DISTRIBUTION/FEEDBACK: aloysia.virgata@yahoo.com. Please ask before archiving.

RATING: NC-17

CLASSIFICATION: Mulder/Scully Romance, Vignette

SPOILERS: None, but I imagined this being early S7-ish.

SUMMARY: String theory is acceptable pillow talk with Scully, and there's something unspeakably erotic in hearing about Calabi-Yau manifolds when she's naked.

DISCLAIMER: Breaking seal constitutes acceptance of agreement. Proceed at your own risk. Do not use while operating a motor vehicle or heavy equipment. For recreational purposes only. Driver does not carry cash. And, as always, thank you for choosing Aloysia Airlines for your direct flight from 1013 to fanfic.

AUTHOR'S NOTES: This story was written for the prompts Mulder/Scully,long cool woman in a black dress, sesquipedalian, used to be an Olympic gymnast, ancient Egypt, awkward, body snatching, codependency, height differential, I have cancer, I got stung, it's about damn time, lab coat fantasy, mummies, string theory, thunderstorm.

Thanks to Scarlet Baldy for the beta.

*****

Unless you're screwing at work, you won't get fired for sleeping with your partner because federal agents cost a fortune to train and, in our case, they have jobs that are a pain in the ass to fill. Still, it's regarded as a bad idea. It creates an awkward dichotomy.

I'm sitting in Kersh's office as Scully launches into her half of our report. The others at the table are taking notes as she does her best to make us sound credible after my presentation.

I'm acutely aware that her smooth voice - which is performing its usual feats of sesquipedalian oratory - was reduced to monosyllabic gasps against my ear four hours ago. Right now she's a long cool woman in a black dress (okay, she's short and it's a skirt suit, but let's not quibble) talking about body snatching and mummies with aplomb.

Earlier she was rumpled and tousle-haired, her ass visible below the hem of one of my dress shirts. (It's a fetish I'm exploring. There's also a lab coat fantasy.) Scully sleeps curled on her side, knees drawn up, and makes soft noises without fully waking if I slide my hand up her back. Her skin is like vanilla ice cream, but she melts far more satisfyingly in the mouth.

I know this situation is intensifying our codependency, but it's hard to care. String theory is acceptable pillow talk with Scully, and there's something unspeakably erotic in hearing about Calabi-Yau manifolds when she's naked.

I watch her gesture with the laser pointer. Her tailor deserves a medal for the way those suits hug her waist, though it looks even better framed by my hands. I had considered sleeping with her years ago, in the vague way one considers sleeping with an attractive person. But first it was "I have cancer," then it was "I got stung." I abandoned the idea until last week when it turned into "it's about damn time."

It happened in a thunderstorm. One of those explosive late summer ones where you can understand why ancient peoples assigned chief importance to their thunder gods. We were drenched to the skin by it on the way from the car to her apartment. Her hair clung to her face, her clothes clung to her body, and when she handed me a towel, I could see goosebumps on the tops of her breasts.

She saw me staring and, surprisingly, she laughed.

So I leaned down and kissed her, because what the hell else was there to do at that point? Scully put her hands on either side of my face, her tongue teasing the corners of my mouth. I tore at her shirt like wet paper. The height differential was never more apparent, and I steered us to the couch before I permanently damaged my neck.

By an unspoken agreement to take it slow later, Scully worked her skirt up, then scraped her underwear down her thighs. I unzipped my pants and thrust into her over and over, our bodies rain-slick and tangled as she scored my back. She bit my earlobe when she came.

So now I'm thinking unwholesome thoughts as she utters gems like cacestogenous and scaldabanco. As I see it, I will either have to marry her or break up with her. Marriage as a concept does not appeal and a breakup would be hideous. However, if we end things now, we're well within the fling period and can pretend nothing happened. Scully is sensible. She will understand this. I doodle on Appendix Four, too guilty to meet her eyes.

"Are you justifying Agent Mulder's behavior with this nonsense?" Kersh perpetually sounds like he has indigestion.

"Sir, I'm trying to provide a context for Agent Mulder's actions. Rhabdomancy is depicted in numerous friezes and bas-reliefs from ancient Egypt and is therefore germane."

Kersh glares. "Fine. Go on."

I look up and notice a triumphant twitch in her cheek before she continues. Who am I kidding? Scully just defended rhabdomancy. Using the word rhabdomancy. Plus she does this thing with her tongue that makes me suspect it used to be an Olympic gymnast in a former incarnation. Only a fool would destroy such bliss. I have been accused of madness, but I am not a fool.

I think I'll pick up burgers and wine and we'll see about that lab coat instead.

****

The End.

Check out my LiveJournal at http://aloysiavirgata.livejournal.com