Smut Snippet!
Probably 'R' rated. In the good old days, we called this a smut biscuit. And because I insist on continuing to foster bad XF ff cliches, we'll call this one:
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Going Down
In the lobby of his building the retracted elevator door ground, chewing at the shoulder of Scully's coat. Mulder opened his empty mailbox, making her wait. She roughed him up with a glower, chipping at the floor, her phosphene skin sharply contrasting with her rain-stamped hair. Mulder observed, internally, an increased rate of resolution. She telegraphed a yen to settle his hash, and he held her gaze. Sign and countersign.
As they lurched up upward he had his hands on her, and he bit at each button down the front of her suit, sliding onto his knees.
Scully was shaking and her clothes savored of dry-cleaning solvent and the heat of her came through, like light through alabaster. She dropped her keys as her hands went to his head. He held her around the waist and groaned with tension, face buried in the taut thud and flutter of her stomach, relishing the shivery dig of her nails in his scalp. Across her lap her wrinkled skirt was impressed with the smell of the Javanese restaurant in which they had lunched, like scent on a crumpled valentine.
Behind Scully's closed eyes she saw the Japanese maple that lived along a sidewalk near her favorite supermarket. She liked things that never changed - places where there was just a mossy scrap of sidewalk and a tree that was always the same, every time she passed. She liked that you could rely on that.
The delicate heat of Mulder's breath eased through her clothes. She opened her eyes, scouring the upper perimeter of the elevator for cameras, but Mulder's building was hopefully too decrepit for such amenities.
Her fingers combed rhythmically through his haircut, compulsively pulling him closer because his big nose against her felt lovely, and his teeth pressed at her through the layers of her clothing.
His glossy hair felt brown even with her eyes closed and her hands around his head.
The elevator was slowing for the fourth floor, vibrating where her shoulder blades pressed the wall. Mulder nipped at her skirt, pulling back so that he could look up at her, through the swampy underwater light, and she felt everything that used to be level inside her sliding down to where his teeth met.
"I bet you think you can make me talk," she said.
Mulder's hands were under her overcoat, sliding around her sides. "Secrets everywhere," he observed. "Although personally I've never had any problem getting you to talk."
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