Rating: Nc-17. So please don't corrupt your mind if you are under 17.
Disclaimer: These characters are not mine. They are the property of 1013, CC and Fox. Don't sue me.
Author's note: Based on the font Thought Police, shown above. Available from our good friends at www.fontaday.com.


"Thought Police"
by MoJo


Wayside Motel
Mason City, Iowa
9:00 p.m.

*****

Scully leans over the badly decomposed body of a woman, roughly five feet tall and weighing 100 pounds with shoulder length brown hair. Her clothes consist of a green top and lacy black skirt. A guest who complained of a foul odor found her underneath the bed this evening.

"Know when she died?" I ask.

"Hard to say without a proper autopsy," she answers, looking up. "Maybe a week?"

"We were looking for the smell," protests the manager, who is sitting at the table with the police. "We thought it was coming from the roof."

I try not to roll my eyes. Jesus Christ, how could anyone miss the smell of rotting flesh?

This is another victim whose death mimicked the style of a popular urban legend. So far we'd had the 'Corpse in the Carpet' at the University of Iowa and the 'Brown Betty' bride who'd been cooked to death at a tanning salon in Dubuque.

Scully finally finishes her examination of the body and stands up, arching her back a bit to stretch the muscles. She stands with her arms folded, watching as the police pull the body bag onto a gurney.

"Mulder, I need you to do something for me," she says, looking over at me with her crystal blue eyes. Imploring me silently to come closer to her.

"Scully, I would be happy to check underneath your bed tonight," I whisper, winking at her. She smiles slightly, then shakes her head.

"Just consider the possibility this is just a homicide," she says, drawing herself up to her full five-feet, six-inches with heels height. "She was stabbed three times in the chest. Probably during a lover's quarrel, judging from the way she was dressed. Or not dressed."

"But this is classic 'Corpse in the Mattress'," I reply, taking advantage of our proximity. I lean in, pretending to whisper in her ear. My lips 'accidentally' brush her ear lobe. "The stuff urban legends are made of."

Scully lets out a little sigh as I withdraw my lips. Did she secretly like that? Was that a moan of frustration?

"Where did you get that information?" she counters, after regaining her composure. She licks her lower lip slowly as she waits for me to answer.

"The Internet," I say, with a sly grin. My Internet activities have bothered her since the Karin Berquist case. "There's more to it than just cybersex, Scully."

Her cheeks flush ever so delicately at that comment. I'd love to make them flush under other conditions. Like having her beneath me. Or above me.

"I'll take your word for it," she says, nodding slightly. Her lips twist upwards in her patented 'humor Mulder' grin.

Scully turns away and gathers her things. Our work is done here for the night. The medical examiner takes the body away. The police finish questioning the manager and staff. I request the records of all the guests who stayed in Room 321 for the past two weeks. Scully will do the autopsy in the morning. I imagine we'll head back to DC tomorrow afternoon, unless we get a break in the case.

Scully picks up her forensic kit and heads towards me. "Let's get out of here, Mulder. I'm ready for a hot meal and a long shower."

"In that order?" I ask, following her out the door. She reaches in her pocket for the keys to the rental car. "Cause I prefer we take the shower first. To unwind."

Scully tries not to smile. I can see the internal struggle as she bites down on her lower lip to keep it steady. I've been throwing the innuendoes around pretty heavily lately. Most of the time, she lets them slide. Sometimes, she throws them right back. Occasionally, she smiles at them. That's the reaction I want to get. I want her to have the same thoughts about me that I have about her. If only Scully would. . .


*****

. . . actually consider his suggestion. I wish he'd stop saying things like that during work. It's getting to the point where I can barely concentrate. Now, I can feel his eyes on my backside, watching the movements of my hips as we head for the car. Mulder likes to walk a few steps behind me. Occasionally, with his hand on the small of my back and his fingers caressing the curve of my spine with a touch too delicate and too deliberate to be a mere courtesy.

I reach the car before he does and stop. I fumble with the keys, trying to figure out which one is for the trunk. I insert my first choice and turn it with no avail. Then, I try the other key. By this time, Mulder has caught up to me. He stands behind me, close enough so that our bodies are barely touching. His breath on my neck sends a shiver through me.

"Need help?" he offers.

"Do you remember which key?" I ask, turning my head to look up at him. Suddenly our faces are dangerously close.

"You had it right the first time," he answers and I reverse my choice. Before I know it, Mulder covers my hand with his, slowly easing the key back into the lock and turning it counterclockwise. "You just have to take it slowly, Scully."

