A/N: Slightly adult situation-if you get it, you get it. Nothing explicit.
(Oh, I don't own anything. Not even my house.)
"Mulderrrr,"—she drags out the 'r' when she whines at him—"Hurry up in there, it's my turn." She's bare-assed, her feet kicked up, face resting on her hands, eyes peering impatiently at the bathroom door. The faucet turns on for a moment, and she hears the familiar swish-swish of bristles against enamel. Then she hears nothing.
"Uhh, Scully?" It's muffled through the toothbrush and bathroom door.
She lifts her head from her hands expectantly. "Yeah?"
"Been busy lately?"
"Not especially, no," she answers.
The door swings open, revealing a shirtless Mulder in boxer briefs, toothbrush dangling from his mouth, and something she immediately recognizes dangling from his left hand. "The evidence points to 'yes'."
Her eyes are wide as saucers, and she's looking anywhere but at him. "I, um… ah… must have uh… forgotten to… put it away."
She chances a glance at him and finds him grinning like a lotto winner. Suppose he's not mad about it. "You weren't going to invite me in on the fun? I mean, not that you have to. By all means, I completely understand if you need to get your ya-yas out before work. And after work. And on your lunch break. I mean, I guess I can't blame you, working with me all day could get anyone riled up—OWW. Hey, where you going with that thing?"
"Mulder, I intend to use it. And you can either come over here and watch, or not. Your choice."
