Title: Primal Instincts Author: Dreamshaper Feedback: Is as good as truffles, and accepted with much the same glee. Please send to dreamshpr@aol.com Archival: Ok for Gossamer, Ephem and those archives who have picked up a story of mine before. Others, please send an email. I like the visit the little chickies after I kick them from the nest. Category: MSR, post-ep Spoilers: First Person Shooter Rating: I'd say NC17 but mostly because I'm over-cautious. :) Summary: It wasn't a tone she often heard from her partner, and one that alerted her to the fact that while *his* propensity for trouble was under discussion, *she* was the one in danger. Disclaimer: Not mine, alas and alack. But I still have a great time borrowing them. Notes: I'm posting this in three relatively little bits because it's too long for one email, and I couldn't figure a good way to put it in two. Big thanks to Shannon, who didn't make this shorter but certainly made it better! Also thanks to Alanna for reading through to catch those last little boo-boos. You guys rock. :) ********** "Come on, Scully, the boys told me you were totally in the zone when we were trapped in there. I *know* you got some satisfaction from beating that chick's ass." Mulder nearly bounced in the passenger seat of their rental car, and Scully shot him a disgruntled look. Unrepentant, he grinned at her, one hand creeping across the divide between their seats to land on her knee. She shifted under his easy touch, and he rubbed her leg as if soothing her. "I have to say," he continued, one finger lightly tapping her leg, "that I didn't expect to see you come riding to my rescue. Not in one of the game suits and with guns blazing, anyway. I was pretty sure that ten seconds before she left me in little pieces, you'd find a way to pull her plug." "I left that to the computer geniuses that created the mess in the first place, Mulder. I couldn't exactly be of any use to them." She glanced at his hand, then gave him a pointed look, but he just smiled at her and didn't take her hint. She turned her attention back to the road and wished that seven years of dealing with his intelligence, his cleverness and his demons had also taught her how to handle his touch. "Well, whatever, Scully." Enough tension and excitement remained in his voice to convince her that he was still feeling the adrenaline rush. In all honesty, so was she. Nothing like saving your partner's life to get the blood pumping. "I'm just glad that you came in when you did. No way in hell was I stopping a tank with a broadsword." He squeezed her knee lightly. "I thought your masculine ego had taken a hit?" The thought delighted her, actually, which was probably a little mean-spirited, but surely she was allowed to be mildly cruel on occasion. Mulder certainly could be, though much of the time without even realizing it. "My ego was dented," he said with near-manic good cheer. "But if I've learned anything in the past few years, Scully, it's that you do a good job of saving my bacon." Another celebratory pat to her tensed leg, and he turned away, focusing his attention out the window. She didn't really know what he was looking *at*, unless he'd been hiding a fascination with smog-shrouded skyscrapers or enjoyed watching as other drivers used their cars as battering rams. Normally, he'd be checking a map or reading through notes, but he just stared out the window as if transfixed, one leg bouncing, his fingers on her knee tapping out the beat to music only he was hearing. You've saved me too, she thought, feeling a rush of tenderness for him and all his quirks. Now wasn't the time to admit that, though; either he'd run with it until he became unbearable, or she'd send his good mood crashing as he took the opportunity to recall all the times he *hadn't* saved her. Times when she'd either been injured or gotten herself out of a sticky situation in ways that weren't exactly by the book. Never mind all the times he'd done the same things. He never seemed to consider that she might harbor some guilt, too. Guilt was strictly Mulder's territory, and he hated to let anyone trespass. She looked for the exit that the Gunmen had told her led almost directly to their hotel, nearly missing it thanks to the warmth of his hand on her leg--distracting, but comforting at the same time. There were memories wrapped up in the heat of his skin mingling with the heat of hers. She knew the feel of it across every inch of her skin, had savored it deep inside every curve and curl of her body. And it was surprisingly easy to crave. Perhaps because he'd seemed to accept the transition with equanimity and comfort, maybe because they'd always communicated best with silence and contact. He'd touched her a thousand times over the course of their partnership, almost always with the intention of