Tiny Texas Badass Writer.

Anyway, she would like for Mulder to look at her tits, and all the rest of her, from extremely close proximity. So, after their morning meeting, she undoes one button of her shirt. Nothing too overt. She still has plausible deniability. Mulder gives her a casual glance or two, but his eyes don’t linger. He’s such a fucking gentleman sometimes. It seems most likely to happen when she’d most like him to display a soupçon of lecherousness. It takes two to horizontal mambo, after all. She’s 99% certain that he wants her the way she wants him, but he’s fled from her previous attempts to advance their relationship to the bedroom, so that 1% of doubt does nibble at her. The simmer of lust in her abdomen competes with the roil of anxious uncertainty. But she’s tired of waiting. It’s time to stop playing games.

Well, aside from this one. But Mulder, pursued, flees. She has to create an opening for him.

So to speak.

When he goes up to get coffee from the bullpen to stretch his legs, she undoes another button. He comes back, enters the office mid-sip, and almost chokes on his coffee.

“You okay, Mulder?” she says solicitously.

“Oh, yeah, fine,” he says. “Hot. Hotter than I expected. You know how it is.”

She nods. She knows exactly how it is.

After lunch, while he’s washing his hands in the sink in their lab area, she undoes an third button, popping it out of the crisp fabric. It makes a popping noise audible to her ears. Her blouse is in a precarious situation, a plunging vee that shows the edges of the cups of her bra. It’s open almost to her stomach. If she breathes too deeply, the next button might go, no longer anchored by its fellows.

Mulder comes back to his desk, looks her way, and fails to sit in his chair. He hits the floor with a thump. Scully gets up and goes to check on him. He looks at her with a sheepish expression.

“You missed your chair,” she says. She offers him a hand up. He takes it, and she braces herself against his weight. Good practice for other activities. She imagines, anyway.

“You missed a button,” he says. “Maybe two.”

“How unlike me,” she says.

“It is,” he agrees. “The assiduous Agent Scully. Your attention to detail is often noted by your superiors. Not sure what they’d make of this.”

“Hmm.” She sits on his desk, crossing one leg over the other. Her skirt suits never used to be this tight. Sometimes she misses the boxy, comfortable fits of the early 90s, but this silhouette is certainly more suited to her purposes today. Mulder’s flat-front pants leave less to the imagination as well. Some part of her mission has been successful. She can see the evidence of that.

“To lose one button may be regarded as a misfortune,” he quips. “To lose” — he counts with his eyes and licks his lips — “three seems like carelessness.”

She makes a noncommittal noise. “I thought I’d try caring less about a few things, see if it yielded results.”

“How’s that going?” he says. He’s avoiding gazing into her cleavage with an effort that seems superhuman. His hands are clutched into fists at his sides.

“Preliminary results are inconclusive.” She swings her foot. “The subject is surprisingly resistant to my interventions.”

He swallows hard. “Maybe the subject is confused. A little scared he might be walking into a trap of some kind. Hypothetically.”

“I see.” She moves her foot a little further, rubs the toe of her shoe against the side of his knee. “If I wanted to file some kind of case against you for creating a hostile work environment, I could have done it years ago. Does that reassure you?”

“A little.” He drops his eyes, finally, to her tits. She can feel his gaze like a caress, lingering on the elevated topography of her breasts. Her push-up bra does its job well. Even she thinks her cleavage looks ripe, plush, pillowy, the perfect place for him to rest his head.

“Mulder,” she says in her most velvety voice. Somehow these things work with Mulder. So-called feminine wiles have never been her strong suit, but he looks hypnotized, like she’s some femme fatale. His eyes meet hers, already dark and a little hazy. “It’s not a trap.”

“Good to know,” he says.

“I’d say it’s an opportunity.” She tips her chin toward the door. “If you’re scared, go get some more coffee and I’ll see you tomorrow and we won’t talk about this.”

“And if I’m adequately caffeinated?” he asks.

She smiles. “Lock the door.”

He locks the door. She crooks a finger and he comes back to stand in front of her. She resists the urge to call him a good boy and scratch him behind the ears. Maybe later, once he’s proven himself.

“So this opportunity,” he starts. “Are there terms and conditions?”

“Somebody promised me a nice piece of ash the other night,” she says. “I understood that to guarantee certain deliverables in the form of a nicely wrapped package. For some reason, they haven’t fulfilled their end of the bargain.”

