Work Text:
Mulder is spinning in his desk chair. He's throwing a ball in the air and catching it. Scully leans against the side of his desk. She crosses her legs at her ankles and folds her arms.
"You think I can't handle it."
They get trained on actual torture at Quantico. Unless Mulder plans on waterboarding her at Motel 6, she's pretty sure-
"I know you can handle it."
Mulder says this like he's a pervert, but like he's glad for a chance to give her the sentiment, too. When she feels inexperienced, sometimes he does make her feel foolish; only because it seems so self-evident to him, actually, that he's never met someone with so much of... whatever she's feels she's lacking, at the time.
"Fine," she says, feeling mollified, but not showing it. "What is it, then?"
"It's kind of about getting pushed, Scully." He's still throwing the ball in the air; catching it. "Feeling off-kilter, you know."
He's pushing her now, she can tell. Teasing her, like he's her brother or something. She prickles at it. But he did clarify something useful, if she's honest. She'd felt a flare of discomfort, engaging with feeling that way. Off-kilter. She considers the few times in her life she's truly felt like that, and hated them all. What sticks out most is the feeling of indignity, really. Is that surprising? She's never met a cat who likes getting wet.
He's watching her computing, sucking his sucker, tossing his ball. It's strange. When she allows it, he does sometimes point things out to her she didn't know about herself, yet.
"I can think on my feet," she tells him.
Mulder seems happy with her reply, too, like he always does when she barks up the wrong tree. Like he knew that was just the one she'd go for, too.
"I know!" He catches his ball and stops throwing it, leans in. "I know, but what if you couldn't?" Then adds, "It's about trust."
"I trust you."
She has no qualms about giving him the truth, when he asks for it. She isn't embarrassed. That's just the truth.
"Yeah?" he asks.
His chair is still slowly spinning. The stick of his sucker hangs from his smile. It's mix of challenge and "so technically, now I can do it" that she finds very attractive, always. It activates a prey instinct in her. It's like he's always baiting her into chasing him down for some reason, or making sure he doesn't get away. It makes sense to her, sort of. Mulder's a person who's good at running. He's always needed to be. It must be nice, for someone like him, to know even if he's caught-
She spins him back her way, steps between his knees. She's taller than he is now, sitting down. He has to look up at her for once.
They don't really clarify plans further, after that.
And Scully hadn't given it much more thought, either, until—half an hour past the time they'd agreed upon, on the night they agreed upon—she hears two sets of footsteps outside her hotel room door, not one. Muffled conversation, too.
She half sits up. She's been lying here like a nervous corpse for (almost) forty minutes, waiting for Mulder to show up already. She'd been getting sleepy in the lamplight, watching digital numbers flip on the clock, already feeling turned on.
They're still speaking out there. It's her hotel room, though. Not Mulder's. Single bed. They have their own rooms. It's probably Mulder and a colleague she's hearing, because the talking doesn't sound stressed—and one of them is Mulder, for sure. She recognizes his drone. He does have a key to her room; but they're unlikely to actually enter, she thinks. They could have little reason to. Whether or not Mulder will be able to get rid of this person and return here undetected, though, seems less certain. Had someone caught him right there in the hallway? Why'd he even let it get to this point, without scraping them off somewhere?
She decides she'll pretend to be sleeping, just in case. She regrets it immediately once she's under the covers though, fully dressed, feeling like an idiot—but at that point, it is what it is.
She has to pretend to be dozing, when she hears the door actually click open, and feels men walk inside. She feigns coming awake decently well, she thinks, and is halfway to feigning female embarrassment when she sees it's Mulder and Krycek, of all people. She drops the ruse. He's such a little kewpie doll, she thinks. Krycek. He skeeves her out.
And now he's blueballing her too, because the way he tends to glue himself to Mulder's side whenever he appears means he must have found some new, inane jurisdictional reason to be here. Whatever it is, it must be solid enough for Mulder to not be able to dislodge him, too—she knows Mulder knows tonight she's willing to, you know. Birth alien eggs for him, or whatever. Tonight, but maybe never again. Maybe this night only. If Krycek's still standing in her hotel room right now, there must be nothing Mulder can do or say to get rid of him.
