“Scully.” Kiss at her jaw. Phantom light with a little tongue on the corner of her mandible line.
“Why do you,” nip her earlobe, hear her intake, “Why do you wear these damn pajamas?”
“I, uh… they feel nice.”
“They don’t,” bite her earlobe and tug.
Hear her groan, let her ear go.
“They don’t uh, get hot?”
She presses up against you, breasts into chest and all nipples are hard.
Her chest is pressing up, but your hips are grinding down, down down down, little rotation. The grey on your pajama pants is a little darker… in some spots. She drops her legs and you make contact. "And now?“
"Mmm. All the time. I get hot in them all the time, Mulder.” She throws one leg around yours and spreads you. And her. You sink further.
Pajama pants down. For both of you. In frenzy and you’re nuts deep, head in neck, and you can’t tell where your sweat ends and hers begins but oh boy is it slick slick slick.
Thrust, grind. Side to side, all around, oh yeah baby, I know how you like it.
“Do they still feel nice?” Jesus, your voice is low. Where did that come from?
“Huh?” She’s head tossed back, premium ecstasy. Well done, Fox.
“The PJ’s,” you ground out, back teeth rubbing harder than your cock on her clit. Holding yourself off. "The PJ’s, ahhhh, Scully. They still feel nice?“
"No. No, take them off.”
“Christ, thank you.” You’re not a religious man.
Her top is soaked and her bottoms aren’t faring much better, but you’re a suave mother fucker and you get them off without leaving her sweet, hot pussy. Just the tip, Scully, just the tip.
Pound, and groan.
Your head is bowed to the tops of her breasts, in atheist prayer to your Pagan god. Head up and back on that jawline of hers. Pound. Pound.
“Ah, fuck, Ah, Mulder!”
Ughhhh…. Mouths on each other but you’re not interested; you just want that bottom lip between your teeth before you spill.
The wet spot isn’t just from your cum. You’re both soaked, and she shoves your shoulder to move you away. You roll with her.
“So uh, the PJs…” sleep, come here sleep.
“You don’t think you’d feel a little cooler in one of those uh, those little shirts you wear under your uh-”
Snore. She’s out. Okay, PJs. You win tonight. Tomorrow though. Tomorrow.