"Where the hell is the flight attendant?" Scully asked for the fifth
time since they'd sat down. She craned her head over the rows
of cramped coach seating in search of her polyester-suited savior.

"Scully, we haven't even left the ground yet," Mulder pointed
out. He shifted in his seat, again, trying futilely to find a
comfortable position for his long legs.

She scowled as she watched him squirm. It was a ritual he
repeated on every flight, on every case. And it drove her
nuts every time. Sometimes being short -- make that petite --
was a definite advantage, she mused with satisfaction. She turned
away from him and stared straight ahead at the tray table in its
upright position. "I need a drink."

"You never drink during a flight," he said in mild surprise.

"I do now." The trendy flannel-wearing Gen X-er to her left
started up his Discman in direct violation of the no electronic
devices during take-off rule. Anarchist. The dissonant
clashing of what she could only assume was some generic
Seattle-based band filtered into the recycled air of the cabin.
Why did she always wind up with a middle seat? The God
of Airplane Seating had it in for her.

"Are you still mad about before?" Mulder prodded with his
trademark oblivion.

"Well, give the man a degree in psychology," she murmured.
She clenched her jaw at the memory of their recent argument in the
middle of the Iowa City airport terminal, complete with unwelcome
bystander participation. It had started as a standard disagreement
as to how the case they had just wrapped up should be described
in the case report, but it had quickly and stunningly degenerated
into a down-and-dirty fight that can only come as a result of
knowing each other entirely too well.

She loved the man, she really did, but every once in a while she wanted
to wrap her hands around his neck and squeeze. Her fingers tapped
impatiently against her black linen skirt in time with the tinny grunge
sound next to her ear. Finally, a flight attendant wearing a bright blue
suit of what could only be polyester strolled by, and Scully snagged
her. "Can I get a glass of Merlot, please?"

"Me too," Mulder added. Scully smirked. He knew he was going
to need it.

The attractive brunette blinked her big brown eyes at them for a
moment and opened her mouth as if to protest any drinking before
the flight had even started, when her eyes met Scully's. She closed her mouth
and smiled insincerely. "Of course."

Moments later they had booze in hand, and Scully swallowed
gratefully, shuddering in delight as the warmth spread through her
chest.

"I can't believe you're still mad," Mulder said with obvious
annoyance.

She rolled her eyes and took a deep breath, not looking at him.
"Mulder, you called me. A. Tight. Ass."

"It was the heat of the moment. I didn't really mean it."

"Sure. Fine. Whatever." He shot her a dirty look that she matched
wholeheartedly; then they lapsed into a tense silence. Scully
finished off her glass of wine and started to look for the flight
attendant to get another one when she realized they were about
to take off. Suppressing a frustrated sigh, she leaned back in her
seat as the plane increased in speed along the runway. The grunge
music continued to rage on next to her, and she vaguely hoped it wouldn't
interfere with the radar of the plane and cause them to crash into the
tower. Tight ass, the voice in her head sneered at her. Kiss it, she
returned in kind.

She drew in her breath as the plane lifted effortlessly into the air and she
experienced the moment that came, now, with every flight, when she
remembered Max Fenig and every other passenger on Flight 549 and
prayed this wouldn't be her time to join them. Once they stopped
climbing through the stratosphere and seemed to be cruising regularly,
she relaxed a bit and started searching once more for the flight attendant.
Mulder was studying the bottom of his wine glass like the MJ files
were inscribed on it.

The attendant was flagged down once more and ordered to bring them
another round. The woman - whose name, Mulder took pains to
discover, was Mona - reluctantly complied, this time bringing them
each a small bottle in the obvious hope that they would leave her alone
for the rest of the flight. They both snickered at her optimism.

Scully swirled the blood red liquid around in her glass and looked at
Mulder askance. His legs were rudely flung out into the aisle and he
had his tray table down. His fingers thumped rhythmically against the
hard plastic to some inner tune as he stared straight ahead with almost
childlike intensity, lost in thought. His dark brown hair was mussed, but in a
just-got-out-of-bed-after-some-great-sex way, and his tie was loosened,
the first two buttons on his expensive white dress shirt undone.

A brief flashback to the night before flitted across her mind, down on
all fours on the bed as Mulder took her from behind in the dark, his
hands grasping her hips as he whispered her name and plunged into
her over and over.

God. She shifted in her seat and drank some more.

The drumming fingers ceased. "Scully."

"What."

"I'm sorry."

"Good."

"But you really are a tight ass."

She drew in her breath with a gasp, then slugged down the rest of the
small bottle of wine before dignifying his comment with a response.
"Go to hell, Mulder." Oh, that's it, Dana, dazzle him with witty repartee.

He turned in his seat to face her, his eyes were sparkling
with some sort of misguided amusement. "Well, a tight ass in a really
wonderful way." He leaned in real close, lowered his voice to an
intimate timbre. "I love your tight ass."

"Thanks," she said dryly. She could feel the corners of her mouth
twitching, and cursed herself for her inability to stay angry with him.
But she knew that when it came to Mulder, she’d gotten as close to an apology
as she was likely to get.

He nudged her thigh with his. "Forgive me?" To top it off, he made
that lost little boy face that he knew simply got to her every time.

Instead of answering, she held up her glass of wine to the approaching
flight attendant. "Another please? In fact, make it two." Mona made
a face, but nonetheless hurried to comply. Scully furrowed her brow and
hoped she wasn’t being too bitchy to the poor woman.

"You're putting that stuff away awful fast, Scully," Mulder said dubiously.
"You sure you're okay?"

"What's the matter, Mulder? Surprised that a tight ass can drink so much?"
She accepted the fresh mini-bottle of wine from Mona with an overcompensatory
smile and opened it impatiently. Her head felt as if it would float right off of her
neck. The alcohol was working rather quickly. Perhaps it
had something to do with the fact that she hadn't eaten anything that
morning and it was already noon.

