This is complete flufferfic inspired by the fact that David Duchovny said he didn’t know how to whistle during the IWTB junkets.
Here you go ill-show-you-later.
LEARNING HOW TO WHISTLE
She’s staring into some scientific apparatus—hunched over, all proof-driven, singled-minded Scully in her three inch heels and her pristine white lab coat. She is so transfixed and absorbed in her task, she fails to notice that I have snuck into her sterile environment.
"Anything new from the field?" She doesn’t even look away from the mysterious contraption. I guess my stealthy skills are lacking.
"No. Anything new from the microscope?" I make my way behind her and lean far closer than necessary. My breath stirs the fine hairs on the back of her neck as I try to see what has her so fascinated. She smells pretty.
"Other than the fact I have ruled out every mundane possibility? No." Her voice has that tone of annoyance she gets when subtly admitting the challenge I’ve presented may be a slip beyond normal.
"Well, that’s something." I lightly stroke the small of her back with my index finger. "You tired?"
"Mmm.." She straightens her spine and tilts her head back rolling it over her shoulders. The crown of her copper top barely grazes my chest and then she is moving away toward another strange looking machine.
I lean back against the counter and almost upset a tray holding several vials of our victim’s blood. “They combed through the truck again, but nothing new was revealed. It’s curious that there is no trace evidence to be found. It’s like the guy just sat down in his vehicle and willed himself dead.”
"Curious." She parrots back to me. That’s my Scully, all clipped words and precision. Until she’s found some clarity, she won’t have much to say.
"It’s after eleven. I can’t believe you’re not hungry." Actually, I can. She eats practically nothing, and when she’s done, I usually get the other two-thirds of her entree. Well, except when we order pizza, or on the rare occasion I talk her into barbaque.
She turns toward the direction of my voice as her hands fall to her hips. She worries her bottom lip between her teeth and shrugs her shoulders. She is looking distractedly to her left.
"All work and no play makes Scully a grumpy partner." I remember Chaney, Texas and complaints about cream cheese.
She scowls at me from across the four feet separating us and then crinkles her brow as she takes her first good look at me since I arrived.
"What the hell happened to you?" I wonder if she remembers Chaney.
"I was looking for evidence." My voice is defensive mostly because I don’t want to explain to her how I slipped on wet grass and dived into a puddle of slushy, muddy water. I don’t want to see her raised eyebrow as I tell her of my impromptu freestyle competition.
Apparently that is enough for her, or she’s too tired to request further elaboration, because she removes the lab coat and begins making her way to the swinging metal doors that lead back into civilization. “Let me tell the night staff we’re leaving.” She calls over her shoulder as she pushes herself into the corridor.
I move promptly to follow her, but I am weary and too slow, and the metal door swings too quickly, and now my nose is bleeding.
I couldn’t suppress the yelp and in seconds, Scully is gently trying to pry my hands from their cupped position around my nostrils.
"Dammit, Mulder. Let me see." Though her words are harsh, her delivery is gentle.
I try to swat her hands away, but she has always been quick as she wraps her fingers around my wrists and pins my arms to my sides. Her hand brushes my cheek as she positions my head so she can get a better look. My nose is already big enough, I don’t think I can stand any swelling.
“Does this hurt?” She wiggles the tip of my nose with her index finger.
"Ouch!" I jump back and hear something crash behind me. I’m relieved to see it’s only an empty beaker falling from the counter.
Scully’s back in front of me, and if my nose wasn’t aching, I might be excited by her proximity.
"Oh Mulder." She is exasperated and amused, and I want to wipe the smirk I know she is hiding from her face. She hands me a cloth, and I carefully dab at the drops of blood above my upper lip.
"It’s not broken. The swelling won’t last long. We’ll get ice on it as soon as we get to the motel." Scully the doctor tells me optomistically, and I want to scream at the injustice of having to deal with an even bigger nose. Instead, I nod my head and illicit an involuntary wince.
"I’m sorry." She sounds contrite, and I’ve already forgiven her.
I look down at my mud-crusted tie and smile. “It’s been one of those days.” I tell her as we both make our way toward Doug, the sole member of the night crew that required I flash him my badge before he would let me in to see Scully. I glare at the metal door as we make our exit. I think it owes me an apology.