seeking or giving reassurance. Subtle caresses of a hand over a hand, three of her fingers curling around two of his, the brushing touch of shoulder to shoulder. Sometimes it was contact of a broader, deeper form, used sparingly--most often, when death was faced and narrowly defeated, or as their families grew smaller and smaller. Arms wrapped so tight around a nearly motionless ribcage that it hurt them both to let go. Hands nearly spanning a slender back that shuddered and tensed as sobs ripped into the air. A full-body hug that left her tucked neatly under his chin, his stubble catching in her hair as his hands rubbed her back and her fingers dug into his shoulders. He's got such big hands, she thought, looking down at the one that was still settled on her knee. Big hands with long fingers, very masculine and very neat. He wasn't the type to go in for a manicure, but he took good care of those hands. She'd come to appreciate that in him, the faint sparks of vanity and self-consciousness, traits that should have annoyed her. For a long time, she'd seen him so low that he didn't seem to care anymore, and she'd been afraid. The return of his ego wasn't a bad thing at all, really. She forgave herself for wanting to tease him about his trouble with the game's venomous vixen. That had been a knee-jerk reaction, the kind a sister had when the brother that had always seemed invulnerable got taken down a peg or two-- Not that she thought of Mulder like a brother. Comparing him to Bill and Charlie was like comparing nectarines to apples and oranges. "Scully, what was the name of the hotel?" "Sweet River," she said idly, still thinking about masculine hands and the games boys play. "Why?" "That's what I thought." He took his hand away and her skin rippled with an unexpected chill--but she told herself she was glad. Then she realized he wa s pointing out the window and glanced in the direction he indicated. "We passe d it a few miles back," he told her, and the urge to grit her teeth became irresistible. "Why didn't you tell me before now?" she grated out, willing to believe that he had let her go on driving for some good reason, wanting him to explain himself in a way that made sense and didn't necessarily have anything to do with annoying her. But part of her knew she wouldn't be so lucky. "Well, you're the one who took down the directions." He waved the little piece of paper under her nose before curling it up into a little ball and tossing it in the backseat. "I figured you were all set on where we were headed." Before he could say another word, she hit the brakes and pulled onto the shoulder of the road, just barely waiting for the traffic to clear before hitting the gas and yanking into a sharp U-turn, gravel flying behind her. In the rearview mirror, she could see the tracks of her tires on the faded pavement and thought it was too bad they weren't smoking. Mulder was silent for a few seconds, and she glanced at him from the corner of her eye, marveling that her aggressive driving had actually cooled him off a bit. The pleasant silence lasted until he turned his head toward her and made a little tsk-ing noise. "Really, Scully," he said, voice full of repressed humor and gentle teasing. Apparently, nothing she did was going to get through the high he was feeling, not yet. She cursed testosterone and video game technology that was too close to reality. Mulder continued, almost sweetly, "Didn't your mother teach you that it's not polite to peel out like that? What if I had hit my head on the window and lost consciousness? How would you find the hotel without my help?" "I'd have managed," she assured him through gritted teeth. "You missed it on the first go-round," he pointed out helpfully. He was smiling when she looked at him, her face as blank and expressionless as she could manage. That should have been a warning to him, sent a message that he should keep his mouth shut--but so far as she could tell, it didn't. "Don't worry, Scully, I won't tell anyone that you got lost." She spotted the neon sign at their hotel just as he finished speaking, and sent up a silent prayer of thanks. Getting hauled off for his murder wouldn't be any more relaxing than dealing with him, even if time spent with Mulder when he was in this kind of mood was time wasted. She wondered what it was about being a victim to virtual mayhem that had gotten him so high, and vowed that she'd kill the boys if they tried to drag him into this kind of situation again. Ever. Mulder leaned over as she parked the car, his warm breath washing over her ear sent a contradictory message to her body, fight and flight all wrapped up in one needy, messy package. Goosebumps rose on her skin, even as heat seemed to envelop her. But all he said was, "I'll bring our luggage. You go ahead and check us in," then