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Back in Florida, just months after narrowly escaping the Mothmen, Mulder and Scully are chasing a killer through the Everglades—a killer that Scully believes is likely a deranged alligator. She’s sitting across from her partner at a dinged-up bar table, staring in disgust. Scully is heated —and it’s not just the constant swell of Southern humidity—no, she’s annoyed watching a doppelganger of Detective Angela White sit on her partner’s lap— Mulder’s lap.
Detective White’s long-lost twin, Agent Candice Starr, is four feet of legs and four handfuls of breast. Her hair is cut into a shoulder-length bob, just like Scully’s, except Starr’s is platinum blonde, making her green eyes pop in Mulder’s direction. His hand is pressed on her hip, steadying her, and Scully is getting more and more irritated by the second.
She could lie to herself and say it’s unprofessional of Mulder to allow this to happen, but she knows it’s really the green-eyed monster inside her that’s stoking the fire: jealousy. Mulder chugs his beer, and Scully becomes entranced, staring at the bobbing movement of his Adam’s apple and the flex of his jaw. He is staring at Agent Starr and smiling.
“Agent Mulder, you are so hilarious. No one around here is as smart as you,” Agent Starr says, running her hand along his shoulder.
How obvious can you get? Scully thinks. She catches Mulder’s eye for a second, and he inhales deeply as if he is uncomfortable. You seemed perfectly comfortable when Phoebe kissed you…or when you hung up on me to flirt with Bambi…or when you let that bitch Detective White ride you in your hotel, Scully thinks.
She can’t imagine what her face must look like—all red and drawn. She hopes her gaze conveys those thoughts to him, but she’s not sure he’s thinking of much at all.
Their eye contact is broken as Candice wiggles in his lap, excited about the song some biker selected on the jukebox.
“Woah there…okay,” Mulder says, steadying Candice where she sits. He’s flustered and embarrassed and has a semi-erection from the gyrations alone—or is it actually from Scully’s intense stare? He hasn’t had a moment to have a conversation with his dick to make a decision.
He stares across the table at Candice’s partner Rob, aka Agent Hotts (yes, that’s his actual fucking name), whose arm is currently around Scully’s shoulder; his palm spread wide across the top of her chest—inches from her breasts. Scully doesn’t seem to mind; she glares at Mulder, then smiles at Hotts. Hotts is all bad-boy machismo, and Mulder doesn’t know how he’s managed to stay employed with the Bureau.
Moments ago, Rob had convinced Scully to show him her tattoo—the ouroboros she got while gallivanting with Ed fucking Jerse. Mulder hasn’t even seen the tattoo up close! And worse, this clown Hotts looks like he could be Jerse’s long-lost twin. He’s at least four inches taller than Mulder, broad-shouldered and muscular, with dark hair and moody eyes. Mulder has run into guys like him over the years, and they always land women—all brooding and mysterious.
“This one is for my mama,” he says, pointing to a tattoo on his left arm while his right arm remains wrapped around Scully.
“Aww, so sweet,” she coos, running her god-damned fingers up and down his bicep. Hotts flexes under Scully’s touch, making his muscles jump playfully, and she giggles in response.
She’s fucking giggling. She never laughs like that for me, Mulder thinks. He stares with intense agitation and hopes Scully can utilize their partner telepathy to read his thoughts: seriously, Scully, this douchebag, did you learn nothing from Jerse?
He’s interrupted from his stewing as Candice’s lips wet the side of his neck. He jumps in surprise before his eyes close involuntarily at the sensation; it does feel good to have a woman on him—desiring him.
How in the hell have we gotten into this situation? Mulder wonders. Starr and Hotts seemed fine all day—helping investigate the suspicious deaths in the area. Then they’d offered to show Mulder and Scully a local dinner spot, and suddenly, here they are—
“I need another beer,” Scully says, slamming her glass so hard on the wooden table that Mulder expected it to break.
“Me, too,” Mulder says, shifting Starr off his lap.
Mulder follows Scully to the bar, gently placing a hand on her lower back. She shifts out of his touch and sulks, waiting for service.
“What’s with you?” he asks, trying to control his annoyance at her rebuff.
She scoffs, “Me? What’s with you, Mulder?”
Mulder shakes his head, surprised and increasingly exasperated. “I’m sorry. Should I leave and let you run your hands all over Rob? Aww, so sweet,” he imitates her—giggle and all.
Her glare grows even more intense as a bartender crosses to them, “More beers?”
“No!” they say in unison, stuck in a determined stare-off.