"Hey Mr. Glassman. We are heading out. There is a broken beaker in the lab. Please call maintenance and leave a message for them to clean it up first thing in the morning." Scully is always efficient with directions.
"Sure thing, Dr. Scully." His eyes track between my swollen nose and my muddy shoes. He doesn’t hide his smirk.
"Thanks." Scully says before gently grabbing my forearm and giving it a tug. "I’m driving Mulder." She informs me and if I wasn’t so tired, I’d probably tell her the seat doesn’t move that far forward. As it is, I don’t want a black eye to accompany my red nose.
Though the day got hot enough to melt the thin layer of snow that had accumulated, hot enough to make the grass slick with wetness, but not hot enough to dry up slushy puddles, right now it is freezing. It’s almost midnight and the air is bitingly cold. Through the illumination of headlights, I can see sparkles of hardened precipitation falling from the starless sky.
Scully shivers and turns up the heat as we make our way back to the run-down Howard Johnson that boasts of being the only accommodations for miles.
"How bad does it look?" I ask pulling down the sun visor to find it doesn’t have a mirror. I have never understood why some car company’s think its ok for a driver to primp, but not the passenger.
For a split second her eyes leave the road to glance at my monstrous appendage. “It’s too dark to tell.” I think she is trying to avoid my question.
I try and flip on the interior light only to discover that it’s broken. I cross my arms over my chest and try desperately not to pout.
Suddenly, I’m feeling mischievous. “Will you kiss it and make it better?” I try for sincere, but it sounds more incorrigible.
"Of course." Scully must be feeling impish as well.
I keep my face neutral and turn to her expectantly. We’re at a stoplight and now is as good a time as any to cash in on her lighthearted mood.
She leans over the center console and fleetingly touches the tip of my nose with her lips. As soon as I feel the soft pressure, it is gone. I open my eyes and Scully is nonchalantly negotiating the car through the intersection. She probably thinks I don’t notice, but I am not immune to the subtle smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.
Scully has been much more playful since New Year’s Eve. In fact, I’ve managed to weasel three kisses from her in the last week alone. One on my cheek Sunday after the Patriots lost to Peyton Manning, one barely landing on the corner of my lips Tuesday when she apologized after ranting over a lost file she later located in her brief case, and one tonight. Scully kisses are always the epitome of my day, and the brief press to my nose tonight is no different.
"Stop smiling like that Mulder." Her voice gives away the fact that she, too, is smiling.
My grin is still present as we make our way into Scully’s motel room. She slides off her jacket to reveal toned upper arms encased in a light blue sweater. The garment is snug in all the right places and even though she is the one wearing it, it’s keeping me warm.
I fall into the off-balanced motel chair after detangling myself from my coat and jacket simultaneously. Scully breezes past me carrying the cheap plastic ice bucket, and I close my eyes as the door shuts.
Today has been exceptionally uncooperative. My alarm was set for P.M., so I was over thirty minutes late to our meeting with Skinner. Our flight was delayed for an hour. Usually an hour delay isn’t that bad, but this time we were stuck on the runway and neither Scully nor I had an aisle seat. While she read the file, I tried not to squirm too much. Inevitably, I elbowed her in the chest and was on the receiving end of the Scully death glare. Indianapolis International was nightmarish to navigate out of, and we ended up lost. But not before we fought over which direction to head. After taking a swim in a slushy, I didn’t think the day could get any worse. I probably asked for my bloody nose when I cursed God for making me forget to pack an extra tie.
I wonder if I can score another kiss if I tell Scully why I was so late this morning.
I don’t even lift my head from the back of the chair when she comes in bearing salve for my battle wound. I keep my eyes closed and listen to the rustle of thighs rubbing together as she approaches me. My ears pick up on her cautious manner.
"I’m not asleep Scully." I mumble.
"I would think not after the extra hour you got this morning." Scully is always good at putting me in my place. It’s irritating.
I feel her before me and a tender hand finds the back of my neck forcing my head forward slightly. She softly presses cold ice against the bridge of my nose, and I grumble at the feel of it. I blindly reach out and find the swell of her waist. My thumbs make circles on her pointed hip bones.