“Maybe the other party wasn’t sure how well their offering would be received,” he hedges.

“I was close to receiving it right there at home plate,” she says. “It was making its presence known. If you’d wiggled any harder, I would have been impaled.”

He smirks. “Do you think I have a shot at being a UPS driver?”

“No,” she says firmly. “Because you didn’t actually deliver. I’m still waiting for my nicely wrapped package, Mulder. The thought of it keeps me up at night. I don’t even care if it isn’t wrapped. I’ll still receive it.”

“I see.” He taps a finger on his lips.

“I hope you do,” she says. “But I’m willing to bend over and find your glasses in your desk drawer if necessary.”

He huffs a laugh. “Maybe I was hoping you’d follow me home.”

“I was hoping you’d follow me home.” She stares at him.

“Ah,” he says in a wise voice. “Perfectly symmetrical miscommunication. I should have known.”

“We’ve always been evenly matched,” she says primly.

“So what are we going to do about it?” He shifts. It does absolutely nothing to disguise his erection.

“Hopefully, many things,” she says, looking demurely down and then up through her lashes at him. “In due time.”

“And immediately?” he asks.

“I’d say the most pressing need is to investigate the failure or disappearance of my buttons, Agent Mulder.” She lifts her chin, watching his eyes follow the line of her throat back down into her cleavage.

“Ah,” he breathes. “What a mystery.”

He leans closer, touches his forehead briefly to hers. It’s grounding, somehow. She takes a deep breath. His nose rubs against hers, an exploratory nuzzle, and then his lips brush hers so lightly it feels like a sigh. Then his cheek is against hers. She can feel the stubble starting, a texture more than a prickle, but it feels good on her skin. His lips graze her cheekbone, the skin in front of her ear, the angle of her jaw, and then move to her neck. She gasps, even though it’s barely a kiss. Even the whisper of his mouth sends electricity crackling through her.

“No buttons here,” he says against her skin.

“Keep looking,” she suggests breathlessly, tipping her head to give him better access. He mumbles down her throat. She lets her head loll, dizzy with need. The anxiety in her belly has been subsumed by lust. She shifts slightly and feels the slickness between her legs. Mulder tastes her collarbones, the tip of his tongue dragging over her bare skin. Scully exhales hot surprise into his hair. He makes an inquiring noise, letting his teeth graze her clavicle, dipping his tongue into her suprasternal notch. She just hums her approval deep in her throat.

His arms are braced on either side of her, boxing her in, supporting him. She wraps her fingers around his forearms. His sleeves are rolled up. She can feel the cords of muscle under her fingertips. Mulder’s built lean and sinewy, but he’s strong. She wants to feel that strength against her, wants to sink her teeth into him. She arches her back, pushing her tits against his face. He nuzzles down to her sternum. God, that fucking almost-stubble is delicious against her skin. She wants it everywhere.

“No buttons here,” he says. His chin is pressed into the swell of her tits.

“Have you checked everywhere?”

“Now that you mention it,” he murmurs, and puts his tongue between her tits. She gasps. He devotes himself to exploring her cleavage with lips and tongue. She isn’t sure any man has spent this much time touching her tits, ever, but Mulder’s always been one of a kind. It’s astonishing, really. She hasn’t paid much attention to the erotic potential of her breasts. Her lovers teased them, squeezed them, and then abandoned the effort. Mulder seems more invested. She imagines what he would be doing if he had full access and squirms on the desk.

Mulder traces the edge of her bra cup with his tongue, dipping just under the fabric. It makes her feel tingly-ticklish all over, like her nerves are already overloaded. Then he bites her gently and she literally squeaks, a little “ah!” sound.

“Too much?” He looks up at her. His mouth is pink and shiny.

“No,” she says. “It’s good. It’s really good. Keep going.”

She catches a glimpse of his grin before his face is buried in her tits again. This time he bites harder, making her gasp and clutch at his arms. He pushes his face into her shirt and the fourth button abandons its post, popping open and giving him access to a wider vista of bra and breast. He immediately uses it to his advantage, seeking out her nipple and mouthing it through her bra. It feels so fucking good, even through the padded cup. She can’t imagine what it will feel like when he finally gets her naked. Well, she can, and it makes her pussy ripple with anticipation, but even with the fabric between them it’s so good. Part of it is the enjoyment on his face, the rapt expression, the way his lashes flutter against his cheek as he tastes her. Part of it is the way he seems to know exactly how to touch her to light up every nerve in her body.