“You’re going to bring up my hands, Mulder? Seriously? Detective White’s clone is pressed into your lap and licking your neck!”
“Who?” Mulder asks, incredulous. Who is Detective White? he thinks, scanning his mental rolodex. She can’t possibly mean the woman from two years—
“Agent Starr is her clone! Now, you can finish what you started with Detective White back in that motel room in Vermont. Or maybe,” she grins and squints her eyes, “maybe you already did finish that,” she huffs under her breath. “You have such a predictable type, Mulder. It’s honestly embarrassing to work with you sometimes.”
He feigns laughter. “I’m embarrassing? Well, why don’t you run off and get another tattoo with Agent Hotts? Let’s see, what goes with a snake? Maybe a rat? What would Pennsylvania State Prisoner #3627 suggest? Oh, that’s your guy, Ed, in case you forgot.”
She pushes him, tiny hands against his strong chest. He doesn’t give an inch; he just stares back at her. Where the hell does he get off judging what she does when he’s the one who’s made an ass of himself during multiple cases. She remembers years ago, accidentally hearing a woman call him a pig on his voicemail. That’s the tattoo he should get, she thinks and laughs to herself.
“Hey, you two good?” Her thoughts are disrupted as Rob throws his arm around her. She immediately realizes it feels wrong, but as she looks up to see Candice with her hands on Mulder’s chest, she doesn’t push Rob away.
“Hey, I missed you,” Candice says. Her eyes locked on Mulder’s.
“Let’s get another round,” Rob says, motioning to the bartender.
“No!” Mulder and Scully say in unison. Their eyes meet, locked like they’ve been hundreds of times before, dozens of times this evening alone. “We were just saying,” Mulder starts…and stalls.
“That we need to call it a night,” Scully picks up, “jet lag. We’re exhausted.” Even in the middle of a fight, they can finish each other’s thoughts.
“Are you sure?" Candice coos, whispering something in Mulder’s ear.
Scully rolls her eyes as Rob runs his fingers through her scarlet hair. “We were just starting to have fun,” he whispers. “Just need to get you away from him,” he nods at Mulder.
“We have to go,” Mulder says, stepping from Candice and grabbing Scully’s hand hard—so hard she feels like she’s losing blood flow, but she doesn’t care as he pulls her from the vexing situation into the humid night air and hails a taxi. They’re silently sitting knee to knee in the back seat within minutes.
“Giving it all to strangers,” he mumbles under his breath.
“What?” she asks, making no attempt to hide her irritation.
“Letting strangers put their hands all over you; letting them talk you into tattoos. Jesus, Scully.”
She rolls her eyes and knocks her leg aggressively against his. “And you—letting strangers sit on your lap, straddle you.” She looks out the car window as the city lights pass; they’ll be at the motel in a minute.
Suddenly, Mulder’s hands grab her hips; without a second for her to catch up, he firmly pulls her onto his lap.
“Hey!” she mutters.
He clutches her against him and whispers in her ear. “There! Take your seat, Scully. Is this really a big deal to you? Does this seem like such an important reason for you to be pissed at me? If you don’t want anyone on my lap—then you sit here!”
She swears she can feel the beginning of an erection through his jeans. She knows she can’t just press into it; it would be too obvious, but as her skirt hikes higher and higher of its own volition, she takes the opportunity to shift just a bit—slowly, gradually—assessing the situation. And the situation is: he’s big and hard.
Mulder throws the cabbie a twenty as the taxi drops them off at the motel. Scully jumps from his lap and walks toward their rooms. She stops at the wall between their doors, leaning against one hand while using the other to raise the back of her shirt. The way she's standing with her ass pushed back reminds him of doggy-style-porn he watched a few days ago, and the thought, along with the real-life visual, keeps his cock straining against his zipper.
“What are you doing, Scully?” he asks.
“Give me your hand,” she says blindly, her eyes closed. She guides their joined hands down her back to the waistband of her skirt. “Pull it down,” she commands, freeing her hold from his.
He tugs at her skirt and gasps as he sees the snake tattoo up close for the first time. It’s beautiful—meticulous and bold, just like Scully, with a little tease of chaos under the surface, just like Scully .
“You think someone else picked this, Mulder? I picked this alone . If you don’t want me to do impulsive things, then don’t run off and abandon me.”
She pushes back aggressively, forcing Mulder toward his door. His breath catches at the sudden movement, but it’s clear she’s done with him for tonight as she heads into her room.
Mulder reaches in his pocket for his key, “Fuck—”
“What?” Scully pauses but doesn’t turn to him.
