Chapter 1: This One’s Yours
The sound of the rain hitting the fabric drum of the umbrella above them made the space under it seem cloistered and insular. A small pocket of humid seclusion amongst the airport sounds of taxiing airplanes and safe-travel goodbyes.
The rain was hitting the sidewalk beneath them and jumping back up to splash her shoes, the lower half of her panty hose already a soaking mess. She stepped closer to him--as close as she could, propriety be damned. She wished she hadn’t worn a skirt.
The taxi line was at least ten people long, most of them standing with their shoulders bunched up miserably around their ears, unprepared for the weather. Mulder always kept a small compact umbrella tucked into his suitcase, so they were at least marginally more comfortable than their soaked compatriots.
Mulder wrapped his free hand lightly around her back when she stepped into him, and she got a whiff of his cologne. The air around them smelled of the urban tang of cold rain on hot pavement, a hint of petrichor underlying all. She closed her eyes and took it in.
She felt his thumb start to absently stroke her back, a slow rhythm of comfort. She looked up to give him a small smile and found his face closer than she expected, his head hunched down under the umbrella to better cover her. His breath fanned her face, his eyes lazy and smiling.
She’d worn her highest heels, so it was only a matter of inches between her lips and his. Before she could put together a coherent thought, their lips were pressed together, a feathery light brush just this side of a friendly buss. If she’d chosen to, she could have pulled back and chalked it up to such, headed into work the next day with nary an awkward look. If she’d chosen to.
Instead she lifted up ever so slightly onto her toes and pushed into the supple pillows of her partners lips, earning her a surprised inhale. Almost instantly the hand on her back was pressing insistently, pulling her closer.
One kiss, two, three, each with a little more pressure, held a little longer. Then, in a rush, the rain came down harder, slashing through the atmosphere, charging the air. She felt the tip of his tongue and met it with her own, the moment taking on a sudden intensity.
She felt the rip of lust, felt her heart start pounding, could feel the answering echo of Mulder’s own. His breath hitched as the kiss deepened and she smiled into his mouth, feeling wanted, powerful.
She was curling her fingers through Mulder’s lapel when she heard a discreet clearing of a throat from behind her, and she pulled back, Mulder leaning down as she moved, his face chasing hers as if magnetized.
The taxi line had moved on without them, the businessman behind them smiling a knowing grin while they noticed their surroundings and shuffled forward.
She was pleased but embarrassed, and stood, eyes facing forward, leaning back into him companionably. Finally they were at the front of the line, and as a cab pulled up, tires squelching in front of the wet curb, Mulder leaned down and whispered into her ear “this one’s yours.”
He held the umbrella over her as she unfolded herself into the back of the cab, and as the door closed, she caught his eye through the streaked window, caught his cat-like look, his small satisfied smirk. He held her gaze as the sedan pulled away, as she smiled her way home.
Chapter 2: A Sorta Fairytale
He hopped into the next cab, shaking water from his coat onto the worn vinyl of the taxi’s backseat. The air was thick with the smell of cigarette smoke warring with tropical car deodorizer, chasing the smell of her from his nose. He started breathing through his mouth, holding onto the last thing he had left of her kiss.
He was still in a state of stunned disbelief and it took two rounds of the cabbie asking “where to, sir?” to snap him out of his reverie.
“Uh,” he started, fully intending to give his address in Alexandria, when “Georgetown, please,” crossed his lips instead.
He leaned toward the middle of the car as it pulled away from the curb, and thought he could see the taillights of the taxi that had whisked Scully away merging onto the Parkway ahead of them. The windshield wipers scraped steadily along and he curled his fingers into a fist, remembering her touch.
He rattled off her address to the driver and thunked his head back against the seat, lovestruck.
Scully had kissed him. Scully had stuck her tongue down his throat and grabbed him by the lapels. She’d wedged her obnoxious shoe in between his feet and given him a good, hard sniff.
And he’d done nothing but act like a surprised adolescent, returning her kiss without the promise of another and mooning after her and letting her drive away.
He had long thought she was otherworldly. Harbored a suspicion that if you photographed her in black and white, she would still show up in color. Scully was a muse, a nymph, she was blue eyes and orange hair in a tintype world. She was like the toad in a fairytale; when you kissed her, you needed to stick around to see what happened next.
When she answered the door, she had clearly just walked in and had only gotten so far as taking off her shoes. She was shorter now, diminutive standing next to his hulking damp frame, her cheeks ruddy, her hair misty and curling in on itself.
She took a step back and he entered without a word, closing the door behind him.
“Mulder,” she said, and he took a step forward, closing the distance between them. She tipped her head back to look at him, the elegant ivory column of her neck begging for his touch. He reached out and drew a finger delicately down it, gooseflesh breaking out in its wake--she closed her eyes and drew a breath in.
“Hey,” he said quietly, and she slowly opened her eyes and looked at him. “At the airport, that was… I shouldn’t have let you leave.”
She tilted her head to the side, regarding him mildly.
“What should you have done?” she asked.
He reached out and clasped her firmly by the waist, pulling her slowly to him until their hips bumped. She moved to him without protest, her movements languid and unhurried. Seductive. She reached both arms up and over his shoulders, her fingers curling into the short hairs on his neck, all of which were now standing on end.
“This,” he whispered, leaning towards her.
He had to bend down pretty far just to reach her, but when his lips met hers again, it was electric. A frission of energy pulsed from his core and he vaguely thought that the top of his skull might lift off and float away.
She kissed him back thoroughly then leaned back to look at him, her eyes hooded with desire. She was breathing through her mouth.
“I’m glad you came,” she said, giving voice to the lone thought spiraling through his brain. “I need to get out of these clothes,” she went on, backing away from him slowly.
A million responses, all various takes on the theme “I could help with that” all came to him at the same time, bottlenecking in his throat and rendering him speechless.
She hitched her skirt up a bit, right there in the middle of her living room and reached her hand up underneath it. Mulder felt his jaw drop and his brain practically short-circuited. It wasn’t until about a second later, when she started to slowly unroll one leg of her panty hose down her thigh and off her leg that Mulder realized what she was and was not doing. She casually tossed the thigh-high over the arm of the couch and reached up to pull down the other.
“ Fuck , Scully,” he said harshly, wondering just how much a man could take.
“That’s the general idea,” she said, walking backwards towards her bedroom.
“If this is a dream,” he said, floating along behind her, “I want to go on having it forever.”
The rain was still pinging steadily at her windows and blood was roaring in his ears. Her stockings were draped over her ticking stripe couch, mud-splattered and damp, the heel stained dark from her shoes. The lamp in her bedroom flicked off as the grey evening faded into night, and her mantle clock chimed and ticked on and on. The rasp of his jaw scraped creamy white skin and he dreamed and dreamed and dreamed.