He shifts to the other breast. Scully feels dazed. He isn’t even touching her anywhere else, just his mouth, just her tits. She’s still holding onto his arms, but those are the only points of contact. He’s even managed to tilt his hips so that his hard-on isn’t brushing her leg. She considers rubbing that prominent bulge with her knee and then discards the idea. If she touches his cock, she won’t be able to stop touching it. They’ll fuck right here on the desk, and that shouldn’t be their first time. It’s a fantastic fantasy, but she wants to be somewhere they can enjoy each other for as long as they’d like to without the risk of Skinner or custodians unlocking the door.

But God, she wants just this to last forever. His tongue swirling over her skin. His teeth sinking into padded flesh. All of his attention devoted to her, at long fucking last. She could come from his mouth on her tits, she’s sure of it. Part of her wants to. She could make a mess all over his desk, the one that’s still mostly his desk and only partly their desk. But she wants this pleasure to be reciprocal. She wants to taste him too, wants to tease his nipples and breathe him in the way he’s doing to her.

“Enough,” she gasps, when she judges he’s spent a roughly equal amount of time lavishing his affections on each breast. She’s so fucking wet. She might be leaving a damp spot on his blotter. She just hopes her skirt isn’t stained. Worth it, if so.

“Haven’t found your buttons.” He kisses her neck again, one lingering caress, and then withdraws.

“I’m sure they’ll turn up,” she says. “But if you keep doing that, I’ll come right here.”

The hot hunger in his eyes could scald her. She turns her face away and does up her buttons with shaking hands, breathing hard. She’s nowhere close to decent, but at least she can pretend.

“You know, Mulder, you look a little flushed.” She brushes the backs of her fingers against his forehead. “I think you should go home.”

“I think you’re right,” he says. “I do feel a little out of sorts, now that you mention it. Do you think my doctor makes house calls?”

“For conditions as serious as these, I think she’ll have to,” Scully tells him. “And you’re going to have to hold your jacket at waist-level while we make our way to the garage.”

“Why do you think I walk behind you so often?” he asks, raising one eyebrow. “You don’t have to coach me on how to conceal my Scully-induced erections.”

“Good to know you’ve got so much experience,” she says. “Come on. Let’s get you to bed.” She eases her way off the desk and wobbles over to her nice new suede coat. Mulder holds it up for her, solicitous as always as she slips her arms into her sleeves and then her hands into her pockets. She jingles her keys in her hand.

“Do you think we can get a siren for the top of your car?” Mulder asks. “It’s kind of an emergency.”

“I might not stop for red lights,” she says.

She exhaled and looked down at the fox, who had come to stand beside her. His ears twitched as the low, echoing clang of bells rang out across the field, slow and rhythmic, calling the monks to prayer—or supper.

“Supper,” she muttered.

They found a rise not far from the field, a hill that gave them a clearer view of the stone walls and cloister garden beyond. Dana sat beneath an old, knotted tree and let her pack drop beside her with a heavy thud. She stared at the monastery for a long while.

No villagers. No market. No refuge.

Just discipline. Chants. Silence.

Fox lay in the grass near her feet, tail tucked neatly against his flank.

Dana leaned back against the tree, letting her eyes fall closed. “Just a nap,” she murmured, half to herself, half to him, the low feeling of disappointment pulling her into the quietus of sleep. 

***

When she woke, the sun had fallen and dusk had settled like a veil. The air was cooler, soft with the scent of damp earth and crushed grass. For a moment she didn’t move—just listened.

No birdsong. No wind.

And no sign of Fox.

She sat up quickly, brushing hair from her face and looking around.

“Fox?” she called softly.

Nothing answered but the hush of early evening.

Her heartbeat picked up. She rose and turned in a slow circle, scanning the darkening trees and the slope of the hill.

Footsteps crunched behind her.

Dana bolted behind the tree.

“Dana?”

She blinked.

It was Fox. In human form now, his voice laconic and unmistakable. She stepped from behind the trunk just as he came into view, carrying a heavy-looking sack slung over his shoulder. He looked slightly winded, his cheeks pink with effort or excitement.

“You gave me a fright,” she said, pressing a hand to her chest.

His mouth twitched into a smile. “Come.”

He led her down the far side of the hill, away from the monastery, to a shallow clearing bordered by blackberry brambles. The air was still and safe-feeling, the trees sheltering them from view.

