"Hold on…"

She heard the zipper and then the rustling of paperwork in his work bag, a low grunt.

"Got it."

More rustling, and then a click. A beam of light erupted, the single orb appearing to multiply through its reflection in the stubbornly sealed steel doors facing them. They looked at each other, their eyes glittering in the dark. Mulder aimed the flashlight at the bank of controls; now completely devoid of any signs of life. He reached forward and pressed the buttons, which resulted in nothing more than a series of hollow tapping sounds.

"Great." He swore he heard the eye roll.

"I don't have a signal," he said, now looking at the cell phone he had pulled from his pocket. He took several steps to one corner, then the one opposite, holding the phone above his head, raising and lowering it at various angles.

She reached into her purse for her phone. "Me neither."

"Can't be the elevator," he muttered, the light playing across all of the walls and ceiling. "The electricity in the building must have gone out. Listen. No A/C."

He watched her take a step to the back wall, and slide down to the floor. "Just great."

He sighed heavily. It was his fault. Again. He's the one who convinced her to stay an extra day so he could check out the rumors about what had been sighted in the deserted glade on the hill outside of town. Where they found… nothing. Now they'd been, literally, trapped while trying to get the hell out of the rat trap motel.

"We've still got a few hours til the flight, Scully."

Her response was a muted groan as she stretched her legs out in front of her, and readjusted her skirt down to her knees.

"I need to make this better, don't I," he flashed the light to the top of the car. She watched as he zeroed in on the ceiling, his jaw tighter as he appeared to try to figure something out.

"You've got to be kidding."

"What?" he looked down, and saw her staring at him with a fixed expression.

Then, she giggled. She couldn't help it. He was ridiculous. "You're not going up through the ceiling."

"I just need a boost, Scully. There's only three floors and I think we're between the first and the second."

"Absolutely not, Mulder," the smile refusing to leave her face. "Sit down. This isn't your fault. I know you're thinking it's your fault, but it's not your fault."

"Somehow, Scully, I'm pretty much 100% sure that it's my fault. And it's already getting hot in here," as he shrugged out of his suit jacket and pulled the knot from his tie. He sat on the floor, facing her, his back against the doors. The elevator was so small his long legs almost reached the opposite wall. He put the flashlight on the floor next to him.

"Turn that off, Mulder," she said then. "I think that's a camera up there. I need to get these nylons off."

Click. It was pitch black. He couldn't see his hand in front of his face.

He felt her stand next to him. He heard her step from her shoes and the tug of clothing. She bent over, fumbling until her hand found his shoulder. She leaned on him with one arm as she peeled her hose off with the other hand; first one leg, then the other. The smell of her shampoo and her lavender lotion nearly tangible in the heated darkness as it swirled around him. Her hand left his shoulder, and he heard her sit back down. The sound of her skirt as she pulled it down again.

His dick twitched. He couldn't help it. He'd realized years ago that his ability to control his thoughts about Scully was entirely and decidedly non-existent. He'd never admit it, but he had come to the realization that he, Fox Mulder, embodied definitive proof that God exists based on the simple fact that he didn't have an erection 24/7. He reached forward in the dark and his hand alighted on her calf.

"Mulder," a hint of warning. "No." He smirked. Yet she persisted in her belief that telepathy was both unproven and absolutely ludicrous.

It was less than a second that she felt his lips at her ear and his stubble at her cheek, her senses flooded with the scent of his aftershave and fresh sweat. Then his whisper, "Why not."

It was her turn to sigh. Now this was her fault. He'd been patiently asking for sex every day for a week, but they hadn't closed the case yet, they were on assignment on the government dime, and she refused to bend the rules. He accepted her answer each time without any complaint, albeit staring at her with that damned hang dog expression on his face.

She whispered back, "Because we're adults? On the floor of an elevator in a crappy motel?"

Then she felt one hand glide into her hair, holding her head against his, aligning his lips to her ear. Instantly, she felt her belly tighten as she felt his other hand lift her skirt, and slide up her inner thigh. His fingers began tracing up and down the center of her panties. "What color today, Scully," the words uttered so softly and so sensually she felt them like a caress against her skin.

She felt the air close in, as the Scullys in her brain went to war. Who was she kidding. His low, graveled sex whisper had already decided the victor. "Black."

"Hmmmm," with the barest hint of a groan. Under her skirt, she felt his fingers drag the material aside, and then the pads stroke gently through the small thatch of hair. "Then… this… would look even redder."

"Mulder, we can't do this." A feeble, yet valiant attempt.

"No one can see us, and no one will be able to hear, as long as we're quiet." Through his whisper, she heard that hint of pleading in his voice. "I need to make you feel good. I've been going crazy for a week."

She didn't answer, but he felt her take a deep, long breath. "The lights could come on any second."

"So I'll stop if that happens."

"It's too hot in here."

"You know I get hard when you make my point," and his fingers danced lightly across her mons.

She shouldn't allow this. She shouldn't. They were adults. Their federal government issued IDs proved it, although she conceded that their behavior over the past several months landed squarely in the horny teenager category. Every time his strong, capable hands were on her, she felt them prying her fingers slowly but surely away from what was now their utterly laughable purchase on Catholic propriety. Why did he always smell so good? Her cheek fluttered against his whiskers with the movement of her almost imperceptible nod.

"Ssssshhhhhh," he hushed, as his left hand moved to the back of her neck, anchoring her, their heads bowed together. He nudged her thighs slightly apart with his right hand before reaching down into her panties and cupping her with his palm. His fingers barely touched her inner folds. His long fingers were always so gentle, at first. Worshiping. Honoring.

