Sense Memory VI
Be an adult, Scully said to herself. She sat in Mulder's chair in the basement, legs crossed, one foot in its chunky heel swinging like the switching of a cat's tail.
A Friday evening quiet was settling on the office building, on the block. She could hear the elevator, far away; the air conditioners were turned off, and the Bureau was emptying out for the weekend.
Where had Mulder gone?
She could have believed anything: allergic reaction, pygmy blow-dart with poison, hallucinations, hypnotism, deja fucking vu---any explanation as to why her secret fantasies about Mulder would be playing inside her head, in broad daylight, on the job. But it was evident, even to her reluctant eyes, that Mulder was right there with her; he was feeling, seeing, smelling, tastingMulder licking her nipple through her bra and blouse, the slightly chlorine taste of his neck what she did.
She put her hands flat on the desktop. They were shaking. She licked her lipsMulder's mouth tasting faintly of his bubble gum and took a drink from her water bottle.
Okay, one sense at a time. Taste.
She sat expectantly, but nothing. She picked up one of Mulder's pencils and tapped it against her teethMulder on his back on the pool table, she on her hands and knees straddling him, dragging her face against his chest like a cat, shoving the white tee shirt out of the way so she could trail her open mouth over his chest
God she was hot.
"Scully," said Mulder, from the doorway. She sat bolt upright, her eyes wide. He leaned on the doorjamb, his jacket hooked over his shoulder on one finger. He wasn't smiling. "I think we need to go play pool."