Her eyes do move between them, though, waiting for someone to explain the murder. She isn't getting out of bed until they do. She doesn't want Krycek to see more of her than he already does, anyways. And she doesn't want to shake his hand.
"Catch you sleeping, Scully?" Mulder seems to think this is funny. He turns the TV off and steps her way.
They both sort of look at Krycek. He isn't quite hovering, but.
"Why are you like this," Mulder says. "Sit down."
Krycek sits in the chair on the wall, and Mulder sits with Scully on the bed. He lifts the comforter off of her and sits her up; takes her dress jacket off, then her shoes. She just sits there. For some reason, she worries he'll notice she's showered and changed into, obviously, a different work outfit than she'd been wearing earlier, at 10pm, for no reason. It would embarrass her, in front of Krycek. Mulder says nothing though, and starts unbuttoning her blouse. He moves the cross on her necklace to the side, like it's somehow in the way.
"Um," she says. Then, "Mulder." She immediately feels strange saying his name out loud, like maybe she shouldn't have. She's unsure if they've started something—obviously, they have. She swallows, feeling self-conscious. She wonders if Krycek thinks it's strange, too. Hearing her not call him "Fox," even now. They accidentally make eye contact, and instantly look away.
"You look pretty," Mulder tells her. He has her blouse open now, and trails his fingers over her side. Goosebumps follow. "Yeah, Krycek? You can kind of ignore him. He's like a little dunce in the corner."
He says this like he's talking about video sightings of a gnome. Then he unfastens her bra. Scully touches the idea of safe wording in her mind, but doesn't feel close to using it; or anywhere close, really. She isn't sure how she's feeling.
Mulder doesn't seem to care where her clothes go, but her necklace, he sets on the bedside table.
She likes the way he takes her in his arms once she's naked, and pulls her to lie down with him. He does this when he fingers her. She opens her legs for him on the memory of how it feels, mostly, and sees he likes she did that.
Normally, there would be some kind of translation process for her. She would feel competitive at first, not wanting him to have the upper hand. Then, somehow: desire. But she'd opened her legs without thinking about it much, this time. She feels really turned on.
Mulder drags his fingers through how wet she is, but rubs her further down still. He doesn't push his finger into her or anything. But when she tries to draw away, he doesn't let her, and keeps rubbing her there. She wants him to stop. And stop looking at her, too.
"Don't worry," he says. "I won't fuck you here. But I want to finger you. Do you need to go to the shower?"
Scully goes pink, but shakes her head no. They haven't done this before. It's not that she'd expected it, necessarily—but he'd hyped up whatever this would be, somehow, by not hyping it up at all, basically, for a week. He'd just played it normal. It left her to assume a gamut of things she's never done before, technically, but many didn't seem all that extreme to her, once she gave them some thought. And since she was showering tonight beforehand anyways; she'd figured it seemed like an easy checkbox to check. Given it's Spooky Mulder. She'd taken a long shower in very warm water for a long time before he was due to come over, actually, and indulged in this whole spontaneous thing where it seemed nice to clean herself well. It wasn't entirely to do with him. It was nice to have time alone, too.
It's not like he asked her to do any of that. She knows he doesn't expect it. She just likes to. Part of her likes it; that he thinks she's pretty. She can put in effort, make herself something he enjoys.
"You're such a girl scout," he says. The fraternal way he's proud of her lights her up always. He eases her into being more on her back, instead of half on top of him. She feels immediately more naked, and cold. She's spatially more aware, too, of Krycek over there; he can probably see her better now, too. She fights a natural urge to cover up. She wonders if Krycek's even attracted to women. Mulder slaps one of her breasts.
"Hey," he says. "I'm gonna hurt you now. Okay?"
He hadn't entirely convinced her, before, that he was capable. But she believes him now. He says it like it's as true as anything else, and he usually doesn't lie. She watches him take off his belt with mild interest. Her father never hit her as a child. She doesn't know what this will feel like.
She hasn't really looked at his belt before, either, or had much reason to. She finds she keeps looking at it while he lubes up his fingers. At first she doesn't shy away or say no, but when the moment comes, feeling his slick hand between her thighs, she clamshells closed. She tenses like that, in rictus, waits for him to grab her, roll her over, force her legs apart, manhandle her maybe. She feels more left out in the cold still, when nothing really happens. She looks back at him, and finds he's waiting for her to open her legs again. She turns back towards him, and does.