“Agent Starr took my key,” his voice weakens as he continues. “She told me she wanted to stop by later—”
“Oh my god, Mulder!” she grits her teeth.
“She told me to get another key from the office— the now closed office . I didn’t plan to let her keep it; I was just trying to find a way to reject her nicely.”
“Get in here, Mulder,” she demands, opening her door and yanking him in by the shirt. Her room is mostly dark—just some scant light from the bathroom—and it’s quiet. The adjoining door between their rooms is open from earlier.
She turns to face him now, pressing her finger aggressively into his chest as she dresses him down. “Is that what you were doing when your hands were on her hips, and you let her fingers run across your chest? Trying to reject her, Mulder?”
“Hey! At least I was trying to get out of the situation,” he pleads, holding his hands up in surrender. “Unlike your giggle fest at the hands of Agent Douche.”
He starts to walk toward his adjoining room when they hear a voice.
“Agent Mulder? Hey…Fox? You left so fast. Figured you wanted me back here.”
Scully inhales and makes a gagging gesture with her finger as she hears the voice she recognizes as Candice walking through Mulder’s empty room. Mulder pulls Scully against his chest as the footsteps grow closer as if he’s scared!
Without any real thought, Scully pushes Mulder flat onto the bed, straddling him. It’s animalistic, possessive, instinctive, and she knows deep down—it’s right.
Mulder’s hands fly to her hips, steadying her. She tries to read his eyes in the limited light; he stares back poker-faced.
“Agent Mulder?” Candice asks. Scully hears the adjoining door creak as the woman pushes it fully open. “Oh, uh…what?”
Scully realizes they’ve been caught—the light must be bright enough for Candice to see their positioning: Scully’s short skirt riding up while her thighs bracket Mulder’s crotch. “Sorry, he’s busy,” she says. The whole situation has her on fire with arousal—the hardness of his dick, her rightful place on his lap, and this Detective White knock-off catching them…she grinds down against his cock, and he gasps.
The room falls silent for seconds, no one moving. Finally, Scully speaks as she grinds against Mulder’s jeans again, “Tell Rob I’m busy, too; we’ll see you at the Field Office tomorrow.”
“Uh…yeah, okay,” Candice says, “I’ll leave your key on the dresser, Fox. Maybe another time?”
“Probably not, Candice, but thanks for showing us around,” he replies politely while he bucks a few times back against Scully’s center, making her gasp.
They hear the door click. Without a word, they start bumping and grinding—dry humping like teenagers. His hand finds her tattoo, and he grips her so tight she thinks it will leave a bruise underneath the snake.
Instinctively, they pick up the speed; Scully reaches for the headboard to brace herself as she rides him through his jeans. He’s never seen her look so beautiful and so mad.
“Scully, uh—I’m not complaining, but how did we end up here?” he wonders gently.
“You told me I should sit here if I didn’t want someone on your lap, so I did.”
He grins, “And you told me not to run off and abandon you—I’m here, Scully,” he says.
“I like you with me,” she smiles, and the sunshine-filled grin is directed at him for the first time in hours.
“And I like you perched on me, Scully." He grabs her hips to hold her tightly against him as he thrusts against her harder than before. She closes her eyes, bites her lips, and throws her head back, and he’s never wanted someone so much in his life.
Their hands collide at the button of his jeans.
“Do you want—” he starts to mumble.
“Yeah, if you want—” she whispers in reply.
He pulls his cock free, kicking his jeans and boxers toward his shoes. She raises up slightly, hiking her skirt around her waist and pulling her panties to the side before sinking down onto his length.
“Ohhhh,” she moans.
“Oh my god,” he grunts. She’s warm and tight, and he can’t believe he’s been walking next to her for years and hasn’t taken the opportunity to plunge himself into the most perfect pussy that’s ever existed.
She starts to rock up and down while bracing herself with one arm against the headboard. Mulder reaches a hand under her blouse and finds her braless, cupping her breasts hard, then focusing on teasing her nipples until they’re tight. “Agent Douche had his hand inches from your tits all night, Scully, and you weren’t wearing a bra?”
She grins devilishly. “Well, you had knock-off White sitting on this perfect,” she moans, “fucking,” she sighs, “cock…all night.”
“Would you have let him touch these perfect tits, Scully?”
She picks up the pace, her jealousy fueling the fire. “Maybe…”
He grabs her hips and thrusts up into her wildly in response.
“Would you have let her fuck you, Mulder?”
“Not a chance, Scully.”
She slows for a moment, looking at him. He’s flush—a peach hue spotting his cheeks and a fine mist of sweat coating his forehead. His eyes are dilated, and his hair is ruffled. He’s adorable and sexy, and she needs to see every inch of him.
