offer to vacate her bed. The problem with that was, he didn’t at all want to.
A loud thud next door was followed briefly by raised voices. Then a hush.
“Must be tussling over the last of the dry goods,” Mulder said.
“How are you feeling? You know,” she said, flicking her eyes dramatically toward his crotch, “down there.”
“You making fun of me?”
“Just a little.”
“Much better than at the diner. But itchier than when I fell asleep.”
“Ah. I was afraid of that. I’m not sure our… activities worked out as well for you as they did for me.”
“Maybe not,” he admitted. He’d humped the mattress so ardently as he got her off he’d be surprised if he didn’t have some residual damage.
“Should I take a look?”
“Why not?” he said.
She slipped out of bed and, to his astonishment — in the middle of the night in three seconds flat — she morphed effortlessly from sex kitten to General Practitioner.
She flicked on two lamps and dug out her trusty penlight and some gauze. She set them on his bedside table and he remembered to notice her attire: some snug white cotton shorts the same ribbed material as her tank top. Nice.
“Hey,” she said.
“Yeah,” he said, getting with the program, getting up himself.
“Is the tube of cortisone cream in your room?”
“Yes it is.”
“Go get it. I’m gonna scrub up.”
“Okay,” he said.
“Mulder,” she said when he was at the door, “You know what? Wash your own hands really well. And bring your suitcase back too. With all your clothes.”
“Okay. But Scully? Isn’t it a little hasty for us to be shacking up? I mean, I thought we agreed this was a one time thing…”
She stared at him blankly for a few seconds. Then they both cracked huge smiles.
“You’re a buffoon, Mulder.”
“I had you there. For a second. I know I did.”
“You wish. Hurry up while we still have lights. And air.”
“You can admit it, Scully. You can’t wait to get your hands on my junk again. You’re only human.” He slipped out the door as a roll of wrapped gauze whizzed by his head.
He returned as directed and opened his suitcase. She laid all his clothes out on the bed and separated the items washed in the suspect detergent from the rest.
“You shouldn’t even handle these,” she said, stuffing a t-shirt, a sweatshirt, and two pairs of boxers in a plastic bag.
“You’re sure none of this came out of the laundry bag?” she asked, gesturing to the rest of the clothes on the bed. “These boxers?” she said, holding up a plaid pair.
“I’m sure,” he said. “Those were in the drawer.”
“Good. Make sure you wear them tomorrow. It wouldn’t be ideal to go commando in jeans. Not in your condition. You should stick to looser pants for the next week, too. Once we get home.”
He couldn’t think of a smartass retort, so he just nodded.
“Not sure about those socks,” he said, pointing to one of the two pairs on the bed.
She tossed them in the plastic bag and tied it off.
He re-packed his suitcase as she went to wash her hands again.
When she came back out he was sitting on the edge of the bed.
“Hey,” she said, standing in front of him.
“Hi,” he said.
“You ready for round two?” All business.
“I guess so.”
“You still itchy?”
“Yeah,” he said. “It’s hard not to scratch.”
“Resist. That’s how you get a secondary infection. You don’t want that.”
“I believe you. I don’t even want this one.”
She turned toward him smiling, shaking her head.
“Hey Scully? I’m not sure I can tear this page from the book of my life. I’m not sure I want to.”
“Yeah,” she said, nodding. “Kissing or no kissing, I knew we were in trouble around the time I took my pants off.”
Sooner, she thought. As soon as he shuffled in with my favorite vending fixes. It was a clumsy odd Mulderish seduction. Her new favorite kind.
“You seem calm about it.”
“I am now. But I was freaking out in the bathroom earlier. When you were pretending to be asleep.”
“So what happened?”
She stepped closer to him and rubbed her knuckles lightly along his sternum.
“What always happens. I saw you. And I felt better.”
He took her hand and kissed it, held it between his two hands.
“Maybe this was a mistake, Mulder. But let’s keep it in perspective. We’ve been in worse situations…”
“That’s a fact. An understatement, really.”