For a brief moment, I imagine those same words under different circumstances. With him beneath me. Or above me.

The lock clicks and I gasp when it finally gives way. He brushes past me to lift the trunk lid up.

"You can put your bag in," he invites, motioning to the open trunk.

"Thank you," I respond, setting it inside. I slam it shut, then head for the passenger's side, establishing some safe distance between us. What the hell is wrong with me lately? I've spent the last six years fending off Mulder's little comments without a second thought. But now I find they excite me. Each suggestion causing equally illicit thoughts in my own head. Mulder slides in the driver's side, adjusting the seat back to accommodate his long legs.

"You don't buy my urban legends theory, do you?" he asks, focusing back on the case. Mulder starts the car, fingering the clutch as he shifts. The only thing the rental agency had available was a manual transmission. Good thing Mulder is driving now, I nearly burned the clutch out earlier.

"Urban legends are just that Mulder. Legends," I reply, feeling the car jerk slightly as Mulder eases it into first. Obviously it had been a while since he'd driven a stick too. He is smiling to himself as he changes gears sharply. I grab the dashboard to keep from lunging forward.

"Nervous?" he teases, watching how my nails rake along the plastic console. "You shouldn't be. My first car was manual. This brings back fond memories."

"Of the transmission?" I ask. I never understood the attraction of men and cars. I bet he drove an old Mustang or Impala. A muscle car. The extension of his manhood.

"The back seat," he says, winking at me. "Lost my virginity in it, Scully."

I can't help but glance in the rear view mirror to see the back seat of this car. His comment automatically conjures that image. My eyes drift over to Mulder, secretly willing him to pull the car off the road and behind the cluster of trees up ahead. I run my hands along my thighs, imaging him stripping away these slacks. His tall form would never fit lying down across the seat. We'd have to do it sitting up, with my thighs straddling his. Providing enough leverage for me to ease up and down on him, giving in to a moment of reckless abandon. A moment of pure...

*****

...satisfaction when she sighs. I glance over at Scully. She is staring straight ahead at the road, but her mind is elsewhere at the moment. She's probably imagining me shoved under that bed instead of Jane Doe. Luckily, our hotel is up ahead and I pull into the parking lot of the Holiday Inn Express. The doors are on the outside and there's a parking space right in front of our adjoining rooms, 145 and 146.

As soon as the car stops, Scully jumps out. Before I can catch up, she's got the trunk open again and she's grabbing her bags. She seems flustered. Without a single word, she heads for her room, stopping momentarily to swipe her key.

"Want to grab a late dinner with me?" I blurt out. Scully's hand lingers on the doorknob as she deliberates the invitation. I rush towards her, hoping to persuade her to stay with me for a little longer. "I'm buying."

"Uncle Sam is buying," she teases, with a wry smile. "You'll just write it off on your expense report."

"I won't tell Skinner if you don't," I say, touching her arm briefly.

Scully looks down and finishes turning the knob, pushing the door open with her body. "I think I want that shower first, Mulder. I'm really tired."

"Okay," I say, not wanting to pressure her. I take a few steps backwards towards my own room next door.

"Maybe we can just do room service later," she says, before disappearing behind the door.

"Sure," I mutter. But that is hardly likely. When Scully turns in for the night, that's it. I won't see her again until morning.

I open my door and let it slam shut behind me, not bothering to turn the lights on. Instead, I loosen my tie and walk over to the bed. No peculiar odors in my room, except for the smell of dust and mildew. Just to make sure, I peer under my bed and find nothing. I flop down on the covers, reaching for the remote on the bedside. Hopefully, they've got adult pay-per-view. I lay my thumb over the controls, but a sound makes me stop.

The squeak of a hotel faucet.

The walls are either too thin or I'm hearing the noise beneath the crack of the door that separates our rooms. Scully is taking that shower. I surmise that her bathroom must be opposite mine, so that the plumbing lines can be shared. I'm drawn to the sound of running water and head for the bathroom. Sure enough, the acoustics are better in there.

The water is pushing out forcefully. Is she taking a bath instead? I listen intently, but hear nothing else except two light thuds. Her shoes. Right beyond this wall, Scully is undressing. Slowly peeling away the layers of her black suit. Freeing herself from the professional image she projects to the world and uncovering the real Scully hidden underneath. A woman. With thoughts and desires and needs.

The water shifts into a gentler pattern. One like falling rain, splashing against the porcelain. I hear Scully drawing back the shower door and closing it again to step inside the steamy haven of a late night shower.

