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Somewhere on the outskirts of the Chattahoochee-Oconee National Forest, Scully felt as if she was sweating to death. A heat wave had settled over northern Georgia; it hit the pavement and quivered up back into the horizon. Not a single building had enough air conditioning to combat the humidity and temperature.
Being back on the X-Files meant that trouble often found them. She half-expected to turn around in the woods to see Mulder bolting off in the other direction, claiming he’d seen something important. He had the decency, however, to hide it in this case.
With the ranger on their heels, they finally reached the road where their rental car was parked. Unfortunately, after several hours of looking, the team was left with no evidence and no leads, and they needed to switch off. She really dreaded her next call into the Bureau, and she knew that the nearby town was getting more anxious by the hour over the missing hikers.
Their motel was located on the outskirts of Helen, Georgia, a town built to resemble a Bavarian village, not northern Georgia. It was quaint, and they often passed buses filled with swimsuit-wearing families with blow-up tubes.
“Oh shit.”
Scully looked up. A minute down the road was a small stand, covered in a variety of wares. The glass jars and bottles glinted in the distance. Behind the table, in the shade of a canopy, sat a woman reading a book.
“I think we have to stop,” he said, and did so. He shifted the car into park.
“I fear I’m not getting out,” Scully said. She was sweaty in areas she never should be, and it had, in many ways, ruined her mood.
“That’s fine. I think I know what I want.”
From the corner of her eye, she watched as the woman excitedly stood up and asked him what he wanted. Mulder was right; he did know exactly what he wanted and reached into his pocket for his wallet. A small bit of cash later and Mulder returned with a paper bag clinking carefully.
“What did you get?”
“Just something I can’t really get up in Alexandria.” He didn’t elaborate further.
The heat was even worse in the motel, and as Scully dragged her own bag behind her, she began to dread attempting to sleep there. She wanted to be home.
Mulder stepped up to the front counter while Scully’s own ears buzzed. She vaguely heard him asking about the temperature. “Our ay-cee isn’t what it should be,” Darlene of Super 8 lamented, her drawl prominent. “But if you book, I’ll see if I can find that fan in the closet.”
“Only one?” Mulder asked.
“Only one,” I’m afraid.
Mulder gave Scully a quick glance before turning back to Darlene.
“No worries,” he replied, flashing a polite grin he often used on older Southern ladies and retrieving his wallet. She could let him do the talking – it had been a long workday and she wanted to be (somewhat) alone.
Chivalry wasn’t dead – Mulder let her have the fan in her room. She was pleasantly surprised, as her assigned room was in the back of the motel and covered by the shade of the trees. After very little reprieve during the day, the room was practically cold.
She had stripped down to her underwear and bra – her damp blouse and pants tossed into some corner. She couldn’t even bother to hang them up right now.
The thunk of a shampoo bottle. “ Shit,” Mulder exclaimed, muffled through the bathroom walls. The shower stream carried on steadily.
She had a rule on cases, now that they were sleeping together, that they couldn’t share a room during the night. That was not a steadfast rule during the day, and she had allowed him to use her bathroom without question.
Her own skin felt tacky and she knew her hair needed a good shampoo – but that in turn meant she’d have to blow dry and straighten it. The thought of the heat was enough to make her give up the beauty standards she had imposed upon herself.
With a click, the bathroom door unlocked and Mulder walked out, his towel wrapped low on his hips.
“Hegal Place had a boiler issue last winter, and I had to shower in the cold,” he began, walking over to where he’d placed the two bottles of amber-colored liquid from the road-side stand. They had no glasses, so the paper coffee cups would have to suffice. “I vowed to never do it again. Until now.”
Scully sat up, resting on her elbows and watching her partner as he popped the cork off the bottle. He glanced over at her and after she nodded, he poured them both a glass.
“Did it help?”
“I think.” He gently set the paper cup in her hand and took a sip of his own.
She could smell the alcohol in the glass, and let the wine wash over her tongue. Surprisingly, it was sweet, not like candy, but like summer, like the fresh fruit she bought whenever she had a spare weekend to go to the farmer’s market.
It was an interesting choice for him – Mulder rarely ever drank.
“My grandmother had a friend who made peach wine every summer…” he told her as if he read her mind.. “I didn’t try it until high school, of course. But I like it. I can’t find it anywhere.”