He rubs her there like before, and works a finger inside this time. It doesn't feel any worse than medical exams, for example, she's had in the past. Those were cold and professional. She was always very aware of what they were doing, too, and why, as a physician herself. She's not really sure what Mulder's doing. She feels him curl his finger inside her, though, and recognizes him; the way he does it. He starts slipping it in and out and when she makes a sound, he leans down to suck on one of her nipples until she lets a second finger in, too. She's staring at the ceiling. It doesn't feel bad at all. She just wishes he'd touch her higher, too. He's fucking her slow with his fingers. The drag of it feels-
"You said it would hurt," she mumbles.
"Not this part." She can tell he's looking at her body reacting, mostly; not her. "This part feels good."
It's not quite that it feels good, but it feels erotic. The slip and pull of him there, where he hasn't touched her before. The feeling of him on her nipple, too. And the little shocks she feels, sometimes, when she remembers stupid Krycek's over there somewhere, watching all this. She imagines what it must look like to him. She wonders what he's thinking about. She has an urge to touch herself, but doesn't, and feels annoyed and relieved at the same time, when Mulder takes his fingers out of her. When he takes his belt instead, though, she feels a jerk of fear.
"I'm gonna to hit you with this, okay? Inside your thighs." He touches her where. "I'll fold it in half. I won't use the buckle. But it will hurt, because of where it is," he explains.
She wants to blink, but doesn't, and nods. Her legs are already open like he wanted. She doesn't close them.
"I want six," he says. "Three on each side."
He works his fingers inside her again.
"You're tight," he says. It's considerate how he braces her and waits, so she can adjust, and not feel frightened anymore.
"Actually, can you do this for me?" he asks. "I need both hands."
He waits until she understands what he means, and reaches down, replaces his fingers with her own. He'd used enough lube for it to be easy. She's never done this to herself before. She does, though, and feels small, watching him watch her do it; watching him fold the belt.
"Okay," Mulder says. "Which side first?"
With her free hand, Scully touches her left. Mulder spreads her knee a little further, kind of, and she has a millisecond to see the belt come down before it hits her.
It really hurts. It hurts in a white hot way she wasn't expecting. It feels like a bus drove by and drenched her in rain; the shock of it. She recoils on instinct. Her whole body scrunches up. She feels hurt, and affronted. Offended, almost.
Mulder seems charmed by this. He slips behind her then, gathers her up, hauls her back with him to lean against the headboard. He accommodates her struggling around. It's like he thinks this is kind of funny, too. He snuggles in on her from behind, holds her in place. He gets her legs apart again. He guides her fingers back inside herself, too. The shame of it—knowing Krycek's watching, too—is almost overwhelming. Mulder holds her tight, and hard, when she tries to squirm away. She settles, then.
"See?" he says, hooking his chin over her shoulder. She can feel he's happy. He's looking down at her trembling belly, holding her. "I told you it would hurt."
She feels strange, and lightheaded, but smiles. Mulder can be kind of funny sometimes.
"Okay," he says. "That was one."
She relaxes back against him. Her hand slips out of her, without really thinking about it. She reaches down to finger herself again.
"Oh, that's okay," he says. He sounds gentle. "You don't have to."
She's glad. She just wants to lie back on him now. She lets him adjust her better to hit her inside her thigh, again, and he takes the belt and does, on the same side as before. The angle is different. It comes down nearer her knee. She has a strange wish that he'd hit higher, again, so the impact might have nudged her in a way that feels good. She's afraid if she lets onto it, though, he'd hit her there on purpose. She doesn't want to give him ideas.
"I feel like six was a good number to start with, Scully." Mulder's observational. A motormouth, like always. His lightheartedness feels kind of cruel, now. She's unused to feeling like he doesn't care for her. He spreads her legs open again; they'd been drifting shut on their own. "To be honest, I wanted ten. But I think if I did ten, you'd make me stop."
She's sort of shaking. He seems distracted, examining the innermost part of her thigh, pinching the thin pad of fat there. She heaves in small breaths.
