Cold. Silver. Sterile.
Sharp, hard edges clashing against the soft, malleable flesh of the dead.
One moment she’s filling out information for a toe tag and the next he is behind her, warmth pressed flush against her body. Life seeking her out, finding her here in this cold chamber of death.
His hand finds its way to her stomach as he hovers near her ear, his hot breath warming her. Dr. Dana Scully has always been comfortable in the autopsy bay, it was her domain long before the first time Mulder would even have considered behaving this way. It isn’t the kind of environment in which she typically thinks about sex, especially when she’s working.
But she’s thinking about it now. Mulder is her weakness. He always has been.
“Are you finished yet?” he whispers, more softly than necessary. He caps this question with a hard nip to her earlobe and she stiffens.
“Can you wait?” she asks. She doesn’t want him to wait and he knows it.
His hand slides up her body to find her face mask dangling around her neck and his fingers wrap around it, pulling it off her. She hears it crinkle and her body responds to the noise as if he’d uttered something filthy into her ear instead. It doesn’t take much with him; the crinkle of a paper mask is the same as a promise, one that makes her tremble with anticipation.
She trails off. I what? She doesn’t plan to protest. He can do whatever he wants to her, and she will never brook refusal.
“You completely dismissed me out there, in front of the coroner,” he says quietly. He sounds disappointed, almost sad. She knows it had been a mistake. She’d regretted it as soon as the words left her mouth.
His comment had been benign, harmless. But this aspect of their relationship is still so new. She hadn’t been planning for it to bleed over into her professional world and she wasn’t sure if she’d liked it. Outing them as partners who were sexually involved in front of another professional had taken her off guard.
His hand slips beneath the waist of her scrub pants, inside her underwear, directly between her legs, and as he curls his middle finger up inside her without any preamble at all she lets out a shuddering sigh.
“I was trying to do my job. You embarrassed me,” she manages to get out. “This is exactly why we said no fraternizing, Mulder.” She’s trying to be firm but her traitorous body is responding to his every movement. Her legs part automatically, granting him all the access he needs as her hands slap against the hard metal surface of the gurney, gripping the edges.
“What exactly embarrassed you, Scully?” he asks. “That a man could find you so arousing in this context or that the man was me?”
She can’t think, she can barely breathe. None of it seems to matter now.
“We’re never going to see that coroner again, Scully,” he whispers into her ear. “Who cares what she thinks?”
She knows he’s right. Maintaining a professional veneer in front of strangers has always been important to Scully but is it, anymore? Right now, when she has Fox Mulder completely at her disposal?
“You’re right,” she breathes, eyes closed.
“Who cares what she… hears,” he continues. And it’s at this precise moment she stops caring, too.
His movements are slow at first but soon he’s swirling around inside her, making her rise onto the balls of her feet and throw her head back against his shoulder ohhhmygodmulder as she thinks it, maybe moans it. His breath is hot against her neck and she can feel him smiling triumphantly as she writhes beneath his skilled touch. His tongue darts out and chases the tendons along the back of her neck, its journey brief but effective. Showing no mercy whatsoever he inserts another finger inside her and the fluorescent lights above her disappear behind her own flashpoint as he gently lifts her up, her feet barely touching the ground.
“Jesus…” she breathes, sweat beads forming at her temple. Jesus. He always makes her come so fast, so fast… it’s not fair on one hand, and perfectly welcomed on the other. Apropos. Cosmic karma for years of waiting. She never has to wait long anymore.
His thumb moves relentlessly against her clit even though he must know she’s still recovering. He doesn’t plan to let her rest, he plans to wear her out. It’s just like him. He behaves the same in the bedroom as he does anywhere.
His other hand reaches in front of her, inside her top, into her bra. She recoils briefly; his hand is chilled from the air in the room.
“Cold… it’s cold in here…” she says, still woozy from her first orgasm.
“It won’t be for long.”
He yanks the cup of her bra down along with her shirt, exposing her hardened bud to the frigid air. His hand covers it for a moment but only a moment. He removes his hand and drags his index finger softly across her nipple, back and forth. His other hand is working madly inside her underwear and she’s amazed at how quickly this routine autopsy has turned into the actual best day of her life.
Her arousal is beyond measure, but the cold in the air is making this all tortuous. A sharp intake of breath hisses between her teeth as he flicks and pinches and fuck does it feel good.
“Do you like that, Scully?”
She can’t speak. She nods. Yes , is all she needs to communicate.
He spins her around and backs her up against the edge of the gurney, a cold line pressing into her lower back above her waistline, and his hot mouth descends upon her aching nipple, heat radiating all the way down to her very core. There’s no more pain, only pleasure. The immense, divine pleasure of Mulder’s beautiful lips suckling at her.
She went so many years listening to him work magic with that mouth of his. Why did she wait so long to feel it?
He removes his hand from her pants and pulls the neck of her scrub shirt down just enough to free the other breast, moving back and forth between them with intensity. Her eyes roll back into her head as she arches her back, almost all the way down onto the empty gurney as her hands move to grip his scalp. She inhales his scent, his wonderful Mulder scent that once could only tease her whenever they were in close quarters; on an airplane, or reading the same file. She couldn’t breathe it in before the way she’s allowed to now. So she does, and it’s absolute heaven.