the keys were gone and her partner was gone, and she was left blinking and dazed. I'll kill the boys tonight, she thought, climbing out of the car. Forget waiting for them to screw up again. For a moment, she studied the hotel's crumbling facade and blinking neon light; she knew from experience what that kind of exterior usually meant. If her room wasn't completely free of roaches and rodents, she'd kill the boys slowly. ********** Later, she came out of her bathroom with her hair wrapped in a towel, wearing soft slacks and her loosest shirt because there was a little bump and some bruising on her chest and stomach, and she found the biggest rodent in the place settled comfortably on her bed. Sprawled across the mattress, on *her* side, Mulder had the phone pressed to his ear, both pillows under his head, and a lazy expression on his face. He'd rolled his sleeves up to his elbows and freed the top buttons on his shirt; his tie was barely looped around his neck. His shoes were lying in a topsy-turvy pile near her bag. She'd seen him like that many times, but never got used to it. Her stomach tightened so quickly that it almost hurt, and she had to tuck her chin down into her chest and ruffle her hair with the towel just to get some time to recover. Familiarity had never even managed to breed indifference to Mulder's charms, let alone distaste, and she occasionally considered that a very unfortunate circumstance. Then again, when she was lying beneath him or settled on top of him, watching his eyes glitter with heat and feeling his body move inside hers, she praised the familiarity...but those were entirely different circumstances. He chuckled and she was afraid he'd seen her reaction, until he said something about cheesesteaks and she realized he was responding to a comment from one of the Gunmen. She moved to the other double bed and popped open her suitcase, digging around for absolutely no reason other than to avoid looking at her partner, boneless and content and too attractive for her peace of mind. A click signaled the end of the phone call--Mulder rarely said good-bye, not to her and not to his favorite conspiracy theorists. Feeling moderately more comfortable for having pretended distraction, she looked up and caught him staring at her. He smiled, a sleepy curl of his lips, a dark, focused intensity in his eyes that belied the light expression on his face and his earlier teasing. "I've got messages for you from the guys. Langly wants to know if you'll adopt him until he's grown up," her partner said, swinging his long legs over the edge of the bed. His hands ruffled through his dark hair before he looked back at her, still smiling. "Only if he gives up the hair." Scully found a pair of slacks packed into her case that she didn't remember putting in there and frowned over them. Mulder laughed. "That might be a deal breaker. He's been cultivating that ponytail since he was twelve, I think." "You mean, he's not still twelve?" "No, he had his fifteenth birthday last month. And Byers says he wants to *be* you when he grows up." "He'll crumble the first time he has to wear pantyhose." And speaking of pantyhose, hadn't she put a few pairs in the little compartment of her carry-on? She went through them so quickly that she always had some stashed for an emergency-- "Frohike would like to date you when *he* grows up, but he'll settle for a kiss." "I know he's a prince under the surface, Mulder, but I was never a fairy-tale kind of girl." The extra nylons were rolled up into little balls and tucked in the wrong pocket. What the hell was I thinking when I packed, she wondered, then remembered that Mulder'd been wandering around her apartment, seemingly content to wait and touch everything she owned. She'd rushed through packing just to keep him from rifling her underwear drawer. "Don't worry," he said, and Scully looked up, startled. He was looming over her, barely two inches away, his scent and warmth reaching out across the insubstantial space--and she hadn't even noticed him get off the bed. "Don't worry?" she repeated, taking an instinctive step to the side. He anticipated her, reacting to her movement as if he had read her mind, ended up even closer than he had been before. "Yeah. I told Frohike that you weren't really interested in dating anymore." His smile was sweet, but his gaze was darkening, the normally light hazel becoming a deep and warm pool of green, shot through with a grey so bright that it was like sunlight on waves. "I'm not?" Knowing where this was heading, Scully held her ground and tilted her head back, her pulse beating a little harder than was strictly necessary for normal oxygen intake. Her skin was so sensitive that she could almost feel his hands on it. "I'm afraid that you've saved my life one too many times now, Scully," he