"Scully," he says. She's getting better at knowing how to breathe, how to ask her body ease up, when he cues her. She still hasn't recovered, though, when he snaps the belt on her again; on the right side, this time. It's the hardest yet. She yelps, and startles too. Krycek's chair creaked.
Mulder shoots a venomous look his way, but says nothing. It's Scully he cracks with the belt again, not Krycek—on the mark he'd just left before. He's hitting her hard. She fights down a wail, and hiccups. She feels like a child. She finds her face is wet, and feels like a hermit crab. She wants to crawl away. It wasn't fair, and hurt badly. She wants to turn around.
"Almost done," Mulder tells her, like that's just how it will be. "Hands and knees." She follows.
"Last two here," he decides. She feels his hand press on her, rubbing the same high spot between her thighs, but from behind this time. He's close to rubbing where she wants him to, but doesn't touch her there. "Scully, it'll hurt. Last one with the buckle. Two more. Okay?"
She looks down at the hotel comforter and he hits her once, twice, in the same spot; the tender high part of her thighs. It does hurt more, like he said it would. The second, most of all. It bites. She wonders if she's injured. She feels stung and embarrassed, most of all. She has to take big, cleansing breaths.
"Oh," Mulder says. He scoops her up close then, bundles her in his arms. He covers where it hurts most with his hand. He's doing nothing to make it hurt less, but somehow, being near him, being held, does feel better. "You did good, Scully," he says. "Brave Clarice."
She feels a flicker of old Mulder; familiar Mulder. His warmth for her. He holds her close. His hand feels so nice in her hair. She knows that's a reference, but can't access it. She knows he's gentling her, though.
"Hey, Scully," he says. After a minute, she opens her eyes. "Would you let Krycek fuck you? I really want to see it."
She feels stunned, but doesn't show it. It feels like a drop in a bucket. Her mouth moves. Mulder is watching her face very closely. She's moves her mouth, but says nothing. It's kind of like she's talking to herself, out loud, but silent. Mulder watches her mouth move, like he's divining something. His eyes flick back, then, behind her.
"I can hear you mouthbreathing, Krycek." Like he's annoyed to still find him there. "You want a pass or no?"
Feeling sort of helpless that it's actually going to happen, Scully crawls forward in his lap.
"Oh, yeah. C'mere." Mulder settles back against the headboard again, accepts her in his arms. He's warm. Pressing against him makes all his clothes and his big coat sigh warm air that smells like him. He holds her just the same again. "Yeah. You don't have to look."
Scully feels the wet head of someone's dick that isn't his press on the back of her leg, trail up the curve of her thigh. She allows this to happen.
"Are you barebacking her?" Mulder snaps. "Are you fucking crazy?" A beat passes—for Krycek to feel bad, presumably. "Wallet," Mulder tells him, like he'd slap him if he could.
His hand, though, smooths down from where he was cupping Scully's head, and he's passing his palm up and down her back now, between her shoulders. She lets her eyes drift closed. She leans all her weight on him. She almost feels sleepy.
"Hips up," Mulder tells her. She feels grateful he lets her hide. Everything around her is him, except the part that's exposed—where she's most not wanting to be touched, but expects it soon, all the same. Mulder holds the back of her head again in his big hand. He scrunches her up close in his arms, like they're a couple at a drive in theater.
It does feel that way, sometimes. Scully often doesn't enjoy horror movies, when they're the sort to go too far. She enjoys something frightening in a cerebral way, and it's not that she can't handle gore; but she takes no joy from watching cheap violence, or something grotesque, for its own sake. But Mulder loves them all. The grosser the better, she can tell. He always wants to see, when others would look away. If they were teenagers in the backseat of his car right now, and on-screen a girl let out a bloodcurdling scream, she'd let Mulder bundle her up and block all her senses like this then, too, until it was over, and she'd enjoy it a lot. There's anticipatory delight even now, in ambient, un-immediate terror. It makes it easier to bear it all somehow—to the point of wanting it, almost. Because she can feel how he enjoys it, and enjoys her too.
She feels the head of Krycek's dick nudge at her again, dipping into her, and feels afraid, in a way that seems outsized to the situation. She feels almost like she wants to laugh, too; with fear? Mulder holds her close. His fingers are tight in her hair. It feels nice. Like he's holding her in place.
