NOTE: I own nothing.
Late in the night when the rest of the city was set to slumber, Agent Scully and I worked well into the dark. As eerie as the basement was and for as alone as I did feel the majority of the time, Scully made up for everything by keeping me company. Comfort. Strength. Companionship. Scully has given me the world...and she doesn't even know that. I watch what I say and I urge myself not to touch her; to touch her in any way. I've even cut down on my sexual innuendo-littered speech around her...but if she asked me to hold her? I'd hold her forever. This woman is my world. She has been. Six years now? Six years of lies; denial.
But, that's not to say that I don't want her. I do. I want her desperately. I need to hear her scream my name and to see her hair in a tangled mess against my sheets. Her sheets. Motel sheets. My desk. Anywhere. And, oh, how I've fantasized! I've thought about her, and of fucking her, anywhere and everywhere. It's that strong, male, lust that I've shoved away for a hopeful all eternity. It does escape and send it's self into my mind from time to time. Times like now.
I sit at my--our desk, working by desktop light. She's acrossed the room at her computer. Her strong dedication to her job amazes even me. I may be obsessed with my work, but she is dedicated. She's dressed in a pale violet skirt-suit set. I love to see Scully, my Scully, clad in black and looking so professional...but when she wears color? She looks happy. Cheerful. Upbeat. I love my cold enchantress of enigmatic wonders, but it's odd to see her cheerful. And? I enjoy what is odd. I am Fox "Spooky" Mulder, afterall.
I have the strongest urge to lift her skirt and bury my cock between her legs. Hard slams into her perfect womanhood. I would feel so dirty...almost as if I were violating her. But? She would enojy it. I know she would. It is unspoken, our lust for one another. A quiet tension. It kills me.