“Start a fire?” he suggested, and dropped the sack to the ground with a soft thump.

Dana hesitated, studying him in the growing dark. He looked neither urgent nor afraid. Just... pleased with himself.

She knelt and began to gather sticks. A few minutes later, a small, merry fire crackled between them, licking at the twilight.

Fox knelt by the sack and began to unpack it.

First came a thick wool blanket—coarse but warm, the kind woven by hand. Then two loaves of bread, each round and golden with crust. Finally, a bottle sealed with a cork, the earthenware heavy and cool to the touch.

Dana’s stomach let out a very audible growl.

He handed her one of the loaves.

She tore into it without hesitation.

It was still warm.

The crust cracked beneath her fingers, and the inside was soft and fragrant, the scent of yeast and flour and thyme washing over her like something holy.

“Where did you get this?” she asked between bites.

“The monastery,” he said simply.

She froze. “You bought it from them?”

He gave her a look.

“Not exactly.”

She stopped chewing. “You stole it?”

He shrugged. “They won’t miss it.”

“Fox,” she hissed, lowering the bread. “What if you were caught? What if we’re caught now? They hang thieves.”

He tilted his head, the movement very like the one he did in his fox form. “Would you like me to take it back?”

She stared at the bread in her hands. Swallowed. “No.”

He nodded, as if that settled it, and broke his own loaf in half. “I was careful,” he added.

She looked at him, watched the careful way he ate. 

“How did you get in?” she asked, tearing off another piece of bread.

“There’s a hole beneath the wall. Just wide enough for… the other me.”

He smirked and took another bite.

“I went under it, waited until moonrise, then put on a robe I found drying outside. If you wander around like you belong, people tend to ignore you.”

She stared at him, unsure whether to be horrified or impressed.

“And out?” she asked.

“I jumped the fence.”

He must be as agile as his other form.

She looked at the bottle. “What’s in there?”

“Don’t know.” He handed it to her.

She pulled the stopper and sniffed.

Beer.

She took a cautious sip, then a bolder one. It was smooth and malty, and it warmed her all the way down.

She handed it to him. He took a swig, then grimaced.

“You don’t like it?”

“I’m not sure.” He took another tentative sip. “It makes my stomach feel… strange. Warm.”

She chuckled and took the bottle back. “That it does.”

She leaned back against a fallen log, the bread in her lap and the fire crackling cheerfully at her feet. The light from it danced across his face, picking out the fine lines of his jaw, the copper in his hair, the gold in his eyes. He looked impossibly at ease for someone who’d just burgled a monastery.

She noticed he wasn’t eating as quickly as she was.

“Not hungry?”

He fidgeted uncomfortably. 

“I eat in my other form,” he eventually said, shrugging. “And I eat well.” 

He seemed to consider what he’d just said for a moment. “I should save this for you,” he went on, setting the bread aside. 

Dana shook her head. “It will go stale. And it’s warm and delicious. Enjoy it. Please.” 

He took a moment and then nodded, pulling himself another bite. 

For her part, Dana took another pull from the bottle. The fire, the food, and the beer worked their alchemy on her nerves. Her body warmed. Her shoulders loosened.

She felt… content. Against all odds.

Curiosity stirred.

“So,” she said, “tell me about yourself.”

Most of the time she spent in his company, he was a fox. The time spent with him as a man, she was mostly asleep. She want to know everything.

He glanced at her sideways. “How can I tell you what I don’t remember?”

She studied him, the strong line of his nose, the way the firelight warmed his skin with a healthy glow.

“Then tell me what you do remember,” she said gently.

He looked into the flames. After a long, quiet minute, he looked up.

“Better than good.” He puts his arms around her as she rests her head against his shoulder. She cuddles up close to him and if they’d be doing nothing but this for the rest of the day, he would be more than okay with that. But as his heart rate returns to normal and he regains the ability to formulate thoughts beyond ‘Oh dear lord yes’ and ‘I don’t think I’ll ever be able to move again,’ he realizes what would make the morning even better. “Hey Scully?”

“Yeah?”

“I was just wondering…”

“What?”

“Is it too late for one more last-minute birthday wish?”

She frowns, propping herself up on one elbow next to him. “That depends entirely on what it is. You know I’ll let you talk me into anything against my better judgment four times out of five, but I’m not going Bigfoot-hunting with you today. The rain’s really coming down out there.”

