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Mulder wrapped his arms around Scully's small waist, stooping to peer over her shoulder at the contents of the pan she was stirring. Thick and spiced aromas drifted on the wings of the steam, wafting flavours of cinnamon and clove throughout the kitchen of their unremarkable house.
"Smells good," he hummed appreciatively, resting his chin on her shoulder.
The long winter nights were drawn outside but inside they thrived with the warmth from the crackling log fire, buzzed from the lick of alcohol that tickled their insides, and tingled with the excitement of spending their first Christmas together in a place they could finally call home.
"Mmm, mulled wine is one of my favourite things about Christmas."
She twisted in his arms to moon his dopey smile and those eyes that twinkled warm hazel like roasted chestnuts or cups of steamy cocoa. Drinking in his undeniable beauty, his evident love, her insides melted woozily and she was thankful for his embrace lest she morph into a puddle.
"I wasn't talking about the wine," he murmured in her ear, the heat of his breath making her squirm and giggle. Biting her lip, she rolled her eyes at his flirtatious quip: they were commonplace now– not that she was complaining. Finally, after what felt like time eternal, the fear and anguish of the road were left behind. In its place: a house. A home. A Mulder who was happy and playful. A Scully who was beatific and content. Falling was easy; the thrill of domestic rhythm how they landed.
Mulder's smile broadened into a mischievous grin. "Do that again."
The rich timbre of his voice pulled her from her reverie. Somewhat still embarrassed by how she could lose track of time so readily entrenched in thoughts of them, Scully returned her attention to the wine on the stove. "Do what again?" she asked with genuine perplexion.
His mischievous grin widened further still, tickled pink in the knowledge that she was blissfully unaware. "That funny face you were just pulling," he teased.
"I didn't pull a funny face," Scully said resolutely.
"Yes, you did. Just then."
"I don't know what you mean, Mulder, I don't pull funny faces."
She brought the wooden spoon soaked dark red to his lips, stifling a giggle when he moaned delectably, even if he was exaggerating. Loading another spoon, she took a taste herself, coyly smiling through her eyelashes at him. "You must be getting me confused with somebody else."
"You do!" he insisted, but she shook her head in protest.
Turning off the ring, Scully shuffled awkwardly towards where the glasses were on the side, encumbered by his stubborn arms.
Stubborn in teasing her too, Mulder continued, "You pull this funny face. You roll your eyes and your eyebrows go through the roof and then your mouth pulls this funny shape and..."
"And?" Fatally, she turned to question him, falling all over again for his soulful eyes and his boyish smile.
"I remember how much I always want to kiss you," he said earnestly.
"You do?" she simpered.
He shook his head incredulously. "All the time."
Enraptured by the rose tint in her cheeks and the blush pink of her lips; her fiery, Irish hair flowing over her shoulders and the deep blue shimmer in her eyes, he pressed his forehead to hers. It was as if the weight of his love kept him physically tethered to her. He knew he must be smiling inanely– completely enraptured by her.
Scully giggled, the light, bubbly sound lifting his heart and sent his already singing spirits soaring.
"What?" He straightened, half laughing himself. "What's so funny?"
"You are," she said with as sober an expression as possible.
"I do have some funny ideas, don't I?" He withdrew his hand from around her waist to brandish a sprig of mistletoe above their heads. "Snow is falling, the halls are decked, our fire is roaring, a seasonal peck?"
She raised a querying eyebrow. "How long have you been thinking of that one?"
"Admittedly, a while," he shrugged.
Scully pursed her lips to quell a smile, the corners of her mouth nevertheless rebelliously tugging upwards. "Come here, you," she laughed. Curling her fingers through the tuft of hair at the nape of his neck, she pulled him down into a festive kiss, tasting of winter spice and a delicious, insatiable yearning.
Eventually, Mulder broke the kiss, despite his own intentions, by smiling too broadly.
"Merry Christmas, Scully," he chuckled.
"Merry Christmas, Mulder."