Work Text:
J. Edgar Hoover Building
Friday, April 14th, 2000
6:57 PM
He’s keeping them late on purpose.
If anyone asks, they can easily blame their late hours on Mulder’s paperwork-related procrastination, or say they’re doing a deep dive into some ancient newspapers again. Most of the Bureau sees their work as bullshit already, so the options for plausible excuses are endless.
In reality, they’re just killing time. Scully is organizing the receipts in her purse; Mulder is using the ceiling tiles as a dart board. Both sneak glances at their watches, waiting for the minute hand to land on the twelve.
Seven P.M.
Scully sighs, rolls her head from side to side, stretching her neck. “Are we done here, Mulder? Because I have a date with my bathtub and a trashy paperback, and I don’t want to keep them waiting.” She perches on his desk, one leg swinging lazily. “It’s Friday night,” she continues, nudging his shin with her foot. “You should be home, watching some bad movie you deem a classic, eating takeout.”
He looks up at her, reading her face. She arches her right eyebrow slightly. You know what I’m thinking, but I’m going to make you say it, she telegraphs.
“But you’re here, and I’m here,” he replies. “And everyone else has gone home.”
Scully shifts, spreads her legs further apart by almost imperceptible degrees. “I suppose they have.” She slips a foot out of her shoe and sneaks her stockinged toes beneath the hem of his slacks.
This isn’t a new fantasy for either of them, but they haven’t yet acted on it; both cautious, testing the waters, letting the tension build.
He leans back in his desk chair and lets his eyes roam her body. She’s as poised and collected as usual in her little blazer and skirt, but he can see her fraying slightly on the edges. “It doesn’t have to be tonight,” he notes softly, “If you’re not in the mood.”
“I’m not not in the mood,” she protests, “Just calculating risk.”
“Divide that risk in half,” he says, rising to his feet. “I’m sharing it.”
“I think in that case, the risk actually multiplies by two,” Scully corrects him.
“Scully,” he says in a low tone, stepping closer to her, “Kinda sounds like you’re stalling.”
She juts her chin out at him in defiance. “Well, this requires both of us to participate, and you don’t seem to be chomping at the bit either.”
Mulder leans over her, looking down into her upturned face. “It’s called playing it cool, Scully,” he murmurs. “Don’t want to be the guy that’s too eager when it’s not wanted. For this scenario I need an explicit invitation.”
Her lips flick into a smile. “Then make a move, Mulder.”
Mulder steps between her legs, leaning over her and pressing his mouth to hers. The kiss is soft and full, and he draws away after a moment.
“Thoughts?” he prompts.
She loops her arms around his neck, pulling him down closer. “Shut up and do it again,” she commands.
“D’you think... if they found out about us... they’d split us up?” Scully asks between kisses. She’s deliciously out of breath and her voice makes Mulder’s cock twinge.
He bites down on her lower lip, soothes it with a lap of his tongue. “Maybe,” he murmurs, mouth open on hers. “Maybe they knew we were a thing before we did.”
“Mm,” Scully replies, dragging a hand through his hair and closing her little fist in the silky locks. “Titillating.”
“Fuck,” he grunts, feeling a burst of goosebumps on his scalp and down the back of his neck. “I love when you pull my hair,” he groans.
“Oh do you,” she teases, dragging a foot up the back of his leg. “If only you had some hard evidence to support you claim.”
Mulde growls and leans into her, the fronts of their bodies pressed together. “You’re the scientist, Scully,” he says against her neck. “How do I measure up?”
She wraps her legs around his thighs, pulls him in closer with a press of her heels. “Such a question requires further investigation,” she replies in a low tone, hooking a finger in one of his belt loops. “Show me what you’re packing, G-Man.”
He leans down and kisses her fully, sliding his tongue against hers. “There’s something... something I need first,” he pants, lowering himself onto his knees in front of her.
Scully plants her palms behind her on the desk, bracing herself as she tilts her hips forward. Mulder slips his hands beneath the hem of her skirt, pushing it up past her thighs. She sighs luxuriously, wiggling her hips to help him gather the skirt around her waist.
He rolls her thigh-highs down slightly, kissing her inner thighs as he makes his way towards her center. He nuzzles her between her legs, nose brushing the damp cotton of her panties, and she lets out a soft gasp.
“Right here, on your desk?” she asks, and it sounds like a dare. “You wouldn’t.”
“Try me,” he replies, voice rumbling against the crease of her thigh. He hooks his finger under the waistband of her underwear, gives it a snap before drawing it down her legs.
“This is a risky move,” Scully says rationally between heavy breaths. “You know how… messy I get.”