said, almost managing to sound sorrowful. "I really couldn't let you wander off into the sunset like that. God only knows what would happen to me if you weren't around to ward off trouble." She cocked an eyebrow at him. His mood was even stranger than she'd imagined when they were in the car. Now that pumped up good humor had mutated into cheerful possessiveness and the faintest hint of an almost unsettling need. But as long as he wasn't bouncing around, she could deal with him. At least, she thought she could. "I was around today before you went into the game," she murmured smoothly, knowing he'd see the challenge in her eyes, thinking he'd back off. "That didn't seem to keep you from getting into trouble." "Exactly." His hand settled on her shoulder, heavy but gentle, as if she were a rather slow student who had just caught on to the teacher's game--never mind that she was still a little lost. "I got into trouble, and you beat it back," he explained, voice low and somehow...smoky. A little edgy. Not a tone she often heard from her partner, and one that alerted her to the fact that while *his* propensity for trouble was under discussion, *she* was the one in danger now. This side of Mulder would bring about a kind of danger she couldn't handle. Her body, so recently screaming with flight-or-flight instincts, was revving again, and she could tell by the way his pupils continued to dilate that he knew it. Another step away from the bed, another step mirrored and blocked by her partner, who suddenly seemed much *larger* than normal. His hand on her shoulder felt like a lead weight, but warm. Scully's instincts, those urges to either bolt away from him or rush him and knock him off-balance, warred with the knowledge that movement in any direction would only result in capture. Abruptly, she was amused. Mulder was no danger to her. Everything about him was familiar, from the lanky strength of his body to the vulnerability she could always, always find in his eyes. She'd even seen this darkness in him before, had been aware of it for years. He wasn't possessive or domineering in general, but he had his moments. For that matter, so did she. You don't scare me, she thought, taking a slow, deliberate step towards him. The heat in his eyes flared, and he smiled, assuring her that he felt no more fear than she did. He dropped his hand from her shoulder and held it out beside him, palm up--an invitation, and a display of confidence. If he had had any doubt that his offer would be refused, he wouldn't have made it. It was good to know another person so well. Scully rested her hand in his, turned them so that they were palm to palm, fingers entwined, held still between them like a promise and a dare. She didn't know and didn't care who made the first move of the kiss that followed--they met in the middle, the delicate and glancing press of mouth to mouth an affirmation. "Things like video-games are a substitute," he whispered when the first kiss broke. "Humans are full of urges that civilization makes them sublimate." He touched his lips to the side of her neck, bending over her in a way that was familiar, that urged her to tilt her head back and close her eyes. His free hand settled on the back of her neck, cupping it with both tenderness and unmistakable possession. "Stress," he continued after trailing little nipping caresses up the side of her neck, "is created by that repression. Most don't feel it too deeply; sports take care of the instinctive urge to stalk. Every day interaction with other humans provides the outlet we need for herding, or tribal, instincts. We compete in a thousand little ways and satisfy most of our baser needs. But sometimes there's a build-up, and in some people the need for aggression is a little stronger anyway." His hand tightened on the base of her neck, yet remained gentle. "But you're not one of those people, Mulder." She opened her eyes and met his gaze, held it. He shook his head. "I have more outlets than your average human. I work in law enforcement; the hunt for criminals satisfies the same primitive part of my nature that would otherwise like to seek and take down prey." "I have a hard time seeing Mulder, Oxford educated and highly urbane, as a hunter," she said, but that was at least partially a lie--almost every agent she'd ever worked with had a light in his or her eye and a way of moving when the suspect was in sight that was predatory. The emotions that came from taking down a criminal were primal. She'd felt the urges, and the resulting satisfaction-- As if reading her thoughts, her partner smiled. "Just as I have a hard time seeing you, the doctor, the healer, as a predator. But you feel it, you work with it, and part of you enjoys it." "And at the end of the day, you don't find me playing a video game." Mulder's smile