Krycek clears his throat.
"Uh, how should I-" he says. It's clear he isn't sure what he's supposed to do, or if he's allowed to speak, even. His uncertainty cuts through her fog. Scully feels annoyed, vaguely. She feels Mulder is too. She's grateful he gives her clear instructions. She likes knowing what to do. She wouldn't want to be Krycek.
"I don't know, Krycek," Mulder says. "Have you ever fucked a woman before? Do you need me to tell you how?"
"I-" Krycek stammers.
"Actually, don't answer that." Mulder cuts him off. He sounds mean. "We don't want to know. How about you pretend I'm fucking you, and you think about how you'd want me to do it. Okay? And that's how you fuck her."
Krycek is silent.
"Do you need further instructions?" Pointedly, he isn't asking Scully. She'd already said yes, presumably, because she didn't say no. And it's clear, too: Mulder loves Scully. Krycek, on the other hand. "Or can you not get it up? Is that the problem?"
"I understand," Krycek says. "And, uh, no. That's not a problem."
"Christ, you're such a creep," Mulder observes. He's guiding Scully's hips up again without much thought. She'd been letting herself slip. "You shouldn't be allowed in her zip code. But she'll let you do it for me."
When Krycek's dick pushes inside her, it's like it pushes out all the air and space in her body out her mouth. She makes this sound, towards Mulder.
"Yeah?" he asks gently.
Krycek bottoms out in her and goes still. Scully can feel his thighs flex against hers, which still hurt badly, where the belt hit her. She's not felt full like this during sex before, mostly because she doesn't entirely want it. She feels pegged in place; trapped; horribly exposed. If she moves or breathes, she'll feel it more; that Krycek's inside her. She'll remember this is happening more. When he does start moving, slow at first, then enough to make her body start rocking forward on Mulder's, she makes a quiet sound, in the back of her throat, but doesn't let it leave her mouth. Mulder seems entranced.
"How much can I-" Krycek struggles to speak, or to keep his voice level. He doesn't know how lewd he can be. He doesn't know anything, really. "How, uh-"
An Idiot's Guide To- Scully thinks, from somewhere above her body. She's jostled at how hard and tight he's fucking her now, like she's sitting on a washing machine.
"Fuck her like you want me to fuck you," Mulder says again. It's like he's forgotten to be mean, or like he's a teacher who's already in the middle of grading, and some student interrupted during the test.
Krycek fucks her hard. The sound of it beats in the room. Maybe he's showing off for Mulder, Scully thinks. Maybe he wants to get her to come fast, so he can come too. Maybe he's taking something out on her, because he's jealous. She wouldn't care much either way. Krycek's very good at this, for what it's worth. Mulder didn't give him rules on how hard he can go on her, and she does think she'll bruise, the way he vices her legs and hips. He prefers to yank her back onto him, she notices, than to move forward into her. It's something she notices absently. It's new. She finds she doesn't mind it. When she checks out, a small part of her reminds herself: it's Krycek. That little dillweed she's hated since the moment she laid eyes on him. A permanent blush settles in on her cheeks. Her guts, which he's rearranging, feel really good.
She feels stronger, bracing for it. It's not that hard actually, now that it's started. It was the anticipation, really. Like usual. Mulder holds her hair back from her face to look at her. He's tender with her, like she's puking in a toilet.
"You're good at this," he observes. "Look at you, taking it. Brave Scully." The lights go dark in her brain. Everything between her hips feels like molten oozing honey.
Krycek smacks her ass, the way men can't seem to help but do sometimes, when they pass a certain point of arousal.
"I swear to god." Mulder sounds like a storm cloud. Like he's about to throw him out by his ear.
Now that Krycek has his attention—torn away from Scully, with clear annoyance—Krycek kind of stutters in his pace. He's not making noise more noticeably.
"Hey," Mulder snaps. "Are you coming? Don't you dare."
"I can't," Krycek says.
"Did I say stop?"
When Krycek starts up again, like she's a piece of meat, Scully finds she's enjoying what's happening. She wonders if his eyes are open or closed.
"Get out of her before you come," Mulder says.
