For @wtfmulder @perplexistan and @frangipanidownunder who so kindly encouraged me to emerge from lurking in the shadows and write this based on my 1 AM anon response to @wtfmulder‘s ask prompt: where do Mulder and Scully get it on?. I’ve never written any X-Files fanfic before, so hopefully it’s not as awful and awkward as my brain insists on telling me it is
“It’s a Halloween party, Scully. Not a funeral.”
Mulder is tipped back in his chair with his feet propped on the desk
amongst various casefiles and his tongue working its way around a sunflower
seed. His eyes rake over her black floor-length Victorian pinafore and his
pouty lips twist into a teasing grin.
Scully scowls, her long puff sleeves swishing as she crosses her arms.
“For your information Mulder, this is a nearly exact replica of the
dresses Marie Curie wore while conducting her groundbreaking scientific
research on radiation, which led to her being the only person - male or female
- to win a Nobel Prize in two different sciences, despite being denied access
to higher education because she was a woman.”
Mulder swings his legs off the desk and stands. He’s dressed head to
toe in a black spandex bodysuit printed with the skeleton of the human body. Unlike
the baggy pants of the early years of their partnership, this suit concealed
nothing. Scully can see all of his, um, bones. Every single one. He crosses
their cramped basement office to her and fingers the lacy ruffles of her
“Don’t worry, Scully. I still think you look very cute.”
Scully keeps a face of neutral composure, determined not to let her
quickening pulse betray her. She cocks her eyebrow and fixes her cool blue gaze
upon him, giving him that look. She
was already displeased at having to spend her first free Friday night in a
month at the annual FBI Halloween party and his jokes are not helping.
She had barely contained her ire a few hours ago when Skinner announced
that the party was now mandatory, as part of the Bureau’s new “Healthy
Work/Life Balance” initiative. To be fair, Skinner was not overly thrilled with
this new development either.
“If I have to go,” he’d said with an edged monotone that brooked no argument,
“everyone has to go. No exceptions. I’ll see the two of you there in four hours.”
He’d resignedly plopped a cowboy hat on his head with all the enthusiasm of
being forced to attend a UFO convention with Mulder, “Yee haw.”
“A skeleton?” she shoots back. “Really, Mulder? How very spooky of you.”
“Not just any skeleton, Scully.” His boyish grin grows as he steps
behind her to flip the light switch, plunging the office into darkness. “A glow
in the dark one!”
She’s grateful for the newfound darkness that hides her begrudgingly amused
smile and eye roll. The press of his hips into her backside and his sudden
gravelly voice in the shell of her ear makes her heart jump and her cheeks
“Wanna bone, Scully?”
Her stomach flutters in response to his offer and the closeness of his
body. Licking her dry lips, she turns to face him, tilting her chin in
defiance. Mulder knows this not because he can see her in the dim greenish glow
of his suit, but by the warmth of her breath on the underside of his jaw.
“I dunno, Mulder,” she says in a low voice, her hand coming up to
cradle his cheek. “With 206 of them, however will I choose?”
Scully brushes her thumb over the fine sandpaper of his jaw. “Should I go
with the mandible?”
She can feel his Adam’s apple bob as she trails her hand down his neck,
sweeping over his collarbone. “Or maybe the clavicle.”
Dragging her hands lightly down, “Sternum,” her fingertips pause over
each bone as she goes. “Rib 1…2…3…4…” She can feel his heartbeat jackhammering
in its cage, his chest rising shallowly because he’s forgotten how to breathe.
“10…11…12…” Scully’s hand smooths over his waist before settling firmly
on his hip. “Mulder, did you know that the pelvis has three different regions?”
Whatever breath he had left catches in his throat, his mouth too dry to
make any sounds remotely resembling human language. He shakes his head in response,
even though he knows she cannot see.
“The ilium.” She begins her descent over the curve of his hip. “The
ischium.” Her hand sweeps up his groin to palm his barely concealed spandex bulge.
“And the pubis.”
“Or perhaps,” Scully whispers, slowly sliding her hand through his quivering
legs to press her fingers into his tailbone, “the coccyx.”
At her emphasis on that penultimate syllable, a strangled whimper drops
from his lips.
“Hey Mulder,” Scully asks, her hand still between his legs. “You want
to know the biggest difference between Marie Curie and me?”
The upward press and subsequent pause of her hand and forearm into his
groin intonates that she expects a response from him. Mulder swallows hard,
trying to wet his throat enough to form a coherent response.
“…uh yeah?” he asks weakly, unable to control the shaking timbre of his
Reversing the path her hand traveled, trailing it back over his crotch
and upward, Scully leans into Mulder’s broad chest and rests her smooth cheek
against his stubbled one, her lips curving into devious smile an inch from his
“Marie Curie wore underwear
under her dress.”
She turns sharply on the heel of her black lace-up boots and exits the
office, leaving a certain spooky skeleton speechless in the dark, bones