I stare at my own shower, imagining I am standing in the room opposite this one. Scully's frosty image behind the glass dances before me. She tilts her head back, letting the water run down her neck and breasts. Soothing the tension of today away. Her lovely hands travel over her stomach and thighs, soaping herself. Her hair is wet, turning it a dark auburn. She closes her eyes, surrendering to the simple pleasure of water on skin.

What if I suddenly drew back the door and stepped inside? Fully clothed. Scully turns around, at first surprised to see me. But her expression softens.

"What took you so long?" she whispers, with a smile.

We kiss slowly, as she wraps her arms around my neck. Shoving me back into the stream of water. My Armani gets soaked but I don't care. Her tongue presses into mine, exploring thoroughly. The water runs into my eyes, forcing me to close them. Now I can't see Scully at all, but I feel her.

Her hands pull my shirt out of my slacks and snake beneath it. Her perfectly manicured nails rake along my chest. They travel downward to my belt buckle, unfastening it quickly. I try to hold onto her, but her skin is slippery from the soap. She unzips my slacks and lets them slide off. I step out of them and kick them to the side.

Within seconds, my boxers are around my ankles too. She reaches for my penis, clutching it gently in her slickened hand and rubbing it. Increasing the friction with every stroke. I open my eyes again, seeing Scully smile. I clutch the towel rack on the door as she sinks to her knees. Her perfect mouth surrounds me, taking me deeper and deeper.

Another squeak jolts me out of my thoughts as the water stops. She's finished her shower. I sigh, cursing myself for becoming so excited. The hardness in my groin aches, reminding me it was all in my head.

I step over to the sink and turn the cold water on, splashing my face with it. Get a grip, Mulder. It's Scully. She doesn't want you. After six years, you think you would have figured this out by now.

I need to get rid of this energy, this frustration. I need to go for a run. A long run. Get Scully out of my system for now. So I can sleep tonight without . . .

*****

. . .having anymore erotic thoughts. I towel off my hair, drying it vigorously. I'm tired. That's all it is. And when I'm tired, I let my guard down. Making me susceptible to such mental indiscretions. I tie the knot of my terry bathrobe tighter and walk over to the bed. I hear a slam next door and rush over to the window, peering slightly through the blinds. Mulder has changed into sweatpants and a T-shirt. He jams the room key in his pocket and starts running off across the parking lot in a full sprint. He's probably irritated about dinner and this is his way of cooling off. I watch his form disappear into the night and sigh in disappointment at his departure.

I exhale slowly, forcing myself to concentrate on my field report and not Mulder. My laptop lay on the bedspread waiting for me. I grab my glasses off the nightstand and sit in front of it cross-legged. I power up and open it, waiting as it cycles through the start up screens.

My eyes drift over to the door. What is he running from anyway? Or is he the one in pursuit? It would be so easy for me to throw on a pair of leggings and a shirt and take off after him. Running hard and fast just to catch up to him.

Mulder heads off into the woods nearby, running on a trail long forgotten. Illuminated by the moonlight as it shines down through the trees. The night air is crisp and invigorating as it fills my lungs. I am the hunter this time, not the hunted. And it thrills me even more to be in control.

He jumps over a fallen stump, sailing over the obstacle with ease. It doesn't slow him down. Mulder quickens his pace a bit as he hits his stride. Falling into rhythmic steps. But he is not fast enough.

I am driven by something more powerful than adrenaline and I won't stop until I catch him. I run harder, closing the gap between us. He dodges right, following the bend in the trail. Leaves crunch under me and twigs snap, but I don't lose my footing.

Mulder is not aware he is being followed. I hear his breath coming out in sharp, quick bursts. Sweat is forming on his forehead, bathing him in a fine sheen. The muscles of his back ripple as his arms swing in momentum, keeping perfect time with his legs.

I am so close now and as we enter a clearing, I feel a surge of energy. I rush forward to tackle him, my arms clutching his shoulders and arms. The force of my body causes Mulder to fall and we topple together.

He is startled and rolls over on his back, a look of surprise and fear on his face. His chest heaves up and down as he pants. Mulder smiles when he recognizes his attacker.

"What took you so long?" he asks, as I climb over his body like a cat stalking her prey.

I lay down over him. My curves mold into his, as if they were always meant to fit together. His hands travel up my buttocks and rest on the small of my back. My mouth hovers above his mouth, as we steady our breathing. Warmth and wetness spreads to my core, causing it to ache with anticipation. I am just about to kiss him when suddenly he rolls up both over. Now, I am the one with my back on the ground.