"Bad day?" I can feel her breath on my cheek and squeeze her lightly.
"I’ve had better." It’s true. I do occasionally have a day that doesn’t involve drama or an unnatural disaster.
Last week Scully taught me how to use a downy ball as she perched on a dryer in my apartment’s basement. She rewarded me with a kiss to my temple when I got it right. Currently, I can smell her fabric softener and its soothing my over-engorged nostrils.
"You smell pretty." I must be out of my mind, but the scent of lavender seeps into me and I can’t resist sucking in a deep breath of her.
"I smell like an autopsy bay." She corrects as she continues to alleviate the swelling.
"No. You smell like home." I give her a gentle pull forward, and she surprises me with compliance. She’s in my lap, and her hand continues to hold the ice against my face.
"I need a kiss Mulder." She sounds petulant. My eyes snap open to find hers filled with mirth. This is the first time she has ever been the requester of this particular encounter.
"Bad day?" I mimic her earlier inquiry as I lean toward her parted lips.
"Nothing I can’t survive." She breaths into my mouth.
At the last minute I redirect my aim and brush my lips to the underside of her chin.
She pulls away from me and guides my hand to replace hers holding the cold compress. She makes her way to her little black bag, pulls out two ibuprofen and nods to her forgotten bottle of water sitting beside me on the lopsided table where she left it when we checked in this afternoon. She hands me the pain reliever and heads toward the bathroom after a quick stop at her luggage.
I dutifully grimace down the offending powder tasting pills. This chair is not comfortable without her in my lap, so I sigh and move to her bed. I left the ice on the table, but my nose is fairly numb so I don’t really care. Scully probably will once it starts dripping all over the floor.
I lay back and locate the flimsy excuse for a pillow.
"Is there a reason you always end up on my bed when you’ve decided to get dirty?" She probably has her hands on her hips and her eyebrow raised.
"Is there someone else’s bed you’d rather I be in when I’m feeling dirty?" I crack an eye open and see she has changed into dark gray flannel pants and a tight red Henley.
"The least you can do is take off your shoes." I turn on my side and prop my head on my hand.
"I think I would ask you to leave your shoes on if you ever decided to commandeer my mattress." She’s beautiful tonight. She’s beautiful every night.
She doesn’t dignify my insinuation with a response. Instead she moves to my feet and unties my dirt-spackled footwear. When she’s removed them, she motions for me to make room for her. Once I have, she lays on her side and mirrors my position.
"It looks better. But you’re going to have some bruising." Her eyes are studying my injury. She reaches out and brushes her fingers through my hair.
I love when Scully touches me. She’s been doing it a lot more recently, and it never fails to send tingles along my spine.
"I’m sorry your day was so awful." I grab her hand as it retreats from my brow.
"It’s ok. My night has made up for it." I bring her palm to my lips and place a warm kiss into it.
She releases a low hum and rolls to her back as she gazes at the ceiling. Her eyes are sleepy and half-closed.
"How does one smell pretty, Mulder?" Her voice is calm and trance-like in the low orange light of the room.
"Simple. One uses a downy ball." I explain as my hand finds its way to her stomach. I brush my thumb parallel to her spinal column. My fingers itch with sensation where they are in contact with her body.
"Pretty is a word you use to describe a sunset, or a new dress. It’s improper word choice to use it to describe a scent. There is no way to reference what that means within the natural vocabulary of the English language."
"You talk pretty, too." I tell her, and I see a small smile grace her lips.
"You are exhausting."
"No more so than you." After all, she is the one trying to teach a grammar lesson while I’m just trying to memorize the smooth slope of her stomach.
"What’s your theory here Mulder?" She switches topics flawlessly.
I shrug my shoulders at her half-lidded gaze. “I don’t have one yet.” That’s not exactly true. I’m just wary of breaking the spell of ease that has wrapped around us tonight.
"Fine. But I know you’re lying." She is not accusatory, rather accepting of my avoidance.
My fingers have found their way under her top, and my hand is pressed flat beneath her ribcage.
"What time is it?"
I shift my eyes from where they were locked on her plump bottom lip and glance at the outdated clock on the bedside table.
