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Mulder’s hasty exit was still ringing in her ears as Scully took a sip of the chardonnay she’d bought for the two of them to share. The alcohol slightly burned her throat, warmed her insides. Her eyes glanced at the fresh pink mark that her lipstick had left on the rim.
Just fifteen minutes earlier in the dim light of her motel room’s bathroom, she had carefully reapplied her lipstick and made sure her mascara hadn’t rubbed under her eyes. Hell, she’d even put on the new set she’d gotten from the lingerie section of the department store. She’d packed it safely at the bottom of her suitcase for the conference, “just in case.”
Since her cancer had gone into remission, her recovery had been going well, or so she thought. At her follow-ups, the oncologist had stated that she’d made good progress. She had even regained a bit of the weight she’d lost while in the hospital. The pallor of her face had vanished - her cheeks had color again. She thought she looked good, appealing, sexier, even.
Most of all, her sex drive had returned with a vengeance. She was going to wear out her vibrator at this rate, but the craving she had ran deeper than just getting off. She could’ve easily gone to a bar or a club and gotten a one night stand. But that wasn’t what she wanted.
She wanted Mulder.
But she didn’t think he wanted her. As they had sat in the car on the way to the conference, she’d realized that her “just in case” lingerie couldn’t have been more purposefully bought.
Had she not been clear enough? He did need that stupid communication conference. She’d mentioned male and female agents consorting in the same hotel room for Christ’s sake, and he couldn’t even take a hint.
Maybe she’d misread whatever this was between them. When he’d pressed that kiss to her cheek as she waited for death in that hospital bed, she’d understood it all. She’d cried herself to sleep so much those days, desperately wanting a second chance.
They had that now. She was alive now, healthier. What the hell was she doing wrong?
She closed her eyes and willed herself not to cry from her frustration, but the fantasy she’d had for the night crept in from the edges of her mind.
His lips on the edge of the wine glass, the back of his hand as he wiped a droplet away. He’d take the hint, understand what she meant by Federal Bureau of Investigation Policy. Maybe he’d invited her onto his bed and into his arms for a moment.
She’d put a finger under his chin and pull him into a kiss, or maybe he’d do it to her. They’d undress each other as if it was a sacred act. His mouth on her…
Jesus, she thought to herself.
So there Scully stood, in her nice tan suit over her new lingerie set, drinking wine by herself in Mulder’s room, alone when she wanted to be fucked through the mattress. Some sordid part of her wished she could not have packed her vibrator, that it was a guarantee that Mulder could be as interested as she was. A vengeful part of her wanted to stay at the motel. Fuck whatever creature of the night he was chasing this time.
She knew how she felt for him. Maybe there’d be a time and a chance to be Mulder’s lover. But she doubted it.