“Take off all your clothes, Mulder.” She stands, removing all of hers, too. All the layers removed, they are stuck in slow motion—in this random motel room in Florida, staring at each other naked and aroused for the first time.
Finally, he sits against the headboard. “Get back up on your perch where you belong, Scully,” he teases, patting his lap just next to his jutting erection.
She smiles and crawls across the bed until she’s on top of him again. She lines him up, sinks back down, and sits still for a minute, feeling his length inside her.
“Do we need a condom?” she whispers, running her hand along his now-exposed chest. He’s soft and warm in places and strong and defined in others. He’s perfect, she thinks.
“I haven’t been with anyone in a while…a long time, actually,” he admits.
“I always wear condoms,” she says, running her fingers through his hair. He leans into her touch, “Actually, those last couple minutes were the first time I’ve ever—without a condom,” she bites her lip. “I like it; I wanna feel you.”
Despite them being naked with his cock buried inside of her, he realizes he hasn’t kissed her yet. And he’s dreamed of kissing her hundreds of times. As she began to ride him again, he lifts her chin, directing her mouth against his.
Their lips pull together like two puzzle pieces, nestling perfectly with wet, hot pressure. She kisses him so hard he forgets they are attached below, all of his sensations focused on her mouth, her tongue. He groans, and she hums happily in response.
“Scully, I can’t watch you with other men anymore…not after this,” he pleads against her open mouth, teasing a tongue inside as he continues. “I know I don’t own you, but I…not in front of me, okay?” He emphasizes his ask with a demanding thrust up into her.
She kisses him in response, pushing her tongue inside his mouth, then pulling back slightly and nuzzling against his neck. “How do you think I feel, Mulder? Women throw themselves at you constantly. Agent Hotts may have wanted to go get tattoos, but Starr wanted to fuck you. She showed up here, for God’s sake.”
He pulled her against his chest, a hug in the middle of hard fucking. “No chance anyone was getting me into bed tonight besides you.”
He closes his eyes and falls into the sensation of their rocking bodies. “And you can have me anytime you want,” he admits in a whisper. He opens his eyes to assess if he’s said too much; she stares back at him with the bluest eyes he’s ever seen, nodding and smiling.
“You feel so good, Mulder. She reaches between their bodies, first feeling his wet cock as it plunges in and out of her, then shifting her hand to her swollen clit.
“Let me,” he says, joining his fingers with hers. They drive each other toward ecstasy, shifting their hips in paired thrusts and rubbing her where she is most sensitive.
“Please tell me this feels good because I’m about to explode, Scully.” He’s winded, so close. He shuts his eyes, concentrating as his chest tightens, sweat dripping down his brow. His nuts pull closer to his body—he’s right there.
“I’m coming,” she mewls.
He opens his eyes to see hers roll into the back of her head, her jaw going slack as her pussy constricts around him like a vice, pulling him across the finish with her. He pumps up into her hard, holding her now slack body up against his.
Once he catches his breath and comes back into the present, he shifts them down, wrapping his arm around her from behind, falling asleep.
***
Scully wakes the next morning, wrapped in Mulder’s arms. She doesn’t know what all of this means, but as she turns to stare at his sleepy face, she has no regrets. They split up between the two rooms to shower and get ready for the day, making it to the Field Office with bright eyes and smiles as they enter.
“Well, you two look well rested. You must have survived Starr and Hotts,” Denise, the office administrator, whispers as she hands them two mugs of coffee.
“Survived them?” Scully asks. “What does that mean?”
“Well,” Denise says, “you didn’t hear it from me, but those two are notorious for picking up any Agents that travel in for cases. When I saw you leave with them last night, I thought for sure—”
Mulder’s eyebrows rise at the insinuation.
“Anyway, they came in looking tired and grouchy while you two look—bright-eyed and bushy-tailed!”
Scully giggles. “Well, we actually figured out some things as a result of hanging out with them last night, didn’t we, Mulder?”
Mulder smiles and continues. “Yeah, some uh—trust exercises that we can continue to use to maintain a healthy partnership. It was really a bit of a partner epiphany on our second recent trip to your lovely state. ”
“Absolutely,” Scully says. Her core throbs at the idea of what happened last night, continuing.
“Well, maybe you should share your learnings with Hotts and Starr; they look like shit today,” Denise teases.
“Maybe we will,” Mulder smiles affirmatively. He winks at Scully and places his hand on the small of her back, where it has always belonged, leading her toward the bullpen.