He felt her take another deep breath, in through her nose, out through her mouth. His middle finger deepened then, teasing her entrance; then it was sliding up, up, as his thumb and ring finger spread her apart, giving him the space to make a slow, wide circle. She shifted slightly.

"Ok?" he breathed.

She moved her lips against his ear, the ghost of a kiss in the dark. Her heart was racing from the sheer audacity and naughtiness that he was touching her in a public place, and that she was letting him. His middle finger barely brushed over her clit, and then around. Brush, circle. Brush, circle. Then she felt him trail down to her opening, barely a centimeter inside, testing. When he pulled his hand away, he heard her release the breath she'd been holding. He brought his fingers to his mouth. She heard his lips close around them and then his tongue swirl over and between. Then his hand dropped down between her legs again, his fingers returning to her center, slick with his saliva now. Better, but she was tense. She needed more than he could give her here, and he didn't know how much time they had.

"I'm sorry, Scully," he kissed her forehead in the dark. "I know you need my mouth."

As her partner, and now her lover, he was so good to her. Even in a moment as wantonly reckless as this surely was, his tenderness and reverence made her heart ache. She surrendered. "So use it, Mulder. Talk to me."

An intake of breath and the curl of his smiling lips; she could visualize his expression of shy delight as it morphed into open desire just as clearly as if she actually could see his face shining in the darkness. He lightened the pressure of his fingers and shifted them outward, stroking her labia and the inner creases of her thigh, over the hood of her clitoris.

"Good?"

Another barely there nod of her head. He rubbed her neck, running his fingers up into her scalp, through her hair, as he began to whisper, slowly, each word thick, and sticky, and hot. "You're so soft, Scully. Softer than anything I've ever felt. When I touch you like this it's all I can do not to kiss you, lick you. You taste so good, Scully, so sweet. Every time I go down on you I can hardly breathe waiting for you to come on my lips and my tongue, so I can taste you." He heard her breath shorten, and the energy between them sparked. All because of his voice. Low, rasping. Raw sex. "All I want is to make you come, so I can lick you clean."

His middle finger stroked back now along her opening. He pulled away again, taking her hand, interlacing their fingers. Their joined hands reached under her skirt, and pushed her panties down.

"Feel … there…" It was harder to hear him for the familiar rush of blood that had begun pounding in her ears. "Touch yourself with me, Scully," his voice impossibly deeper now. The tips of her own fingers were sliding with his into her folds, as they gathered her moisture between and around, bathing her clit.

Their breaths harmonized as their fingers fondled her together; petting, stroking. "More," she begged in his ear, as she began rocking against their hands.

His fingers pulled from hers, and she nearly groaned. "Spread yourself open for me." He felt her hesitate. She opened her eyes, confirming there was still no light to expose them. "That's it," he praised, and she felt his middle finger glide inside, his thumb nudge her clit. His tongue darted to her ear lobe, gently sucking it between his lips. Their hands still completely motionless. Her hips instinctively bucked forward. "Ssshhhh," a puff of air to her ear again. "I'm going to start fucking you, Scully. But you need to be quiet. Can you?"

He felt her hand lift away, and then her arms encircled him, under his arms to grip onto the back of his shoulders. He felt her press her open mouth against his chest, and nod again, soundlessly. When he crooked his finger forward inside her, he knew she nearly cried out. He heard her stifle her gasp into his shoulder. "Shit," he nearly groaned, as his hand on her neck returned to the back of her head, and tangled into her hair. He held her tight against his chest. He could feel her hot, moist panting through his dress shirt, each breath a counterpoint to his finger thrusting slowly, agonizingly in and out. "God, honey, you're so tight." She involuntarily clenched around him in response to his spontaneous endearment, one that she has only heard a handful of times, and he felt her thrust hard against his hand, a low sound from her throat. It was his signal to add a second finger, as his thumb made tighter circles. "Fuck, Scully. Your clit, you're hard and soft all at the same time," he was babbling, but he didn't care for the feel of her around him. "You're getting close. I know you are."

He inserted his ring finger, and felt her press her face harder into his chest. On the next thrust, he brought all three fingers together, the middle one on top of the others. She was full of him, his middle finger putting pressure on her cervix with each stroke. The sound of their breathing punctuated with the wet sounds made by his fingers inside her. She felt herself tightening around him. He urges her as they find the perfect rhythm, "You're there, Scully. I need to feel you come." It was his voice that broke her tethers free. He felt her walls fluttering around his fingers at first, and she was flying, her muscles spasming. She was rigid against his chest, riding his hand through her orgasm, and she heard him again through the wind rushing past her ears, "So good, Scully. There you go."

He is holding her as the stars fade behind her eyes and her breathing slows. She feels the wet spot on the front of his shirt where her mouth had been; another in her panties which have somehow returned to their proper location over her hips. He kisses her, slowly and deeply, and then pulling away to readjust her skirt over her legs and to her knees. He returns to sit next to her. She leans against his shoulder.

"Ok?" he asks.

She can't speak, but she manages to nod, which she realizes he can't see in the dark. She hears him chuckle. "Always happy to be of service," and she feels his lips brush the top her head. She feels him readjust himself. He has to be miserable. She'll take care of him. As soon as they're out of this damned elevator.

Click. The flashlight reilluminates. The spell is broken. He looks at his watch, and then into her smiling eyes. "It's been 15 minutes. Can I go up through the ceiling now?"