widened, became just a little more fierce, and he moved closer to her. His body's warmth drew her like a magnet, and she moved the final inch, brought her body into fuller contact with his. He made a low sound of satisfaction deep in his throat, and she came pretty close to echoing it, but he kissed her again before she could. "I'm a man, Scully," he said many long minutes later, when she'd almost forgotten their absurdly detached conversation. But she remembered enough to raise her eyebrows at him, which prompted another quirky smile. "More testosterone. More...urges." She almost laughed, but when she considered the hard press of his body against hers, the amusement faded. She pushed herself up onto tiptoe, enjoying the feel of her stomach rubbing lightly against him, their chests pressing together. "I have a few urges of my own," she whispered, and this time she kissed him, more aggressively than she might have even a few days before. This was a teeth-clicking and near-bruising kind of kiss, and it made her feel powerful and more than a little wanton--she savored the rush for a long time before softening, caressing his mouth with hers. Mulder was the one to break the newly gentle touch, raising his mouth just enough to speak. She was tempted to kiss him again, shut him up, but he must have seen that in her eyes. He shook his head, looking down at her with a vividly green, intense gaze. "And all that primal stuff carries over into personal relationships, Scully," he said, his voice rough now but his train of thought still in place. "I owe you my life. You *own* my life, and that's as basic as it gets. But it isn't one-sided; humans don't work that way. I've got a claim on you, too." She raised her eyebrows again but didn't contest his words. Why bother when it was true, at least between them? The bonds and ties forged over the course of years were strong enough to back up any claim of ownership. Of course, he'd be suspicious if she made it too easy. His face was set in lines as stern as he could possibly manage; in obvious anticipation of a battle, he squared his shoulders just as tightly. "Maybe we should go find you another video game to play," she murmured, keeping her smile faint and teasing. "I can practically feel the testosterone rising again already." He smiled back, and then slipped his hand free of hers; since he had held it out to her, their fingers had been closely entwined. She regretted the loss for an instant, but then was wrapped in his arms and he was aligning their bodies even more closely. Everywhere his hands touched, they teased, and he chuckled when she didn't quite manage to suppress a moan. "My testosterone isn't all that's rising." He pressed his lips to the side of her throat, let her feel his smile widen, drew their hips closer together and let her feel his body harden. "Pretty crude," she whispered. "I don't think I'm going to let you play with the Gunmen anymore." "That's all right. I'd rather play with you anyway." She had to laugh. Then he drew her toward the bed, pushed her back onto it and followed her down. When their bodies met, she had to groan. ********** Despite the fact that the hotel's appearance was shabby, the mattress was firm and comfortable. The cotton sheets were well-worn but very clean, wrapped around their bodies and spilling onto the floor. Against her back, they provided a sweet and soft kind of abrasion--Mulder's big, capable hands were in the process of making her skin hypersensitive. His rough fingertips and warm palms had buffed her, massaged, aroused...she was fairly certain that she would glow like a candle in the darkness, but he stopped her every time she reached over to turn off the lights. A certain awkward shyness had come over her nearly every time they made love so far, the product of many years of celibacy and before that relationships with men who made her feel...somehow less like herself once her clothes were gone. "Mulder," she whispered, threading her fingers through his dark hair and arching her back as he toyed with her nipples. "The light. Please." "I want to see you," he whispered back, meeting her gaze before turning his attention back to her skin. His hot breath washed across her wet skin, sending a shiver down her spine. With effort, she managed to hold onto her train of thought. "Mulder...stop." He looked up instantly. Scully half-expected to see annoyance flaring on his face, was ready to leap to her own defense, but his expression was...calm, in a relative way. Desire, sweet and tempting, was the only thing she could see in his gaze. "Scully. What do you feel?" She swallowed, let her fingers tighten in his hair, shifted her body as much as she could. "You know, Mulder." You have to know, she thought. It was obvious in her gaze, she was certain of that. More, it was obvious in the