“I mean, for example, I’d rather be somewhat expertly... tended to by my handsome partner than gutshot by an overzealous rookie agent...”
“When you put it that way…”
“At least it was an experience, unlike that one, worth the awkwardness that’s bound to ensue.”
Was he fishing for compliments, or actually insecure? She couldn’t tell.
“Somewhat. I thought so. Admittedly, I don’t get out much.”
“But you liked it?”
Wow. Insecure. And so really just so, oh God, very skilled. With his hands at least. She wondered if someone had convinced him otherwise. The thought bothered her.
“If that wasn’t clear to you, Mulder, we need to register immediately for one of those partner communication seminars. And actually attend it this time.”
He nodded. “It was.”
“Good,” she said.
“I don’t know. But like you said before, we’ll still be you and me. We’ll figure it out.”
“Yeah,” she said. “You?”
“Yeah,” he said, yawning too.
“It’s interesting, how yawns are contagious. I wonder what biological basis is, for that behavior.”
“For psychopaths, yawns aren’t contagious. The lack the requisite empathy. A researcher in England discovered that, then set up a screening test.”
”Good to know you’d pass. I’ve slept with my quota of psychopaths.”
“I agree. So you're planning to sleep with me?”
Oops. “I’m not planning anything.” She wasn’t planning to. But apparently the part of her that said things had other ideas.
Why don’t you let me get a peek at that rash?” she whispered. “Then we can go back to bed.”
“Okay,” he said.
He lay back on his pillow and worked his pants down over his hips.
“Take those off,” she said, dragging the chair over to the bed. “You can sleep commando.”
He looked at her with raised eyebrows.
“Airflow, Mulder. Grab my penlight. It’s on the bedside table.”
He did. Then, in a pique of shyness, he was tucking himself under the covers.
“You’d look cute with one of those headlamps doctors used to wear, Scully. Don’t you have a birthday coming up?’”
Yeah, she thought, and you look even cuter naked in my bed that I imagined you would. Which, while a good problem, is still a problem. She sat down and pulled her chair up to the edge of the bed.
“I do. In about ten months.”
“Oh,” he said. “I think I’d be more comfortable if we both took our clothes off, Scully.”
“May I?” she said, holding the sheet covering him by the edge.
She peeled it back. “Light please,” she said.
He shined the light down where she was examining him.
“It’s not so bad,” she said, running her fingers along his shaft. “Chafed. I can imagine how that happened. Sorry about that.”
“Really, it’s okay.”
“I was worried those bumps were going to blister. But they're almost gone. You took those boxers off in the nick of time.”
“Thanks to you. All kidding aside, you’re a good doctor, Scully.”
“Well you need a new one.”
“You have to keep it lubricated at all times for at least a week,” she said, handing him the tube. “Cortisone. Or Vaseline if you run out.”
“You want to do it?”
“You do it. I want to watch.”
“You want to watch?”
“Yeah. To make sure you’re using enough.”
He squeezed out a dollop of the thick white lotion into his palm.
“More,” she said. “Much more.”
“Okay, he said, adding more. She took the tube from him then leaned back as he reached down and applied the medicine to his penis. He spent more time than strictly necessary smoothing it over the head with his fist, watching her face as he worked. He was getting hard in his hand and he didn’t seem shy about it.
She stood up and pulled her tank top up and off.
His jaw dropped.
She pulled the sheets back up over him, turned off the light, and climbed into bed with him.
Under the covers she pressed her body to his.
“Mulder,” she said, “you need a new doctor because I’m experiencing a conflict of interest. As your Internist, I need to recommend that you refrain from sexual activity till this rash calms down. But as your…”
“FBI Partner with benefits?” he offered.
“Yes. As that, I need to recommend that you let me play with your dick.” She grasped him and rubbed his head languorously against her stomach.
They both moaned.
“Though I promise to be gentle. This time. You see the problem here?”
“No problem,” he said. “Oh, Scully. You’re fired.”