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Normally he is clothes strewn across the floor and she is across town, all things stacked neatly in a hamper but tonight they are neither. Tonight is different.

Mulder hadn’t planned to kiss her, one arm pinned to him, unable to touch her face and lose itself in her hair but like most important moments in his life his first time kissing Scully had not gone as planned. He’d dreamed it more times than he’d had his Samantha nightmare; awake and asleep he imagined the taste of her, warm and wine soaked after a case in front of a fire or cool and laughing in the rain like that first week in Oregon. Scully deserved more than hospital smells and TV static, she deserved more than him but almost by accident he’d asked the six-year question and the world hadn’t ended.

If anything it had begun again and this time in Scully’s image instead of Gods. Mulder had thought before that his whole universe was bounded by her small frame but he had been wrong, before tonight he hadn’t known this part of her. He had worshipped her but never before had he lost himself to her. How could he without knowing simple things like the fact that his two hands spread apart on her shoulder blades under her shirt would fit like wings or that he would be able to taste her heartbeat in his mouth when he breathed into her neck? 

People have all sorts of poetic things to say about great love and its discovery but Mulder knows that what it really boils down to is knowing that even if the rest of the world vanishes there will be one figure clinging on in the emptiness. That his one person was Scully. Every time he fell or woke up from almost-death she was there, holding on in a way that nobody had ever held on for him before. Nobody had ever loved him more than they cared what everyone thought, more than they cared for their own safety, more than they loved themselves. True love seemed too trite a description for that kind of commitment and Mulder had tried to tell Scully as much before but the words hadn’t gone far enough. They never could when this language of bodies remained unspoken, one sense unused.

It doesn’t matter anymore though. They have discovered it and are learning fast, breath for breath and hand in hand.

Scully can’t remember exactly how she got from the hospital to her apartment. The gap between Mulder pressing her against her car and kissing every part of her face and his hands sliding under her coat as she fumbled her key three times before managing to unlock her door is blurry. Everything is blurry except for him and his hands and his mouth on her skin. Her belongings look different from the tangle of his arms; the chaste solid surface of her dining table will now always be the place where she fought his t-shirt over his sling while his fingers signed his ownership of her into the skin of her hips. It’s a messy desperate journey from there to her bedroom and the glass covering the diagram of her father’s ship is the first casualty, dragged down by her scrambling fingers as Mulder makes a rest stop to push her against the wall and reach between her legs to beckon her home.

This is no choreographed love scene. The bed sheds case files instead of rose petals when she drags him on top of her and the candles she lights on lonely nights to soothe her mind while her fingers to soothe her hunger for for him remain unlit. Spread now in the filtered streetlight under Mulder’s devouring gaze Scully begins to forget what lonely feels like. His tongue slithers past her breast, dips into her navel and continues south, taking with it the frustration of moments left untouched in hallways. Manoeuvring her thighs clumsily with one arm, he breathes “Scullyy - oh - God” into the wet heat between her legs, warm air chased by hot lips and then pleasure. It’s too much and not enough, the licks of orgasm beginning to gather in her fingers get lost in his hair and she needs to see him when she comes undone for him, to know that this is real. 

Denying herself his talented mouth in her search for connection Scully slides down under her partner and gathers him up, balancing him as he shuffles to the top of the bed, torn between touching her and needing his one good arm to support himself. Scully half-smiles at this, how typical it is of them to choose this moment, the end of a hellishly long day with Mulder injured, to take this step. They are the poster children for doing the right thing at the wrong time, of missing moments. But then he weaves his fingers in hers and it’s not so funny any more.

Just the barest brush of him against her and this is the perfect moment. Her Mulder propped against her headboard and watching with the wonder she thought he reserved for mysterious lights in the sky, waiting for her to come to him as he has waited so many times before in less important scenes. Time now slows as if to counter the urgency of the past few minutes and soft meets hard in a long-imagined kiss. Mulder is tall and she is small and as she rocks herself onto him, gasping at every centimetre, hands braced on his chest she thinks she should probably be breaking around him. But she isn’t. His eyes are on her, dipping down to where they are finally joined as if to check it is really happening and between his gaze and his body Scully feels as if some part of her that has been missing for a long time has just returned. She has always been strong but now she is stronger, this final frontier crumbling away to reveal iron strength instead of the expected vulnerability.

Mulder feels it too, the victory of realising that this makes them stronger instead of weaker and as she finally comes to rest against him Scully purrs with satisfaction. He responds to the animal instinct, wrapping his good arm close around her ass and pulling him flush to her, demanding more flesh, more friction and her mouth back on his. Forgetting the day he tries to raise his injured arm to her throat and hisses at the pain, at all the places he wants to touch but can’t but she doesn’t care about that right now. Being here is enough and the world is shrinking to the few square feet around them, the wild beat of their hearts and the rising tempo at the centre of it all.

Scully has never been a particularly voyeuristic lover, sensations always seemed bigger with her eyes pressed shut but with Mulder things are different. The way he grits his teeth, jaw clenched as he fights to hang on for her is addictive. She’s seen him lose control before but never because of her, never because of the hypnotic rhythm of his cock disappearing into her. His breathing is beginning to hitch and sweat is beading on his chest in the divots left by her fingernails. Though she has never seen Mulder come, Scully knows him well enough to realise that he is close, too close and that short of making him stop while she catches up she is not close enough. The realisation frees her to drink in every moment of him and she does so greedily, squeezing her internal muscles to make him choke out her name in a voice so broken it is barely recognisable. She winds her fingers into his hair, caging his face and runs her thumbs to his mouth, forcing him to look at her as the black of his pupils spreads and his eyes turn liquid. She hangs on as his thrusts turn erratic, syllables of nonsense that mean love and revelation and “finally Scully you’re mine” slipping from his lips as he pours himself into her. Body and soul.

She holds him then, mumbling her own promises into his shoulder, choked by the emotion of it all as the enormity of what they have done muddles with the exhaustion of the day. Mulder rolls to his side and tucks her close to his chest where his steady heartbeat answers all of her questions. No, this wont ruin everything. Yes, he loves her. Yes, he will stay. 

She’s almost asleep when she feels him stiffen, feels him whisper, “Scully - you didn’t finish” and she shakes her head and soothes him with a soft palm on his chest. Fox Mulder carries guilt for many things but her sometimes elusive orgasm is not going to be one of them. Sleepily scooting up until she can reach his mouth with hers she whispers, “there’s always tomorrow”.

The last thing she feels as she drifts to sleep is his body relaxing into her promise, that this will still be real in the morning.