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She hears the pitter patter of the shower head, commingling with the fall of rain against their bedroom window, the shuffle of his feet, the jostling of bottles as his hands search for the right products. She spent so many months trying to imagine him into her space, craving the way he bore into the nooks and crannies of their home. Now she listens to him roam about this house with utter ease, gives in to the cadence of it.

She waits, torn between wanting to stretch the sounds of him like the intake of a breath before an orchestra plays and needing to see him.

She cracks open the door, bracing for the inevitable squeak of its hinges. Removes her soft robe, taking the time to carefully place it on the hook next to the shower.

Peeks through the back of the curtain, “room for one more?” Her tone feels light, shy, out of character to her own ears.

He grins at her, that infectious smile, his hair still soapy, and scoots back so she can join.

She hops in, tapping the edge of his hipbone to turn around so she can wash the suds out of his fine hair. He bends down to meet her. And moans graciously as she massages his temples.

On mornings when the two of them had grown weary and tired on the run, Scully would do this. Wash his hair in the dinky motel room shower where they were living in some godforsaken Arkansan town.

She’d start to hum, eager for the sound of something other than the TV, an engine, or the tension in the air.

“Gonna wash that man right of my hair, gonna wash that man right out of my hair, gonna wash that man right out of my hair, and send him on his way.”

He’d laugh, the kind that made his whole chest rumble. Ask her if that was her way of hinting that she was ready to get rid of him.

She’d poke him in the ribcage, tickle him under his armpits, and make him hop around the small shower with giggles until he pleaded with her to stop. He’d trap her in his hold and wipe that toothy smile off her face with a sloppy kiss.

What she didn’t want to tell him then, is that she imagined humming the words of that off-key tune to William as she scrubbed his dewy head in a bathtub.

She places a kiss to the back of Mulder’s neck before he stands to straighten. Runs the palm of her hands up the hard plane of his shoulder blades. Slowly working around his back, learning the expanse of him anew, hardened even still after all these years. She’s always been drawn to the dips and ridges of his shoulders, the way his collarbone angles to meet the muscular curvature of his upper back. Likes to place her index finger inside the slots there. As if the key to the rest of him is hidden somewhere she can’t see. She wraps her hands around his front. Presses her cheek to his back. And holds on tight.

He hums in the back of his throat. Meets her small hands with his. Then brings one to his lips to kiss it.

“Let’s get out of here,” he mumbles, turning towards her.

“You sure?” she questions with the quirk of her eyebrow.


“I have an idea,” she starts, fingers the tuft of dark chest hair down his sternum.

“Go on,” he says sincerely, his eyes moving from her hands to her eyes and back again.

“I have something I wanna try. But you’ll have to be very still.”

“Sure, fine, whatever,” he parrots back to her with a wink, tapping her ass as he ushers her out of the shower, reaching ahead of her to hand her her robe.

She steps into it gladly and hands him a towel as he follows behind her. He ties it around his waist after drying off. It hangs low on his hips as he runs his fingers through his damp hair.

“Where do you want me?”

“On the bed,” she says, with more force than she intended.

He catches her eye as he turns to head towards their bed, crispy and clean. Removes his towel as he falls back. She removes her robe in tandem.

There’s so much more of him now than there used to be. His frame wider, stockier, more chiseled in the light of the bedroom. It’s as if the arc of their time on the run, their time in this house, their time apart, has filled in parts of him, expanded the weight of this man.

She studies him. How he seems to take up so much space, the boundaries of him clear but never-ending in their reach. How he stretches the confines of this bed beyond that which she can see with her clear blue eyes.

His hands lay there, clenching and unclenching in tight fists as he waits in anticipation. It’s a tell of his when he’s nervous or unsure. A man itching to use touch as language, as reassurance, as evidence of her existence.

Her eyes flitter towards his abdomen, the rectus abdominus muscles creating ridges and valleys. Wishes she could make herself a river, slide in between the safety of his heat for time immortal. Allow his borders to shift and move her as she carves herself into his skin.

She crawls towards him now. Laces her fingers into his own to ease the monotony of his clenching. Settles herself in between his legs. Face just above where he wants her.

She starts slow. Tracing around the border of his abdomen with her tongue. Lightly at first, just the tip grazing in wide clockwise circles. She can feel his breath hitch as she meets the V of his abdomen where his obliques and transversus abdominus muscles converge.

As she makes her way back to the tuft of chest hair, she feels the length of him stir, bobbing gently against the roundness of her breasts. Swaying with her cross, trying to find her rhythm.

“Scully,” he groans, already frustrated.

Exactly how she wants him.

She pauses. Lets her tongue flirt with his left nipple. She loves this about him, the way he gets off on her tongue on his darkened areolas. It makes her slippery and wet every time, realizing how good it must feel to suck the meat of her into his pretty little mouth.

She moves in earnest now. Uses the flat of her tongue to follow the maze of ridges on the left side of his stomach. Scratches her nails along his arms, absentmindedly using the sharpness of them to paint a similar path in the opposite direction, ‘til she reaches the warm bend of his biceps. And then she reverses her movement. Recharts the space where her tongue was with nips and sucks to the wet skin.

His cock is steel hard beneath her. She can feel the leak of his precum leaving spots on the underside of her breasts as she moves, just out of his reach.

She gives similar attention to the right side. Wants to make sure every centimeter of her tongue makes contact with his solid build. As she nears the end of her first pass down, she pauses. Sucks long and hard at the sensitive skin right near his right hip bone.