Leaves stick to Mulder's hair and he smells like sweat and sex already, even though we haven't done anything yet. His knee coaxes my legs apart and he lowers his lips. We kiss, feeding off the other's energy. Recharging each other after the run.

My heart is pounding as his hand reaches into my leggings. His fingers brush my pubic hair gently, working their way lower into my folds. He works his thumb against my clit in circles, building to a delicious frenzy. I arch my back against the motion, moaning softly. I feel feral and wild as we make love on the ground, surrendering to a need as old as time itself.

Then, piercing the quiet of the forest is a knock. I shake my head, letting the thoughts dissolve away as reality comes back into focus. Someone is at the door. I stand up slowly, adjusting my robe before walking over to the door. I peer out the small portal.

It's the man from the front desk with a package. He knocks again and I reach for the knob, opening the door just a crack.

"Package for you or your partner," he says, slipping it to me through the crack. "It's marked urgent."

"Thank you," I reply, taking it from him. It looked like background information on the hotel guests Mulder wanted. I close the door shut. I could give it to him when he gets back, but I decide to slip it under the door that connected our rooms instead. Being alone with Mulder tonight isn't such a good idea. I don't know if I can. . .

******

. . .control these thoughts I keep having. Not even my run seems to have purged them completely. I slow to a walk as I approach our rooms. I notice her lights are off. She must have given up on dinner and gone to bed early. What was I really expecting? Why would this night be any different than any other?

I re-enter my room and notice an envelope shoved under the door between our rooms. Curious, I reach for it. There's note on the front in Scully's elegant hand. "Mulder, thought you might want to go over this. Scully."

Work. Probably the information on the guests I'd requested. I sigh, collapsing into the recliner in the corner. I finger the envelope, remembering the other urban legends I'd researched earlier. Not all of them ended in homicides. I wanted to share the more amusing and sexy ones with Scully. She probably wouldn't believe them either.

I open the envelope and pull out the contents. But instead of the reports, I imagine photographs. Taken by a hidden camera in a room just like this one. There are five of them, showing a couple engaged in various sexual acts.

"What took you so long?" Scully asks, appearing from the bathroom. She leaves the lights on dim, creating an atmosphere. She's wearing a long, cream-colored nightgown with lace around the neckline and spaghetti straps. I shift in the armchair.

She walks towards me, the silky fabric clinging to her body as she moves. The 'Filmed in the Act' legend starts when a newlywed couple on their honeymoon checks into their room. They have such a great time that they decide to come back on their first anniversary. When they check in a year later, they are given the option to rent adult movies to view in the room. They retire to the room, put the tape in and discover it's a movie of them having sex on their honeymoon. Obviously filmed by a hidden camera.

Scully stops right in front of me and lowers herself onto my lap. We are that couple now. About to consummate our relationship. She lowers her mouth to mine, kissing me slowly. Her hands roam by body freely, skimming over my T-shirt and sweatpants.

I smile and slide my hand up her legs, starting at the ankle and working up. Her pale skin is so soft beneath my touch. She moans softly, moving her legs apart so I can explore the sensitive skin of her thighs.

We kiss over and over and I try to memorize the taste and texture of her mouth. I could stay like this forever, sustained only by the breath we share. Her fingernails dig into my shoulder as I move my hand up to the apex of her thighs, only to find no barriers. Just the warm and wet skin of her sex.

My other hand moves the spaghetti straps away, letting the fabric slide down her body to expose her breasts. They are perfect and round. I lower my mouth to one, taking it between my teeth. Tugging gently as my tongue swirls around the nipple, firm and erect already. She moans softly as her fingers rake through my hair, encouraging me. I move to the other breast, to give it equal time.

Scully utters the sweetest sounds, ones of sheer pleasure and enjoyment. When I finish, she gets up long enough to shimmy out of the nightgown. It pools beneath her feet in a silk puddle. I reach down to recline the chair back so it will be more comfortable.

Scully climbs back into my lap, but this time she is straddling my hips. Grinding slowly into my already hard erection underneath my sweatpants. She takes her time, rocking back and forth over me. Letting her breasts rub against my chest to create a delicious second friction between us.

She pulls my T-shirt over my head. I am still sweaty from my run, but it doesn't bother her. She glides her hands over my shoulders, my stomach until they reach their final destination. My sweatpants and boxers are next, she shifts enough to pull them down my legs and off.