He shifts upward to kiss her deeply, his hands now supporting her back. She tries desperately to stay upright as her legs turn to jelly. She’s so, so weak. He makes her this way.
He grips the waistband of her pants and underwear together, pulling them down to her knees. She kicks her shoes off and wriggles free, virtually naked now. Suddenly her rational Scully brain activates again.
We are on the clock.
The coroner is just outside.
We didn’t even lock the fucking door.
“The door, Mulder,” she says, breathless, as he lifts her onto the gurney. The cold metal makes her yelp and he lifts an eyebrow.
“One step ahead of you, Scully,” he grins. Of course he already locked it. She’s baffled at how she hadn’t even thought of it before now.
Cognizant of her nakedness she throws her arms around his neck and pulls him close to her body, the fabric of his dress shirt against her front the only source of warmth.
“It’s freezing in here,” she says, and her teeth chatter more with anxious excitement than discomfort. “I want to get warm.” She peels off his clothing piece by piece, ripping his shirt open with gusto, buttons flying everywhere, plink plink against the cold storage doors.
“You tore my shirt,” he says, unnecessarily.
“Shut up, Mulder,” she says huskily. “I’ll fix it for you later.”
“You sew, Scully?” he grins. She doesn’t want to tell him she doesn’t, not really, but how different can it be from sewing up dead bodies? Surely a mood killer, though. So she grins and pulls him close, taking his bottom lip securely between her own. He groans as he furiously unbuckles his belt, sliding everything off in one fell swoop, and then they are two warm bodies tangled together on a single gurney, emulating death but oh, so alive.
He settles on top of her, and although her back feels only cold metal her body is warm, hot, on fire with only him. She wraps her legs around him and as he slowly pushes inside her she arches up further, angling her body to accept as much of him as she possibly can.
“Ow,” she says as her scapula aggressively presses against the hard metal surface.
“Too much?” Mulder asks with a grimace. He’s not small and he knows it. She loves that he knows it.
“No,” she smiles, shaking her head. “Never enough.”
He grins and leans down to taste her lips again and she clutches two fistfuls of his ass, pulling him in tight. She looks into his eyes, so dilated with lust she can see the reflection of the bay around them.
“Move,” she commands.
The gurney creaks and moves as he pumps and she marvels at how good he feels, how right this is. They fit together so perfectly she wants to weep. Why haven’t they done this in every single autopsy bay they’ve ever been in? It seems like such a fucking waste.
Overcome with ecstasy her fingernails scratch over his shoulders and down his pectorals much harder than she intends, leaving twin trails of red grooves along his chest. His very own Y-incision, she muses. He yelps, gripping her wrist hard, and in retaliation leans down to bite the tender flesh at her collarbone.
The cold beneath her and the heat above her and the clanging of metal overwhelms her senses and she starts to moan yeah, oh god… although… the noise they must be making ...
His hand drifts down to her thigh and he slowly unbends her leg, ghosting his fingers up and up until her leg is straight up in the air and he’s hitting her at some kind of angle that feels so fucking good it’s as unexplainable as whatever X File they’re here for. It doesn’t matter. Right now she believes in the paranormal because he’s making it happen between her thighs.
“ Mul- “ she begins to scream but he leans down and quiets her cries with his lips, and as he moves his mouth over his she hears the echo of her own cry within the bay. Surely someone can hear them, surely someone is listening. But she’s surfing the crest of her release and has no desire to stop; her last vestige of rationality left the building with her inhibitions.
They must finish. They will finish.
“Shhh…” Mulder whispers against her lips. She’s so close, and he’s frantically thrusting, chasing his own conclusion, when he suddenly finds it, spilling into her with a grunt and more whispers into her ear, all the things she loves to hear from him in these moments. She’s past the point of no return and at the moment his hand darts down to help her along she follows, breathing heavily as he kisses her eyelids and cradles her head in his hands.
The look they share now is like so many others that have come before, different while he’s inside her but still the same, still exactly the same as that night they laughed in the rain and the mud together all those years ago. He brushes a strand of sweaty hair out of her eyes and drags his lips softly across her forehead as she wraps her arms around his neck, hugging him close. He is her blanket, keeping her warm and safe in this cold, bleak space.
“We should go,” she says as he pulls a medical tarp over them.
“Just a minute,” he says. “I just want to hold you for a minute, okay?”
She smiles in contentment and lets him slow down. She loves when he slows down. It’s the never-ending complexity of Fox Mulder, his ability to slow down when she needs him to despite his tendency to barrel ahead as his gut leads him forward, unstoppable. She never thought him capable of stopping for anything until they started doing this, started being with each other this way and now he stops. Now he holds her tenderly, careful while she’s here in his arms.
I wouldn’t know what I’d be missing.
He’s aware now, of what he’d miss if he didn’t stop. So she lets him hold her and they lie here, suspended in time in a place where time does not matter.
“What the hell are you doing, George?”
The assistant pulled away from the door, more embarrassed at being caught than for anything he’d heard in the last ten minutes.
“Those FBI agents are fucking in there,” he said, as if that explained everything.
“You’re disgusting,” the coroner replied, her ponytail swishing behind her as she continued down the hall. George watched her for a second, shrugged, then pressed his ear back to the door. This job sucked anyway.