Dana Scully had spent the last hour mulling over Billy Miles’ testimony under hypnosis and the hour before that she had seriously questioned her life choices. This weird subdivision of the FBI was not what she had imagined when she left teaching for fieldwork. She didn’t belong down in the basement arguing in favor of facts and science on a loop with someone who claimed to have no need for such things.
Agent Fox Mulder defied explanation himself. He could steadfastly believe in some of the most out-there theories and disregard evidence based in reality, but still breakdown the mystery and develop leads that progressed the investigation. It should’ve infuriated her, but it didn’t. He made nonsensical leaps that drove her crazy, and yet she had found herself completely caught up in all of it. There was a thrill in the challenge, in this skeptic-believer tango they had established, and so quickly, too.
Part of that thrill was him. As exasperated as she was with his methods, he intrigued her—so much that it concerned her a little. She needed to focus on the work if this new stage of her career was to be a success, not on her partner and the alluring puzzle that he embodied.
Her thoughts had, again, circled back to him as they had done repeatedly as she laid awake in bed, the idea of sleep an abstract concept. She recalled her last contact with him and it sent an unmistakable jolt of arousal through her. It had been just a look, but the sheer intensity behind it shook her to her core. Not to mention the near impossible fact that they had made eye contact through a two-way mirror.
She could see him, he couldn’t see her, but he was still able to zero in on her with razor-sharp accuracy. It was surprising that the heat of their connection hadn’t shattered the glass. She had felt the same kind of butterflies in her chest as she did when she experienced a first kiss. How had romantic notions become so tangled up in this situation? These feelings kept popping up as they worked the case. And then there had been that whole robe-dropping incident. The man had already seen her in her underwear for Christ’s sake.
This amorous stirring inside of her was unwanted. She was not looking for romance. Why did he have to be so goddamn good-looking? He wasn’t really her type, either, not that she had a type, but she didn’t think he was it. She normally found his particular brand of humor cheesy, but on him it was inexplicably charming. And his fantastical tendencies annoyed the hell out of her even as they endeared him to her. Her attraction to him was a fucking X-file in and of itself.
She turned over on her side, exhaling a frustrated sigh, and tried to ignore the horniness surging through her spurred on by thoughts of her platonic co-worker. 11:21, the red digital numbers on her clock radio burned brightly in the darkness of her bedroom. This was going to be a long night.
Little did she know that across town Fox Mulder had been having a similar conversation with himself. How had this tiny red-headed scientist gotten so into his head? His life had been consumed by the X-files for such a long time that anything else crowding into his brain was jarring. That it was a newbie field agent sent to spy on him was even more concerning.
But she wasn’t that, he had learned. He saw a genuine loyalty to the truth in her and couldn’t believe how quickly he had come to trust her—and he didn’t trust anybody—even going as far as telling her about Samantha’s abduction. Before that he had been feeling that they shared moments of unspoken connection, he just brushed it aside, though; it was probably because she was cute and didn’t dismiss him or his theories. Well, she didn’t believe him, even called him crazy at one point, but she wasn’t rude or malicious about it like a lot of people tended to be.
Then when she had shown up on his doorstep worried about mosquito bites, he noticed the last bit of his reticence fell away. Dana Scully was the real deal: smart, beautiful, hard-working, guileless. He had to stop himself from listing all of her wonderful qualities because it would be endless.
Uh oh, he was smitten and smitten people often do foolish things. And calling her late at night with feelings of lust and fondness swirling around inside him, all while fighting against a growing erection, was definitely foolish.
Oh god, her voice. Was it his imagination or did it sound extremely sensual? Not just sleepy which gave him images of her in bed, but sultry, lower and heavy. It did not help the situation in his lap.
“Scully? It’s me.”
Oh god, his voice. He said “it’s me” like it was a totally normal thing to call her at home at this late hour. At least she hoped it would become a normal thing. Her thoughts and feelings about him distressed her, but she was thrilled that he had called, and he sounded so good—trusting, and that was incredibly sexy to her, especially with what she now knew about him. It did not help the dampness between her legs.
“I haven’t been able to sleep. I talked to the DA’s office in Raymond County, Oregon.” He decided to launch right into the information he needed to tell her, information that could’ve easily waited until the next morning. It was just an excuse to talk to her, he knew that; he hoped she didn’t, though.
“There’s no case file on Billy Miles. The paperwork we filed is gone.” It’s you and me against the world was his subtext. “We need to talk, Scully.” Nevermind that we are talking right at this very moment.
She hesitated. “Y-yes.” It came out throaty and husky. She was so turned on, she didn’t know what else to say.
Okay, he was not imagining it—that “yes” was dripping with arousal. He recognized it because when he repeated it, he heard it in his own prurient tone. “Yes.”
There was a long pause where they came to the simultaneous conclusion to surrender to their desire. Scully snuck her hand under her panties and Mulder gripped his cock through the opening of his boxers—their synchronous hiss combined in an echo-y, electric sizzle.
“S-scully?” he croaked, pumping his fist up and down his length.
“Hmmm?” she hummed, drawing her fingers in and out of her wet pussy.
“I guess I’ll--” He stopped when he thought he heard a soft whimper on the line. Could she..? Nah. He was trying to get off the phone with her before he made a complete jackass of himself. Also, this behavior was technically sexual harassment. “I’ll, uh, let you go.”
“No! I mean, um, I’m not--” Her fingers rubbed over her clit and she couldn’t finish her sentence. She didn’t even know what she had been planning on saying.
The heavy breathing that came after was pretty unambiguous. Mulder had watched enough porn to know what that particular type of breathing meant. The visual it put in his mind nearly made him come. He squeezed the base of his dick, he didn’t want to climax uncontrollably, shouting her name or something equally mortifying.
“Scully?” he whispered harshly.
“Yesss?” she sighed. He was onto her and she knew it, but it all felt so good that she didn’t care. Then his ragged breaths that came through the earpiece confirmed her suspicions that he was doing the same thing. He was touching himself while on the phone with her as she fucked herself. She was having phone sex with her new partner. This was so wrong, but it also felt so right, so natural.
They were both panting now, neither hiding the fact that they were pleasuring themselves. Scully’s fingers moved faster on her plump bundle of nerves. Mulder hotly stroked his cock. Scully came with a strangled shriek, and Mulder promptly followed, unable to restrain his groaning.
They allowed for a moment of sated silence before they let the gravity of what had just transpired hit them fully. Then they clumsily tried to deal with it.
“Did you-- did we..?” Mulder asked vaguely to avoid appearing vulgar in acknowledging it.
Scully didn’t respond—she was too embarrassed.
“Scully, I’m sorry.”
“No, I’m sorry,” she said, ashamed. “Let’s just pretend this didn’t happen.” She wasn’t sure how else they could go on working together.
“Okay,” agreed Mulder.
Silence. They didn’t want to hang up.
“I don’t want to pretend it didn’t happen,” he said softly.
“Neither do I.”