flush and the moisture that had spread across her skin. "I know what's going on here," he agreed, and touched her between her legs, inviting her to spread them further apart with a sigh. "And I know what's going on here." He kissed her chest, just above the place where her skin fluttered gently with her every heartbeat. "But I'm clueless about what going on," he raised his hand and gently tapped her forehead, "what *goes* on, in here." So am I, she thought, that strange and uncharacteristic shyness fading away under the warmth of his gaze. But it wouldn't do to admit that to him, not when the mood was passing. She pushed his shoulder and rose over him when he obligingly rolled onto his back; she bent to kiss him, slow and deep. Her hands found their way down his ribcage and across his stomach, one settling on his cock and the other on his hip. She sat up astride his tense thighs and met his fevered gaze. "Scully..." he said, and she leaned down to kiss him again, pushing aside uncertainties called forth from the past to concentrate on the feeling of possession that was sweeping through her again and the tenderness that accompanied it. "The light stays on." She rose up, holding his gaze and trailing her hands across his skin. Let's just go with this, she told him silently, knowing he'd understand that she was all right, that she was willing to let him watch her. He signaled his knowledge and acceptance by tossing his arms out and curling his hands in what remained of the sheets on the bed. His nipples tightened when she licked them, his stomach muscles rippled when she kissed them, and her breath across the very lowest edge of his abdomen sent a shudder through his whole body. He groaned her name and raised his hips, and she wrapped her hands around him, teasing with pressure less fierce than she knew he wanted. But he didn't guide her, or even ask for more--she knew his body well, knew just how to drive him crazy, and he knew that. It wasn't a skill she'd learned with lots of practice but something she'd known by instinct after years spent aware of his almost every move and breath. When she released him from her hands and touched her tongue to her palms, gathering up his taste, he cursed quietly. When she dropped her head to take him into her mouth, he was silent but for a single strangled moan. His hips rose quickly, then fell back to the bed. One hand wrapped in her hair, but when she moved her head back in protest it was dropped, wrapped back in the sheets. Scully delighted in torturing her partner for a few minutes. Her body grew hotter, wetter, as she played with him--she'd heard once that some women could achieve orgasm just by pleasuring their partners and although she wasn't blessed with that ability, giving to him did drive her body higher. It wasn't long before he began to make more strangled noises, before he tried to pull her head away from his cock and she gave in, with some reluctance. On her way up, she nipped his belly, the inside of his arm, the base of his neck--all the vulnerable places that trust and faith left open during lovemaking, places she'd never touched with other lovers. She'd always known erogenous zones didn't just exist around genitalia but had never been trusted enough to explore them, nor had she loved enough to know that if the touches were reciprocated, she would not feel uneasy. The basic features of human nature that she and Mulder had been discussing affected not only aggression, but also self-protection, and even with a lover there were often barriers. When she was done exploring, when she had felt the intensity of his arousal mellow, she looked up at him. His eyes were dark, glossy with need. "You, Agent Scully, are an evil, evil temptress," he chided, and she watched his full lips curve, his smile impossibly naughty. She smiled in return and leaned down to kiss him, carefully aligning her body with his. If she gave him half a chance, he'd use that mischief against her in devious, pleasurable ways until she was begging for mercy, but her body was already insisting that he wait until *later*. Revenge would be more fun for both of them if it were delayed. She took him inside her then, not wanting to play anymore. It was easy and sweet but her chest tightened and her spine melted; in her mind she pictured her body fusing onto his as she covered him completely, and the image sent an orgasm rippling through her. Caught off guard at the speed of her climax, she said his name, seeing his own surprise, noting the way his skin flushed and his face seemed to tighten. Then, with her palms pressed flat against his chest to keep her upright and her head bent down to spare her watery spine its weight, she rode out the storm. Beneath her hands, Mulder's heart was racing. When the bones and muscles of her arms followed her spine's