"A little after one. Time for all grumpy Scully’s to go to bed." For that, I receive an elbow to the peck.
"I feel more like Sleepy, than Grumpy." She murmurs.
She is actually more like Snow White, except unable to carry a tune.
"If you ever chocked on an apple, I’d kiss you awake." I’m no prince, but I would try being whatever she needed me to be.
"When have you ever heard me whistle while I work?" She deadpans, and I am delighted that she is so teasing. I chuckle as I lower my head.
"Can I confess something to you Scully?" I whisper softly as my lips graze the outer shell of her ear.
"No." Her voice is breathy, and I congratulate myself.
My look of sorrow should reveal how grave the declaration I am about to make is. “I don’t know how to whistle.”
She turns her head and our lips are almost touching. “It’s easy Mulder. You just pucker up and blow.” I’m not sure what’s more arousing, the way her lips barely brush mine, or the way she said blow.
"Now I know what I was doing wrong, I thought the directions said pucker up and suck." I whisper into her lips. She just rolls her eyes at my ridiculous banter.
"No. Those are the instructions for kissing." She informs me matter-of-factly.
"Like this?" I ask and firmly plant my mouth over hers.
While Scully and I have been sharing little pecks over the last few weeks, this is only the second time we have kissed fully on the lips. The first time was New Year’s Eve, and it did not involve tongue. However, tonight I am going to take her directions.
I take her bottom lip into my mouth and run my tongue along its silky pout. She opens her lips and sighs into my pucker.
She tilts her head slightly and bumps my nose. I involuntarily pull away from her and a few tears sting my eyes.
"Oh Mulder." They are the right words, but the wrong context.
I shake off the pain, because this is Scully that is letting me lean over her supine form.
"Normally, I would be delighted to exchange Eskimo kisses with you Scully, but I think we should stick with good old fashioned mouth to mouth tonight." I lean forward and once again cover her soft lips. The pleasure of her warm tongue entering my mouth is far more intense than the pain in my swollen nose.
She purrs into my parted lips and I feel her tongue trace the roof of my mouth. I suck on it and she growls and wraps her arms around my neck pulling me closer. I’m draped over her and when she tugs me into her warmth, my chest scrapes against hers and I can feel her pointed nipples through her tight top.
Scully tastes like coffee, no sugar. It doesn’t matter because she is still sweet. Her tongue is warm wetness as it fights mine for control.
My nose is too swollen to suck in required air, and I am forced to break the kiss.
"I thought you wanted to learn how to whistle." She pants but doesn’t open her eyes.
"Not tonight." I skim my lips along her jaw line, careful not to bump my nose on her silky cheek.
"I should have known you had an ulterior motive when you ran into that door." I continue to lightly kiss her temple, her eyelid, her perfect nose.
"I did not run into that door. It attacked me." I tell her indignantly.
She lets out an almost giggle, and I swallow it. Her laugh tastes rich and heady. She tenderly bites down on my tongue, and I hiss.
As I pull away, I lean back far enough to find her eyes. I have an idea.
"Come with me to Disney World?" I want to take a vacation with her. I want to explore this new facet of our relationship outside the confines of lab coats and trace evidence.
She looks at me like she did last week when I suggested that George W. is a shape shifting alien. “It’s hurricane season.”
"No it’s not. It’s only February."
She considers this, but she’s not ready to concede. “But, I don’t want to deliver a baby on It’s A Small World.” She whines, but I can tell she is starting to give in.
We both pretend she’s not.
"We’ll only go to Epcot. You can be the navigator on Mission Space." I reason. She’s always trying to tell me how to drive.
"I’ll think about it." But I already know she’ll come.
I have to start formulating my plan. I will use the crowds as an excuse to hold her hand.
I give her another lingering kiss, because even if my nose wasn’t on fire with pain, tonight is only about kisses. The time for more will come later.
I get up and slip on my shoes. I can feel her eyes tracking me across the room.
I stop at the door and throw over my shoulder, “I will even stand in line with you while you wait for Dopey’s autograph.” Out of the corner of my eye, I see a flimsy pillow fly by my head. I ease the door open and make my way back to my room.
Today was one of the best days of my life. ____________________________________________