A/N: I decided that Part 3 needed to happen. I couldn't leave ALL the juicy details out. So for the most part, this is just a big, happy, smutty pile of our favorite agents being sexy and adorable together (at least I hope I've succeeded in doing that). I try to keep it somewhat artistic in its smut, but you know... it is what it is. So there you have it. There are a few new spoilers from throughout the series up to season 6-7 and a teensy-weensy one from IWTB, but nothing major, so if you catch them, you catch them. There may even a Part 4 later, if I get inspired again. But don't worry, Part 3 will have an ending, so even if I never do write the last bit, this will stand on its own.

Please read and review. And enjoy part 3!

PART 3.

DANA SCULLY RESIDENCE

JANUARY 1, 2000

8:08 PM

It had been a couple of years since she had been touched by a man, the last time very nearly ending in a nightmare. Still, the swiftness and intensity with which her orgasm arrived surprised her. Through trial-and-error, Mulder had managed to find many of her most sensitive areas, some more obvious than others. Though she touched herself from time to time—surely to the dismay of the mostly forgotten rigid Catholic part of her psyche, but not to the overwhelming majority that allowed herself a liberal adaptation of dogma—she had nearly forgotten just how sensitive her breasts were. Of course, he gravitated to them almost immediately—boys will be boys—and discovered, after a few attempts, the sweet spot of pressure that made her gasp with pleasure. She wondered then if he would be able to bring her to the edge and over the cliff just by that touch alone. And she believed that he could. So, not wanting to spoil the moment, she had to guide his fingers and mouth away.

He found a few more places then: the area just below the small of her back, a bit lower than the usual spot his hand rested; the area of delicate skin below and behind her earlobe; her scalp, when he tugged on her hair. And when his thumb found the most sensitive area slick and waiting—rubbing it first too hard, then too soft, but finally, the perfect pressure—she very nearly lost it again. She restrained herself, by sheer force of will.

Breaking contact with him, she stumbled backwards onto the bed, pausing to admire the muscularity of his lithe body. She finally reached for him, pulling him down on top of her, begging him to enter her. She hadn't wanted to talk about the fact that a condom would be unnecessary, lest her thoughts drift in a more somber direction, so she guided him in without speaking. Certainly he had thought the same thing, as his expression flashed to one of concern, but he allowed her nonetheless. His size surprised her—it was a tight, pleasurable fit—so his entrance alone made her cry out. When he pushed himself fully in, pressing on that most stimulating region deep within her, she knew she wouldn't last long. Within a few strokes, she was crying out his and God's name interchangeably, and within a few more, throwing her head back in ecstasy.

When she had come down from her pinnacle, she realized he was kissing her everywhere his lips could reach, quickening his strokes until they became irregular and jagged, and she was cradling his head in her arms, and he was moaning "Scully… Scully…" over and over again. And when she pulled his body against hers, trapping the sweat of sex, and rolled them over so she was lying on top of him, she closed her eyes and let exhaustion take her.

8:53 PM

Consciousness and sleep oscillated in his mind leisurely, like the sun and clouds overhead did on a hazy summer day—neither ever quite displacing the other—until the pressure of a small foot gliding across his calf tipped the scale in favor of wakefulness. He hadn't been asleep long or deep enough to dream, but his sleep-addled mind had him almost convinced that the evening's events had been. The contrary presented itself instead. A petite, warm body was pressed against him, tangling him in sheets that were not his own, with graceful fingers playing silent melodies along the side of his hip. Without opening his eyes and exchanging words, he would not be completely convinced that it wasn't still mental trickery. As the toe on his calf meandered an irregular pattern to his ankle, a pleasured hum reverberated from deep in his throat as the corners of his mouth raised in response to irrepressible contentment. He was finding it harder to refute the accumulating evidence that he was, in fact, not dreaming at all.

"Hey sleepyhead." Another piece of evidence. It—well, clearly she—talks. He could feel the grin radiating from her face, though he still hadn't opened his eyes to verify. He responded with another deep hum.

He commanded his lethargic hand, that had been at rest just below the small of said petite body's back, to travel languidly upwards, earning him the reward of a little puff of air from her lips. When his fingers reached their destination, they captured another item of proof—a mane of chin-length, silken hair, mussed now by whatever events did or did not occur.

Scientific Method, wasn't that what she always preached? Okay, let's try this. Hypothesis: I just slept with my best friend and FBI partner of nearly seven years. Evidence: I distinctly remember driving to her apartment this evening and eating dinner with her; I am currently in a bed, but not in my waterbed at home which supports the sub-claim that I never left after dinner. Evidence: I am not wearing any clothes—self-explanatory. Evidence: There is a similarly unclothed, small, yet athletic female body lying practically on top of me; yes, those are definitely a pair of bare female parts pressed against my chest, lovely ones if memory serves. Tested and confirmed. Evidence: This female has her voice and her hair—confirmed experimentally. So we're missing a link. While we are certain that yes, my partner and I are, in fact, in bed naked together, we still have no proof of any kind of sexual act transpiring, other than my potentially faulty, yet vivid, memory. However, since we are not occupying a quarantine unit, research lab, hospital, forest, alleyway, spaceship, arctic tundra, giant mushroom…

That mushroom. "Scully? If it turns out this is all my hallucination inside an enormous, LSD-slime-oozing mushroom, I at least hope you're having the same trip. And if we ever get out, that we do this for real."

She sputtered out a little chuckle before lifting her head to eye him incredulously. "You're still hung up on that mushroom?" She grabbed his hip and pinched a little. "I'm pretty convinced this is real, aren't you?"