"Jesus, Mulder, please-"
Mulder leans over her and actually slaps him then, grabs his hair, yanks him off her like a dog. Krycek yelps. It hurts Scully too, because the angle inside her slips.
"If you don't think you can, you should pull out now."
Krycek obeys. His dick bobs sadly at her thigh, the tip of the condom heavy with precum. Honestly, Scully aches for the loss. Mulder's hand replaces him though, firm, cupping her clit and pussy. She melts towards him.
Mulder points with his spare hand, and Krycek stands nearby. Scully hasn't really looked at him since all this started. His pants are half down, but he's clothed otherwise. He looks whipped. She feels a flicker of comradery, for the first time—hopefully the last. It's not unlike sympathy. She watches him wince, when Mulder snaps the rubber off of him.
"On the floor," Mulder says.
Scully is surprised Krycek doesn't kneel. She wonders if Mulder will make him.
"It's carpet," Krycek says, helpless and stupid. Mulder doesn't repeat himself, and Krycek starts jerking off. It's clear he feels self-conscious about it. Like he's done this in front of Mulder before, but not someone else.
"Eyes on the wall, pervert. She can watch if she wants."
"I," Krycek says. He doesn't know where to look.
"Do you need me to hold your hand?" Mulder asks. He kind of sits up towards him now, leans over, to mock him better. It's like he finds the whole idea of Krycek kind of sad. "You can look anywhere you want now, okay? You want to just look at the ground?"
Scully's a little hypnotized, watching it. It's calming to see happen to Krycek, knowing it won't happen to her.
"Yeah," Krycek admits.
"Not until she comes," Mulder warns. Krycek seems zoned out. Mulder taps at his cheek; lightly this time. "Hey. Not until she comes. Okay?" Then, "Nod, so I know you hear me."
Krycek nods.
Mulder returns to her, then. Can't take him anywhere, his face says.
For some reason, she feels shy. She knows Mulder won't hurt her; not really. But she feels hesitance in her body towards him, all the same. His hands are invasive and pervy on her, like usual when they're alone. It's like he doesn't care or remember he hurt her. He pulls her up close to him again, feels her everywhere, gropes her. I love him, she thinks, for the first time—and because she's overstimulated already, it's just another buzz in a line of shocks. She doesn't even note it, really.
"I'm gonna fuck you now," Mulder says. Her hips move towards him on her own. She wants him badly. "I'm gonna come inside you, okay."
"Will, he," Scully stammers. She doesn't want Krycek's mouth on her. Her mind just goes there. Mulder holding her like this after, too, when she's comfortable and aching, twitching still, and doesn't have her wits about her yet, and feeling Krycek nose at her down there, eating it out of her. Mulder would love that. You don't have to look, he'd say.
Mulder laughs, like she told a joke. "What? No. He'd be so lucky."
She relaxes, then. Once he gets her straddled on his lap, and gets inside her too, and starts fucking her, she feels only happy. It's familiar. She almost wants to take a nap. She feels safe and good. She doesn't want it to stop. She wraps her arms around his head and shoulders and holds onto him.
"Hey, I'm gonna come in you," Mulder tells her. His nose is in her hair. "Tell me I can't."
She can tell this is not an order. He's asking. She says nothing. She can hardly move.
"Fuck." He's kind of rough disentangling her from him, and flips her over on her belly. All she can feel is him all around her.
"Hold still," he says. He taps his wet dick against her, just to find her again, and pushes deep inside. She groans from her stomach. She feels her eyes are wet. "I want you pregnant. Okay?" She's slackjaw in the mattress. She goes boneless as he fucks her. She let him do it. She'd let him do whatever he wants. She comes, at some point. "Take it," he says. "Good girl."
She feels the tight small surge in his hips, the way his body keeps going, even as his dick twitches inside her. When he slips out, she feels like she should try to hold it in, but can't. His come drools out of her. It drips down her thigh. She feels him smear it with his thumb, back inside.
It takes her a minute or two, after his hand pats her and leaves her, and his weight lifts off the bed, to open her eyes. When she does, she sees Krycek's still standing there, right where he was before. She didn't register hearing him moving or saying anything, really, but he's still standing there, where he's supposed to. There's come on his hand and wrist now, though. When their eyes meet, Scully doesn't look away this time. Krycek doesn't either. Mulder's doing something in the bathroom. The sink's running.