He lets out a loud moan. His cock alive, tapping the right side of her cheek.

She releases his flesh, looks up at him. His eyes are barely open. The crinkles of skin above them droop downwards in that way that makes her heart clench with the softness he exudes. His veins jut out at his temples to heed the furrow in his brow. His fingers hover on the periphery of their bodies.

She licks her lips. She gets off on this. The power she wields over him. The fact that this man lays supine beneath her, confident that she will do him no harm. Assured that she will grant him the pleasure that lives just under his skin.

It takes every ounce of her lust addled brain to resist the temptation to slip him into her mouth and suck him dry, but she’s nothing if not committed.

She finishes her pattern, reaching the top of his abdomen, where his pectoral muscle curves.

“Scully,” he implores, his hand now holding the back of her head. His grip is light, but she can sense the tremor of need beneath his palm.

In response, she sucks his right nipple into her mouth with force. He cries out, his body arching, pushing his flesh further into her mouth. The length of him pumps in earnest between her breasts.

“I can smell you, Scully,” he growls into the part of her hair.

She releases his nipple. Reaches down to lock his fingers into the bed beneath hers.

“I said, be still, Mulder,” she commands.

She shifts his hands beneath his ass to hold them there.

“Stay,” she insists, placing a nip to the underside of his neck with finality.

She runs her nails back and forth across his ribcage as she moves back down his body, placing herself on his left side.

With her left hand, she taps the base of his penis, moving it to the side as she begins to work at the skin that follows the line of hair towards his center.

She massages it with her thumb, moving from slow circles to a deep knead. Adores the way this part of him is so different from the rest. Narrower, but no less thick. It’s like this piece of him is humbling itself to what lays beneath it. A delta. That which the rest of him is pulled toward. Imploring her to pay attention, to keep her eyes fixed to that spot.

She presses her breasts into his lower ribcage as she works him with her tongue, then her teeth. Each strand of his hair guards the weight of him but heightens the friction of saliva that seeps from her mouth.

His moans are loud, uninhibited. Feels the tremor of them roll like thunder from the back of his throat down to where her mouth meets his skin.

The vibrations of him triggers the sound of her own. The nudge of his cock against her forehead stirs her from her reverie.

“Scully,” he pleads, voice cracking on the second syllable of her surname. “You have to let me touch you. Please.”

She meets his hooded gaze as his cock pulses beneath her, the veins of him protruding to match the ones on his forearms, biceps, neck. She feels feral staring at him this way. More turned on than she ever thought possible at her age.

She waits, her breath heavy, tickling the weight of him as his chest rises, eager for her reply.

“You can touch me here,” she says, lifting his right hand to find the small of her waist.

“And here,” she directs, placing his left hand on the swell of her ass. “But you may not touch yourself.”

He nods at her, too weak to speak. His Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows. Her own focal point. The sight of it a distraction from the ache between her legs and yet a reminder of his masculinity.

She repositions herself between his thighs as she sinks further. Places the weight of his balls in her right hand, the other on his hip to steady her as she employs the same technique of her tongue to his balls.

“God, Scully, where did you learn how to do this?” he groans.

His hands grip every inch of skin he can find. His long arms at an advantage. Pinches each of her nipples with his index finger and thumb. This brain that has mapped her body and can sense it without sight.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” she teases, with a swipe to a particular sensitive spot.

“Fuck, Scully. I’m so close. I don’t know if I can make it much longer,” he whines.

“You’ve been so good, Mulder. So still, baby.”

“God,” he hums, the bubbling of his orgasm palpable in the air between them.

This is it, she thinks. This is what I was made for. To nurture. To shape. To tend to this effervescent alchemy that binds them. To consecrate their bodies in the sacred space they share between them. Like the god of her childhood, present everywhere and always, without end. Amen.

“Mulder,” she purrs, rising to meet the center of him once again. She swipes her tongue from the small freckle above her lip all the way across.

“I want you to come for me,” her voice low and seductive as she sits up on her knees. “Just like this. Only on my tongue.”

She opens her mouth, the flat of her tongue wide and long between her tart lips. She beckons his cock, finally taking it between her fist. He groans deep and long as she lays it there.

She nods at him. Permission. He sits forward to meet her, gaining more leverage. Lifts his hand to the back of her head, asking for approval. She blinks, squeezing his hips in acquiesce.

And then he pumps rapidly. The weight of his cock heavy on her tongue, the head of his tip aching to reach the back of her throat.

She concentrates on keeping her jaw in place. Resisting the need to pull her lips around him and suck. She uses her hand to touch herself, covering her clit in the arousal that has filled the air.

“Fuck, Scully. Fuck, fuck fuck. Scully.”

His thrusts erratic, the tug on her hair firm as he moves to meet her eyes as he comes.

“I love you. Fuck, I love you, Scully,” he rambles as she feels his cock expand. His cum shooting into the back of her throat, coating her as it slides down.

She lets him settle, the last of him leaking into her. His hand cradling her cheek as he lifts his cock from her mouth. She swallows him down, emerges from beneath the strands of her hair with a devilish grin.

He mirrors her smile with one of his own and then he can’t help himself. He pulls her to him. The grip of his callused his hands on her neck sends a rush of arousal to her core. He moans into the kiss, as if he is sending every moment that has ever passed between them into her body. Tastes himself on her tongue.

He pulls back from her, his lips just barely hovering above her. The panting of their breaths the only air between them. She aches already from the loss of him.

“My turn,” he mutters into her mouth. The feel of his smile pulling her down.