“Mm,” he hums, eyes locking with hers as he presses a kiss to her outer labia. “And you know how much I like to clean you up.”
He scoots in closer, draping her legs over his shoulders as he gives her slit an experimental lick, causing her to shudder.
“Keep doing that,” she breathes, fingers tangling in his hair as she rocks her hips into his face.
“You like that?” he asks between laps at her cunt.
Her only reply is a whimper, her thighs squeezing his head as he explores her depths with his tongue.
“This- this is fully insane,” she gasps, legs trembling. “I can’t believe we’re doing this.”
Mulder lifts his head momentarily to look at her. “We planned this,” he reminds her. “It was your idea. You said, and I quote, ‘we should fuck in the office at least once’.”
“Still,” she breathes, twisting a lock of his hair between her fingers, “It’s much more intense in practice than in theory.”
“I’m taking your ability to form sentences as a sign that I’m underperforming,” he counters. He gives her clit a brief suck, and she yelps.
He’s been wanting to do this all day; burrow beneath her sober gray skirt, feast on her body, lose himself in the scent and taste of her. Feel her throb and quiver on his lips.
“Mulder,” Scully gasps, squeezing her thighs tighter, “we didn’t lock the door.”
“Nobody’s here,” he mumbles. He resurfaces a moment later, wiping his chin on his sleeve. “But if you want me to lock it, I will.”
Scully looks at her watch, the furrow in her brow contrasting with the high flush on her cheeks. Mulder rests his chin on her knee, looking up at her fondly.
“We’re in the basement, Honey,” he says, dropping a soft kiss to her kneecap. “Nobody comes down here even during work hours.”
Scully lets out a breath and gives him a sly smile. “But after hours…” she begins.
“…We both come down here,” he finishes, grinning. “Exactly. You’re getting pretty good at this whole ‘deviant Federal agent’ thing, Scully.”
She nudges him with her heel. “Back to work, Agent Mulder,” she says in a low tone.
They’re fucking on the floor because Mulder’s too tall and his desk is too short to reasonably bend Scully over it.
His palms are beginning to feel raw from the thick carpet fibers rubbing against his skin, and his knees are burning, but she’s sprawled out beneath him, pulling him in, and it feels so good he can’t stop.
“Can I confess something, Scully?” Mulder pants, spying an errant sunflower seed shell in her hair.
“Ah- yes, what?” she gasps in reply. “Oh, right there,” she adds, hands sliding over his ass and scrambling for purchase.
“I regret banning the janitorial staff from this office,” he admits.
“You did what?”
“This carpet hasn’t been vacuumed,” he grunts, “in at least five years.”
“You tell me that now?” she replies incredulously, stilling below him. “You could have mentioned that before I dragged you down here.”
“It didn’t occur to me then! I was occupied,” he protests, plucking the seed husk out of her hair and hoping she doesn’t notice. She does.
“What was in my hair?” she asks.
“Can we please continue this discussion later when I’m not inside you?” he asks through gritted teeth as he pushes deeper into her. “You’re squeezing me really tight and I can’t-”
“Fine,” she sighs, digging her nails into the exposed skin of his lower back. “But you better make it fucking good.”
He does.
They’re sitting on the floor, leaning against the desk, spent.
“I feel like we should be passing a cigarette between us,” Scully comments, running a hand through her tousled hair. She extracts a piece of lint from her head and flicks it away in disgust. “Why did you ban the cleaning crew from here, anyway?”
“I have a highly complex organizational system,” Mulder explains, gesturing randomly about the room. “And I don’t want to risk it being disturbed. And the X-Files contain highly sensitive information that could be catastrophic if in the wrong hands.”
Scully nods. “Paranoia,” she summarizes. “Got it.”
“It’s not paranoia if it’s justified,” he argues.
“You know, I believe the carpet was replaced after the fire,” Scully reminds him. “So theoretically it should be cleaner. If someone didn’t spit so many seeds around-”
“You weren’t complaining about my seeds a minute ago,” Mulder interrupts.
Scully rolls her eyes, standing and untwisting her skirt from up around her waist. “So, office sex,” she says. “I have notes.”
“Feel free to share with the class,” Mulder prompts, rising and tucking himself back into his boxers.
“Logistics are challenging; the desk provides less functionality than I had hoped. The floor is fine, but we need to vacuum before next time.”
“Next time,” Mulder echoes. “You… you want to do this again?”
Her face is rosy and suddenly shy as she nods. “I liked it,” she confesses, smoothing her blouse under the waistband of her skirt. “There’s something primal about it. As bizarre as it sounds, I feel like we’ve marked our territory.”
“By territory,” Mulder clarifies, “do you mean the office, or each other?”
The grin she gives him is positively feral.
“Both.”