How about a short fluff prompt to get the muse working: Mulder giving Scully a foot massage after she wore her high heels to chase a monster.
Ha, thank you! Though it’s not the lack of prompts that stifles me. It’s just plain old me. However, I decided I’m tired enough to not think and just write. This word vomit is the result.
Every step Scully takes is accompanied by a groan. At first Mulder thinks it is an isolated incident; just a noise. They are, after all, not the youngest anymore and little aches and pains are common – he knows all too well. Of course Scully likes to remind him that she is in fact three years his junior, in excellent health and form. Yeah, right. Another step, another groan and Mulder wonders if she’s trying to tell him something, somehow with these primal noises.
“Are we there yet?” A groan with words is new. Mulder, not in the mood to voice his own exhaustion, shakes his head.
“Where is the car, Mulder?”
“Right where we left it.” He grumbles picking up the pace. It’s unfair, he knows it, but part of him wants to hear Scully and pant and groan in shorter intervals. If Scully knew, or even guessed at his thoughts, she’d kick his ass, pain or not, and kick it good.
“Mulder, can we just…” She trails off but Mulder doesn’t stop walking as he doesn’t expect her to do it either. What does she want anyway? This is their job. Again. Just because they’re in their 50s now doesn’t mean anything has changed. Except that sometimes the criminals are faster. So much faster. If it hadn’t been for the young police officer coming to help them…
“Can’t be that far, Scully. I think-” It’s then that he notices the absence of her footsteps, of her groans; of her. He stops, his eyes searching in confusion, until he sees her in the distance sitting on a log, holding one of her feet. “What happened?” He asks once he reaches her.
“Do you know what it’s like to chase monsters in the forest, Mulder, when you’re wearing high heels?”
“Uhm…” It wasn’t even a monster, he almost reminds her; just a messed up kid.
“Exactly. My feet hurt and I need a break. I’m not…” She trails off again as she massages her foot.
“Not young anymore?” Mulder offers and her head shoots up like a rocket, her eyes shooting daggers.
“Not used to it anymore.” After two decades together Mulder knows this look she’s giving him. Dutifully, he sits down next to her and motions for her to give him her feet. She slips out of her second high heel and it falls to the muddy ground as she puts her feet into Mulder’s lap.
“You’re so good at this.” Scully moans and Mulder decides he likes this noise much, much more than her earlier groans. They used to do this all the time back in the day. Back when they were still more than whatever they are now. Never in a forest, though. A smile creeps up on him; there’s a first time for everything, even now.
“You could stop wearing high heels, you know.”
“And get a stiff neck looking up at you? No, thank you. I just need to get used to it again.” He nods in understanding and they fall quiet with only the gentle sounds and rhythms of the forest surrounding them. Scully’s eyes drift close and he knows what that means, too.
“Hey,” he says, tickling her, “we need to get to the car. Get back to the hotel, write the report.” To his greatest joy, Scully pouts; even if she won’t admit it now, she loves when he massages her feet. Or at least she used to.
“I know.” She says, misery in her voice.
“I have an idea.” Mulder lets go of her feet and helps her get back into her shoes. There’s that groan again and Mulder chuckles.
“It’s not funny.” She tells him and he almost leans forward to kiss her. They’re almost there, he thinks, but not quite yet. And not here. Instead, he offers her his hand, pulls her up into a standing position.
“Get on my back.” He tells her.
“Come on. I’ll carry you.” He crouches down so that she can hop on. “Scully, come on. My joints don’t appreciate this position.”
“Then get up. You’re not giving me a piggy-back ride!”
“Scully,” he turns to her, “I will carry you to the car one way or another. Either you hop on or I’ll think of something else.” She thinks about it for a moment, must realize that he’s serious, and finally gives in with a sigh.
“See? That wasn’t too bad, was it?” Scully, despite her tiny form, feels heavy on his back and he swallows his own groan. Tomorrow, he thinks as he puts on foot in front of the other, she’ll have to give him a back massage in return. He can’t wait.