example and she dropped to his chest, he rolled them over without disengaging and began to thrust. She started to murmur a protest, feeling too sensitive, but then desire rushed back through her body. She finished the protest with a plea and wrapped her legs around his hips, trying to draw him closer, closer, take his body so deeply inside hers that they blended together... Then she forgot that they weren't already one person, and lost herself in pleasure. ***** After, she rested on his chest again, her legs between his and her hands underneath him, fingers curling and uncurling. From the way he moved his torso, she figured that he was using her kneading fingers for a scratcher, or just to massage out the few lingering tensions, and it made her smile. His deep and contented sigh nearly made her purr. "It's good to own you, Scully," he whispered, and she could hear the smile in his voice, see his grin without having to look at his face. She pinched his side and made him yelp. "Better to be owned by you, I swear," he rushed to assure her, making her laugh tiredly. She propped her elbows on his chest and smiled down at him, her hands drawing random little patterns across his still moist skin. "I'll get you a collar and tag when we get home." She touched her fingertips to the nearly too-full curve of his bottom lip, tracing his smile. "I think we should wait a little longer before we get into the kinky stuff." "As if your little game of alpha-male wasn't already kinky." He chuckled deep in his throat. "As I recall, I barely got to play alpha-male. Two minutes into the game, you had me engrossed in conversation, and then I was flat on my back in the bed." "Don't expect me to give you another opportunity either," she warned. "I'm not playing beta for you, under any circumstance." "Scully, you'd always be my alpha-female." He wrapped his arms tight around her and hugged. When he eased up, she braced herself on her elbows again, resting her chin on folded hands. He tucked hair behind her ear, barely touching her, and then tugged a few of the tousled strands. "No matter what kind of game we play, you'll always be my equal." "Except for the games where I kick your ass?" She wouldn't have said that under normal circumstances, but using terms like alpha male and female made her think of them as primitive things. Not friends, not partners, not companions or lovers--an even more permanently bonded pair. Mates. The idea made her a little uncomfortable--but only because it seemed so absolutely right. If a woman trained to be a scientist and a very intellectual man were mated, what did that say about the true state of civilization? Something less sophisticated than even his talk of primal hunting instincts, she was certain of that much. "Except for those games," he allowed, but Scully knew he could sense her mild discomfort.To his credit, he didn't push her, just let her tuck herself back into the solid comfort of his chest. Mates. She mulled the word, its meaning, its connotations, while Mulder rubbed her back. Fingertips up the dip of her spine, his whole hand down the curve again, fingertips back up...very soothing. I don't want to imagine him touching someone else like this, she thought. Not in my lifetime. Not ever. He's mine. Mates, she thought. Maybe...it does suit us. Or maybe that game *did* get my testosterone raging, and I won't feel like this tomorrow. Or maybe the world is flat. She grinned at herself and pressed her lips against his throat, then reached for his hand. As long as he was there in the morning, she didn't care what shape the world had taken, or what their shape their bonds formed. It was enough to feel them wrapped around her-- It was enough to feel *him* wrapped around her. "You're thinking too much." Mulder let his arms flop back onto the mattress and tilted his head; she took full advantage and kissed his throat again. "Alphas, betas, why you're more comfortable making love with the lights off, testosterone, possession...I say, let it all go for a little while and just bask in the hormonal afterglow of a long and interesting day." Scully thought that over for a minute--tearing apart the why and how of every situation was too ingrained a habit to just forget about, but it was a tempting suggestion. Not everything needs dissecting, she told herself. Not every action requires a plan and emotions don't require reasons-- "Good idea," she whispered, and leaned up to press her lips against his. "Plenty of time for thinking on the flight home tomorrow." "Or the day after, or next week, or a couple dozen months from now." Mulder rolled, bringing her underneath him again, and began to nibble at her lower lip, his agile, talented hands roaming down her sides. "Or then," she agreed, closed her eyes, and let him drive away thought for just a while longer.