“Oh, it’s very much an indoor activity,” he promises. “Well, not that it doesn’t work outside. I mean, we have done it outside. And that was pretty fun, actually. But it’s definitely mostly an indoor thing, and I think maybe you could even consider it a gift for both of us, if you think about it. I know you enjoy it too. I was actually planning to give it to you for your birthday in a few months, but that’s the good thing about it, really. It can be gifted over and over, and—”

“Mulder!”

“Yes?”

“You have to—” she starts, and then squeaks as he rolls her over and tackles her to the mattress.

“I’ll even wrap it myself.”

She laughs. “Mulder,” she says again and wiggles underneath him, not really trying to get free. “Mulder, stop it.”

She giggles uncontrollably as he tugs at the bedsheets with one hand and wrestles her underneath. “Sorry,” he says. “I’m usually better at gift wrapping.”

“You’re crazy,” she gasps as he rolls her into a tight blanket burrito so her arms are pinned to her sides. “You’re completely crazy.”

“You love me.”

“I guess there’s not much point in denying that anymore,” she mumbles, face half smushed into the pillow as she’s lying immobilized on her belly, wrapped up nice and tight.

He kneels next to her and tilts his head pensively as he takes in the picture. “Something is missing.”

“Yeah,” she says, trying to blow at a strand of hair that’s clinging to her cheek. “Your sanity.”

“No, that’s not it.” He brushes the offending strand of hair behind her ear, then holds up a finger. “I know. Hold on. Stay just like this and don’t move.”

“Oh, haha, very funny.” She does her best to sound annoyed, but he can see the sparkling in her eyes as he climbs off the bed.

He searches the floor, their clothes in a trail from door to bed where they hastily discarded them last night, and finally picks up his sweater. He jumps back onto the bed, landing on his knees, making her bounce a few inches on the mattress.

“You’re in so much trouble,” she says. “Once I get out of here. So much trouble.”

“It’s my birthday.” He says. “You can’t be mad at me on my birthday.”

She sighs. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

With a triumphant grin, he slides the sweater under her head and ties the sleeves neatly over her forehead. “There.”

“What on earth…?” she asks.

“Every nicely wrapped present needs a bow.”

“You’re not normal, Mulder.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, I suppose. Are you going to unwrap me now?”

He runs a hand over the blanket from her shoulder to her thigh. “Hey, no card?” he asks, doing his best to sound upset. “Where’s the card?”

“Mulder, I swear to god—”

“Okay, okay.” He leans down for a kiss and feels her smiling into it. “I guess I’m ready for my present.”

“I think your present is ready for you too.”

“Are you saying that because you want me to unwrap you or is there something else you had in mind?”

The look she gives him is the one that makes him do whatever she commands without a second thought. “At this point? There’d better be a ‘something else’ after the unwrapping.”

She’s trying so hard to look angry with him and it’s the cutest thing he’s ever seen. “Oh, as often as you want,” he promises. “I swear. Part-time-Bigfoot-hunter’s honor!”

“I’m glad to hear it,” she says dryly.

He unrolls her slowly and carefully, and feels actually, seriously, honest-to-god excited. He feels giddy as he finally pulls the covers off her and watches her lying here, glaring up at him. She’s so beautiful he can barely breathe. “Scully?”

“What now?”

“This is a really good birthday so far.”

“I’m sure it could be even better,” she says, and he kisses her. First her lips. Then the rest of her.

As he lowers his head between her thighs and finally gets his mouth on her, he’s already getting hard again—not surprising, he thinks. Nothing is hotter than getting her off. He lets himself drown in the smell and taste of her, and then she gives him his real present as she arches off the mattress and comes with a cry that makes him happier than any Happy Birthday anyone has ever sung to him.

“Hey,” he says, looking up at her, taking in her flushed face, the rise and fall of her chest as she breathes heavily through the aftershocks. “Thank you for my present.”

“Oh god.” She lets her head fall back with a long exhale. “You’re welcome.”

“And I really liked my birthday breakfast.”

She starts laughing and he crawls up the bed, looking at her, high on love and happiness.

“You know, I liked mine too and it’s not even my birthday,” she tells him, then sighs deeply. “There was no coffee though.”

“That’s okay,” he says. “We’ll have a second breakfast.”

“We can have breakfast as many times as you like,” she promises, and he lays down next to her and pulls her into his arms.