Scully doesn't know what to say. It's not even that she feels she has to say anything, really. But she does feel, for a moment, like she recognizes Krycek now. Like he's some weird kid she suddenly remembers from grade school, made more familiar by the distance of time, and shared experience. She knows she's never met him before, though. Not really, anyways.
"Get out," Mulder tells him, emerging from the bathroom. It's strange to realize; he'd never even got out of his clothes.
Krycek kind of winces, but Scully can tell the flush on his face isn't from shame. Or, at least, not entirely. She looks at him in a collegial sort of way while he pulls up his pants, buckles his belt. He doesn't exactly shirk her. On the way out his trajectory angles, like a squeaky shopping cart, towards the bathroom too.
"Are you deaf?" Mulder says. "I said get out."
Krycek goes redder still, and makes the short but embarrassing walk back to his room with his come on his hand, presumably.
"Door unlocked," Mulder calls after him. The door clicks shut softly behind him.
In the silence of their room, Mulder gets back in bed with her. Accommodating him, Scully says: "What a creep."
Mulder laughs. He rolls over on his back, tries to pull her off-balance along with him, without much strength or intent. He sprawls out alone, defeated.
"You knew this about me, Scully," he says to the ceiling. "You knew this from the start."
"I meant Krycek."
"Yeah," he agrees. He's happy, rubbing his hand up and down his belly. "He's all right."
"I hate him."
Mulder's kind of lounging around. "I know. Me too. He's a twerp. He really gets off on it, too."
"You really get off on it," Scully tells him.
Mulder's eyes are still closed. He's smiling at the ceiling. You'd think they were the ones working him for an hour.
"I like twerps," he says fondly, like he doesn't really understand himself either. Then, "Okay. I'm gonna check on him." He sits up.
She wants to sting at losing him, but knows he'll come back for her. She knows he's a responsible pet owner. For her; his fish tank; his new python, presumably. She tries to imagine what that would that could even look like, honestly. The way her and Mulder are together, afterwards; the way they watch TV. Does he do that with Krycek? She isn't jealous, exactly. She just can't even imagine what it would look like, is all.
"Be nice," Mulder says, like he read her mind. He's grabbed his spare key, and comes back to see her again. He bends down, takes her chin in his hand, looks in her face. He searches, not minding she knows he's looking.
She feels 13 again. And goopy. But fine. He tousles her hair. "I'll be back soon," he says, and leans down to kiss her cheek. Then he's out the door.
Once he's returns, she's taken a second long shower and changed into her pajamas, and she's warm and half asleep under the covers. She's turned the TV back on. She's watching Dateline. He smells like unfamiliar cologne when he gets into bed with her, pulls her close again. He has a toasty, laid back feeling about him. It's strange to smell another man on him. Not just his smell; another man's. It makes him feel more masculine by proxy. It feels like he might bully her again a bit, like they're in a locker room. It kind of turns her on.
When she's quiet he pulls the covers down, like he'll yank them off completely. He likes her protests, ignores them, but doesn't pull the sheets down all the way. She's wearing a big t-shirt and underwear, underneath; he pretends to feel if his come's still there, between her legs, and watches her fight a smile. He feels lower, too, and finds the edge of a padded bandage near the one small place he'd broken skin, behind her thigh, and assesses she's found the neosporin kit in the cabinet (and some Tylenol, too). He leaves it alone, then, but pats on the sore marks in her thighs. He rubs them, like he's warming them up.
"Ow," Scully complains. She pulls all the covers back up, hides herself again, but she doesn't feel angry or grumpy, even. She's just cold. She wants to watch Dateline. But he's kind of turning her on.
He pulls her close up again. Wraps himself over her, over the covers, like she's a burrito.
"Yeah," he says. "It feels kind of good though, right?"
She snuggles into him, happy to close her eyes. She feels sleepy. He takes the remote and changes it to Nova.
"No," Scully murmurs. "I'm not like you."
"You're a little like me," Mulder tells her. He's learning about space, now.
I like you, Scully corrects finally, but doesn't say.