I am breathing hard and so is she, anticipating the next few minutes. I put my hands on her hips as she guides herself over me and I sink into her soft, wet core. I feel her stretch around me, sheathing me completely as she presses downward. We are joined forever now.

It is the sound of a shrill ringing that stops me from going any farther. I grab the phone on the second ring.

"Mulder?" I say, getting up.

"It's me," Scully breathes. Her voice is quiet and husky, as if she is lying down. I look over at the door that separates us.

"Hey," I whisper, aroused by the sound of her voice.

"Did you get the package?" she asks. She must have been waiting for me to come back.

"Yes, thank you," I say, then adding hopefully, "Did you want to go over it now?"

There is a long pause. Is she considering it?

"No," she says, with a heavy sigh. "I think we can go over it better in the morning."

"Okay," I answer, picking up the remote again. Looks like I'm in for another long, sleepless night. At least "Sorority Sisters" is on pay-per-view.

"Good night, Mulder," she says, hanging up the phone.

"'Nite," I say, to a dial tone.

I can't keep doing this to myself. Every little word and phrase I misinterpret now. She just called to make sure I got the package. She didn't call for any other reason than that. Maybe I really want to talk this over with her. She is a doctor. I am a psychologist. In dream analysis, sex often symbolizes the need for communication. Perhaps we are lacking in the 'partnership communication skills' department and this is my way of manifesting my frustrations.

Or maybe I just want to make love to Scully.

I know it's really the latter. Freud was right. Everything always comes back to sex. What's wrong with that anyway? Sex is a perfectly normal . . .

*******

. . .desire for someone to have. Why should I feel guilty about this? I open my eyes, glaring over at the clock. It reads 2:00 a.m. I hear muffled sounds emanating from next door. Mulder must be watching one of those movies. Is there any other kind on at 2:00 a.m.?

I can't sleep. I can't even pretend to sleep anymore. I've been drifting in and out for almost four hours now.

I could get up and do some work, but I had a better idea. I climb out of bed and walk over to my suitcase, digging out a T-shirt and shorts. I throw off my pajamas and pull them on instead. I don't even bother with a bra. I slip on flat sandals and head for the door, exiting my room silently.

I am hit by warm, humid air. It's a hot August night for Iowa. I fold my arms and begin to walk around the hotel perimeter. I round the corner and find the pool, surrounded by a black fence. I run my hand along it, letting my fingers brush each bar.

We are coming up on our anniversary. Six years of working together. We'd already lasted longer than most marriages do, with far more obstacles and setbacks in our way. Maybe that's why I can't stop thinking about Mulder. For the past six years, he's been the only man in my life. Day and night, night and day. The things we've seen, the things we've shared and the things we have yet to do bind us together in ways I can't comprehend. Perhaps these thoughts are just my way of interpreting the complex nature of our relationship.

Or maybe I just want to make love to Mulder.

I come up to the gate and find it is not locked. I look around to see if anyone else is out, but there isn't another living soul around. I open it slowly, letting it creak out its protest. The pool is illuminated from the bottom, making the water appear to shimmer. It is so inviting, tempting, seductive.

I wriggled my feet out of my sandals and sit on the edge of the deep end, dipping my feet in the water. It feels cool and sensual. The perfect contrast to the night air. I probably shouldn't be here right now, but I don't really care. Maybe some rules are meant to be broken.

I stare at the water until it blurs before me, forming a hazy cloud of blue. I blink, forcing my eyes to refocus. There is something moving towards me. It is swimming along the bottom of the pool in long, languid strokes. I recognize the form immediately.

Within seconds, I feel something tugging on my feet. Teasing me. Then, he surfaces. Resting his hands on either side of me and pulling himself out of water.

"What took you so long?" he asks, mouth inches from mine. Mulder smiles, dripping water all over me. My eyes travel down his wet form and it is only then I notice he is completely naked.

He kisses me briefly before returning to the water, backstroking away from me. I know what he wants me to do. And I stand up, all the while keeping my eyes locked with his. I pull my shirt over my head and my shorts down my legs. Exposing my naked form to him.

Mulder motions for me to join him and I do, stepping into the water. At first, I sink to the bottom, completely submersed, But then I swim to the surface. I gasp for air and it is like I am breathing for the first time.

Mulder extends his hands out to me and I take them, letting him drag me through the water. Soon, he can reach the bottom. I swim towards him, my body weightless and free. The moonlight makes his wet skin shimmer.