“It’s good,” she said, and meant it, even though the red wine she kept in her pantry always leaned towards dry. “But I can’t say I’m a connoisseur in wine not made out of grapes.”
“Me neither.” He drank the rest of his cup and set it on the “Apparently, it needs to age for a year to get that taste. According to the lady at the stand, at least. I trust her.”
Scully tipped her cup back and also downed the rest of the peach wine. Drinking alcohol in the summer was usually a no-go for her – it made her feel hotter than anything else. But after the day she had, she didn’t mind a slight buzz in her system.
It was then, when she’d finished her cup and also placed it on the nightstand, that Mulder sat down next to her and also collapsed onto the bed.
“I’m sorry,” he said softly.
“For what?”
It was then that she noticed the bulge underneath his towel and her own rather undressed state. She found herself growing hotter, and not from the summer heat.
“You don’t have to be sorry.” After their seven years of partnership, they still seemed to be in a loop of making sure the other was alright in these circumstances, but she appreciated the care they took, too. “I’m not exactly fully dressed.” She tucked a leg underneath her, edged slightly closer.
“I’m not exactly either.”
“Mm, I’ve noticed.”
“I hope you’re a little flattered,” he stated, pushing himself onto his elbows. She wanted him closer and her fingers danced along the seam where his towel was tucked in.
“I’d consider myself more than flattered,” she maintained. There was a gentle pang between her thighs, which only increased with his towel undone.
In a swift move, he leaned up to kiss her and drew his leg up between her own. She half-sighed, half-moaned, grateful for the sensation between her legs finally. As he kissed her, parting her lips, she allowed herself to grind her cunt onto him.
A glass of wine usually had this effect on her – she’d say that maybe peach wine was an aphrodisiac, if there was any evidence they existed at all.
Ever dedicated to his task, and before she could get her hands on him, Mulder kissed his way lower, pushing her bra up to expose her breasts. He kissed his way all over, taking her nipple into his mouth, all while letting his hand dance closer to her center.
Finally, with the press of his mouth against her hip, he hooked his fingers underneath the waistband of her underwear and pulled them downwards and onto the floor. Less than a second later, his tongue was inside her, lapping at her, his nose pressed against her clit.
Every nerve in her body was on fire; she needed more.
It was quick. After a few moments, Scully broke when Mulder put his lips around her clit, his fingers inside her and stroking upwards, gently.
“Oh!” she exclaimed, her back arching as she came. She could feel his grin against her. They’d been sleeping together – seeing each other – for a few months, and she still found herself shocked half the time. She wondered if there was a certain blessing for orgasms and who she should thank.
“Better?”
“Yeah.” Her muscles felt far, far better. She didn’t even realize how tense she’d been.
He moved upwards to kiss her gently – he always did after going down on her.
“Mm,” she hummed, considering how she felt the entire situation to be unfair. “Let me take care of you too.”
She gently pushed him backwards, nipping gently at his neck, his collarbone, further, further down to his cock. He went willingly, his head hitting the pillow and his eyes closing as she touched him. With a hand around his cock and a few strokes, it stood at full attention. He sighed as she traced a finger down the underside of it.
With little prelude, she took him into her mouth, feeling him slowly come undone beneath her. His hands trailed upwards to her hair, running his hands through it, careful not to pull.
She loved doing this for him, in the same way he loved what he could do for her. The taste of him on her tongue, the sounds that came from his lips. It was intimate, it required trust, it made her love him more.
“Fuck, Scully.” With a gasp, he came, his hips twitching.
Without words, she moved up and kissed him again before settling in next to him. Normally, he’d turn to cuddle her but the room was particularly humid, so being close would have to do.
“I’m afraid I’m far too hot and sweaty."
“Me too.” His eyes darted towards the window. Since his shower, the sun had set considerably, and now only the last dredges of sunlight filled the room. Maybe it’d cool off during the night. “Are you alright?” he asked quietly.
“I’m perfect. Are you?”
He nodded, smiled. “Yeah, I am.”
Satisfied and sleepy, Scully closed her eyes, feeling her heartbeat as it gently slowed into resting, the turn of the oscillating fan acting as a lullaby. After a few minutes – or perhaps an hour – she felt Mulder reach over and place his arm over her bare waist as she drifted off to sleep, the whirr of the oscillating fan a lullaby. The taste of peaches still danced on her taste buds.