Dear Penthouse, I never thought this would happen to me...
He kneels, holding the candle close to her skin, wondering if she can feel the heat cast by the flame. Nothing touches her - the wax, his hand, his lips - but he can't help the awareness of just how long it's been since he was this close to a scantily clad woman.
The bumps, Fox. Pay attention to the bumps. He peers at them in the candle's glow, comparing them to his memory of autopsy photographs, refusing to let himself notice the soft curve of her hip, hugged by her panties, any more than he already has. It takes a little longer than strictly necessary, but Scully waits for his answer. He can nearly feel the tension running through her - excepting, of course, the part where he really can't feel any of her, if he wants this partnership to lead to anything good.
(It finally feels like it could, like Scully could be convinced. He won't jeopardize the work because his thoughts keep flitting places they shouldn't.)
"Mosquito bites," he finally breathes, grinning up at her.
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He kneels, holding the candle close to her skin, wondering if she can feel the heat cast by the flame. Nothing touches her - the wax, his hand, his lips - but he can't help the awareness of just how long it's been since he was this close to a scantily clad woman.
The bumps, Fox. Pay attention to the bumps. He peers at them in the candle's glow, comparing them to his memory of autopsy photographs, refusing to let himself notice the soft curve of her hip, hugged by her panties, any more than he already has. It takes a little longer than strictly necessary, but Scully waits for his answer. He can nearly feel the tension running through her - excepting, of course, the part where he really can't feel any of her, if he wants this partnership to lead to anything good.
(It finally feels like it could, like Scully could be convinced. He won't jeopardize the work because his thoughts keep flitting places they shouldn't.)
"Mosquito bites," he finally breathes, grinning up at her.