We continue to move around the pool, until Mulder hits the edge with his back. I stop too. We are now in the four-foot section, so I can stand as well. I wrap my arms around his neck, pulling his body to mine. The water allows us to move against the other freely. His hands explore my breasts and buttocks, touching and teasing me everywhere. My body trembles from his ministrations. I am being lulled into another state of consciousness, one of relaxed sexuality.

Which allows Mulder to draw my legs up around his waist effortlessly and without warning, and ease inside me. My entire being focuses to the area where we are joined, mind and body and soul. Giving him my undivided attention.

Kissing is not necessary, so we hold onto each other as we make love. Staring into one another's eyes, searching for a deeper understanding of our relationship. Perhaps, this is a natural evolution of everything we are to each other. So we can finally be complete.

I swirl my feet around the water, letting the image dissolve with the growing ripples. I cannot think about him like this anymore. It is dangerous and deceptive to allow these thoughts to continue. Mulder is my partner. That is all we will ever be to each other. That is the irony of it all. Our relationship was predestined long ago and we are forced to accept the boundaries as defined.

But if he felt the same way. . .


*****

. . . then we could make it work. If only I knew how she really feels about me. I flat out told her I loved her once, but she dismissed it completely. Never mentioning it again. It wasn't until Phillip Padgett accused her of already being in love that I dared to hope again.

I turn off the television, making my room completely dark. I could sit here for hours and try to analyze Scully for the millionth time, but it doesn't do any good. I must accept the fact that we are already as close as we will ever be. There have been numerous occasions over the years where we could have so easily evolved into something more, but we never did. We couldn't even share one kiss in my hallway.

Six years we have been together. In that time, we have lived, died and breathed the other. My world consists of only Scully now. She helped to define who I am now. Every intense experience in my life has been shared with her.

Except one.

I stand up, unable to take these thoughts anymore. I want what I cannot have. Imagining every possible scenario isn't going to change the cold, hard fact that it's not going to happen unless Scully wants it to.

I open the minibar in my room and purchase two tiny bottles of scotch. Perhaps the two of them will equal a full glass. I need to forget this once and for all.

There is no ice and I grab the bucket to get some. I like my Scotch on the rocks. I leave my room, not bothering to lock it. The ice machine is just around the corner and I won't be gone for long. I pad along the concrete, clad only in my sweatpants. It's a warm night and the crickets are singing at full volume. Reminding me of how lonely it can be at 2:30 a.m. in the morning.

I flip the lid open and scoop out enough ice to fill it up. I wander back to my room, completely prepared to empty out the minibar until I fall asleep.

But I am not prepared to find Scully sitting on my bed. I stare at her for a good minute or two, just to make sure this is really happening and I haven't fallen asleep to "Sorority Sisters" after all.

"Scully?" I ask the apparition before me. She is wearing a T-shirt and shorts and clutching a pair of sandals in her hands. Her feet and legs look wet and she smells faintly of chlorine.

"I couldn't sleep," she says softly. "I went out for a walk and your door was open when I came back."

"Thoughts keeping you up?" I ask, wondering what it is Scully thinks about this late at night. I drop the ice bucket on the table and crouch in front of her. She is trembling slightly.

"Yes," she nods. "Funny how the mind won't shut down."

I laugh at the irony of it all.

"We need Thought Police. You know, to crawl inside our heads and break up the commotion going on so we can sleep," I say, with a slight smile. "Although, in my case they'd arrest me on indecent exposure and sexual misconduct."

Her skin is flushed all over and she bites her lower lip as she stares at me. Scully's clear eyes are clouded over with something dark and unfamiliar to me. I watch the steady rise and fall of her chest, noticing her nipples pressing through the fabric. The air is heavily charged with whatever it is between us. The exact same thing I felt in my hallway that day right before that almost kiss. We both hesitate and stare at each other, each afraid to break the tension.

Finally, Scully does.

"They say the most powerful sexual organ is the mind," she whispers, staring into my eyes intensely. Scully takes a deep breath before continuing. "Do you believe that's true?"

"I know it's true," I say, taking the sandals out of her hand and letting them fall to the floor. I cover her hands with mine to stop them from shaking. Scully clutches at my hands, holding fast. As if she is afraid I will move away from her. But I am not going anywhere. Not now and not ever.

"I have thoughts about you," she breathes, exhaling the words slowly. She lowers her eyes from mine, perhaps feeling guilty at her confession.

I swallow and steady my own breathing, amazed at what I just heard. "Scully," I say, wanting to get her attention. "Look at me."

She raises her eyes again and I move in closer, putting my mouth just inches from hers. Nothing stands between us now.

"I have thoughts about you, too."


The End


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