He finally opened his eyes. "God, I hope so." Suddenly his arms enveloped her small form, pulling her head to his chest, wrapping around her as tight as he could without constricting her. Well, this feels real. "Hey Scully?"

"Hey Mulder?" Her muffled voice breathed onto his neck.

"Please tell me this wasn't a one-time thing."

She pulled away from his embrace just enough to lift her head to glower at him playfully while simultaneously pounding a fist into his side. "It better not be."

"Well, if this is the treatment I get…" He left the sentence unfinished, and put on his best mask of offense. This evidently delighted her, because she snickered into his ear and laid her head back to rest on his chest, like a puzzle piece finally finding its home. "I love hearing you laugh. You should do it more."

She exhaled a contented sigh. "Do you think after all this time, after all we've been through, that we might finally get a chance to be happy?"

"Mmm, but Scully—isn't happiness a choice? Maybe the real question is will we finally let ourselves be happy?" His voice was barely above a whisper as he let the question drift languidly into her ear.

He had almost given up on getting a reply to his query, passing the time by rubbing her hair with his thumb, before she spoke carefully, "I want to believe we can."

"Then let's." He kissed the first part of her he could reach, the crown of her head. Then the next, her forehead. Then the next, the tip of her nose. And he held for a few long moments, hugging her body into his, rubbing her back with large hands.

"I'm up for another round, if you are," he finally spoke.

Her impish little laugh reverberated through his chest. "Well, that's the reason I woke you up." Her free hand migrated downward and grabbed a solid chunk of his ass.

"Whoa! Easy, woman." But it certainly worked. The growing bulge between them was becoming uncomfortable.

"Well, I've clearly woken something up." She was staring at him now as she lay on top of him, bright eyes wide in the lamp light, with half of her full lower lip stuck under her ivory teeth, her mussed vermillion hair spilling onto his face and neck. For several long moments he gazed, making a mental catalog of the scene, hoping to never forget it.

"God, you're beautiful. I've always thought so," he admitted without remorse. The bashful smile she replied with reminded him of one of the reasons he was in love with this woman, an admission that he felt would need to wait.

"You're no eyesore either." She grinned before nuzzling her thin nose into his larger one.

Finally she broke out into a contagious giggle. His quizzical expression reflected back at him in her sapphire eyes before she clarified. "It's just funny. How long we waited to do this. How nervous I always was about you finding out I thought of you this way. How all last year, I tried to act disinterested, even though I could barely contain myself some days. How much I wanted this to happen last year after you took me to play baseball." She laughed again and shook her head in disbelief. "I guess I was a bag of mixed signals."

He knew that night on the baseball diamond was special, that the chemistry between them was at an all-time high, that holding her that close made it damn-near impossible to focus on the ball, that he wanted to turn her around in his arms and kiss her right there, but that ultimately, he didn't. "Shit. I guess I blew it that night." He removed his arms from her back and reached his hands to cup her jaw. "Well, the past is in the past, and we're here now, and there's a little something that's needy right now."

She chuckled again. This woman's laughter was going to be the end of him. She raised one of her eyebrows and the corners of her mouth at him. "A little something, Mulder?"

"If that's supposed to be a compliment, I'll take it."

Without another word, he pulled her lips to his, reveling in the way they kissed him back fiercely, as if by doing so, they might gain back some of the time they'd spent apart. Recalling some of his earlier explorations, his right hand raked through her hair to her scalp, as his fingers grasped the fine copper strands and pulled gently. She gave a muted moan in response, and when his other hand reached her firm and shapely posterior and squeezed, the slight moan became a forceful gasp.

Soon, her fingers were in his hair and her lips and tongue were exploring the most sensitive part of his neck. And when she reached his earlobe, she flicked it with her tongue before her teeth began nibbling on it. The deep moan that escaped his lungs couldn't be withheld, and when her fingers reached between them to stroke him, another throaty rumble presented itself. Her nimble fingers tickled him intensely below, touching every part she could reach, until he couldn't take any more of her teasing.

When he tried halfheartedly to roll them over so he was on top of her, her athletic legs held fast, blocking his movement. She wants to be on top. Okay, boss, you lead the way. She pulled her upper body up from his chest, locking his hips in place, and giving him a direct view of her midsized, perfectly shaped breasts and her strong abdomen, leading down to a little puff of red-blonde hair where it met his own darker cluster. The image alone pushed him a little closer to climax, but he knew it would take longer this second time—surely to her liking.

Before long, she had pressed onto him, gasping a little louder with every stroke she made. His hands quickly found something with which to occupy themselves: one gently squeezing the nipple of her left breast, the other rubbing the spot between them, eliciting a sharp gasp an impish grin. When her strokes became quicker, propelling themselves by momentum and forceful thighs, she was gasping and moaning, and he was climbing and breathless. Despite the overwhelming urge to release, he found the willpower to sustain the inevitable until her cries and tremors and fingernails digging into his flesh allowed him. And when he did, he sat up so that he could hold her in his arms and bury his face in her hair.

10:10 PM

After a quick clean-up, they were back in bed, he only in his boxers, her in panties and an oversized T-shirt. She always kept an extra new toothbrush, so she let him have it, figuring she may as well keep it here for him. She shirked some of her usual evening routine, forgoing the face mask and extra creams for just a quick face scrub and a dab of moisturizer. She didn't feel self-conscious about him seeing her sans-makeup; he'd seen her in far worse conditions. He'd even said as she was washing that he didn't think she needed makeup. It was a sweet sentiment, but one which not everyone in the professional world would agree on.

She couldn't keep from smiling as he flipped off the lamp, pulled the blanket around them, and curled up behind her, finally wishing her goodnight and sweet dreams.