"Just wondering why you seem so determined to drink your weight in
alcohol," he said.

"Because I have nothing better to do," she snapped.

He shook his head and laughed softly. "Fine. Well, you know what they
say, Scully, if you can't beat 'em..." He signaled the beleagured Mona
and flashed her his best smile.

"Don’t tell me you want more, too," she said. She folded her arms across her polyester-suited chest.

"Only if it’s not too much trouble," he said, widening the smile.

She studied him for a moment, then smiled back. "No trouble at all,"
she practically purred.

Scully rolled her eyes. Un-be-lievable.

Another bottle of wine later, and they were both considerably more relaxed.
Mulder's legs were fully thrust into the aisle, and Mona, whose patience
was wearing a little thin, had to ask him more than once to put them back
under the seat in front of him. Scully had discarded her suit jacket, and
sat comfortably in her skirt and cream-colored silk blouse. Her head
occasionally lolled from side to side, but she convinced herself it had
something to do with the altitude.

"Scully." Mulder's voice sounded in her ear, his breath stirring her hair.

"Yes?" She tried to focus on him through the relaxing fog enveloping
her brain.

"I did say I was sorry, you know." His hand moved to her thigh and began
tracing light circles through the fabric of her skirt.

She gulped. "I know."

"So...when are you going to forgive me?"

Looking for make-up sex already, eh? Her heart began pounding just
a little faster, and her hand involuntarily moved to her throat. "How do
you suggest I go about doing that?" she asked.

His eyes bore into hers, and she realized he was not just teasing; he was
suddenly intense, focused, in that Mulder way. She could smell the wine
on his breath when he spoke. "Ever think about joining the Mile High
Club, Scully?"

Her mouth dried up, and she licked her lips nervously. "You can't be
serious." Her tingling nether regions screamed Yes! while the small,
tight-ass voice inside her squeaked an indignant protest.

"What's the matter? Too...dangerous for you?" His expression was
challenging now, daring her to prove his earlier remark true.

She cleared her throat and felt her eyelids flutter as if she were some
sort of swooning silent film star. Her head now felt like it was expanding
like a hot air balloon, and she was entirely too flushed. She swallowed
past the lump in her throat. "I...no," she said lamely. Her flushed
cheeks felt hot, so hot, and she wanted to tear his clothes off right then
and there, but beyond the alcohol-induced fervor and her inspired passion,
something kept holding her back, that last Catholic school girl inhibition.

He grinned rakishly at her, genuinely amused at this point. "Dana Scully,
I dare you -- I double dare you -- to join me in the bathroom of this
airplane." He craned his head back to check the restroom status.
"One of them is free, right now." His hand began traveling up under her
skirt, adding further inducement.

Now he was playing dirty. A dare? A dare? What was this, showdown at
recess? Hmph.

God, he knew her too well.

She met his gaze steadily, even though she was practically hyperventilating
at this point. "I accept your dare, Agent Mulder."

"Okay then." He stretched until she could hear joints popping, then rose
from his seat and began to hum a tuneless tune in a ridiculous attempt at
nonchalance. She rolled her eyes and got up herself, rotated her neck
around to loosen the muscles there. The two of them strolled down the
length of the cabin, Scully, for her part, keeping her eyes rooted to
the floor. Once at the door to the small bathroom, they looked up and
down the craft to make sure no one was watching them, then slipped inside,
shutting the door and locking it, illuminating the "Occupied" sign.

It was a standard airplane bathroom facility, with a small toilet, aluminum
sink, and little else. The smell of disinfectant hung in the air, an almost
tangible presence. It certainly didn't afford much in the way of atmosphere.

They just stood there for a moment, pressed up against each other, wondering
what to do next. Scully could feel the laughter bubbling up inside of her,
and fought it valiantly, but as she tried to suppress a laugh a snort escaped
instead, and finally they both collapsed into undignified giggles,
holding onto each other for support.

"This has to be the craziest thing you've ever done," she said in between
laughs.

"Me? You're in here too," Mulder pointed out laughingly, then grabbed
her shoulders and lowered his mouth to hers. They kissed gently at
first, playfully, frequently coming up for air to let out a stray snicker or
giggle, but soon enough the humor deserted them utterly. He pushed
her up against the sink and began unbuttoning her blouse with deft
fingers, exposing her skin to the antiseptic-scented air. She exhaled harshly
into his mouth at the sensation of his warm fingers brushing against
her lace bra, reaching inside, taking a nipple between thumb and
forefinger. He squeezed gently and she moaned, a moan of quiet
desperation and longing. He pulled his mouth off of hers and moved
to her neck, tasting and nibbling, whispering her name into her hair.

"Hurry," she gasped, losing her patience. She unfastened his belt,
unzipping his fly, then grasping his now rigid sex, stroking
it expertly as he groaned. The hot flesh pulsed beneath her fingertips and she
fought the urge to take him into her mouth right there - they simply didn't have
the time. She made a mental note to make it up to him later. His hands
traveled under her skirt and tugged at her pantyhose, and he pulled away
from her just long enough to slip them down and off of her. When he stood
back up he took her head in his hands and kissed her again with an almost
frightening ardor. She returned it fully, taking his tongue into her mouth
and sucking on it, scraping lightly with her teeth. They just kissed, for
what seemed like forever, the hum of the fluorescent lighting and their
heightened breathing the only sounds in the tiny bathroom. He tasted
of Merlot, heavy and deep.

Finally his hands moved down to her thighs and he entered her, slowly,
sinking into her with a strangled groan. She wrapped
her hands around his neck to support herself as with sure,
measured strokes he began to thrust into her, easing in and out of her with
practiced ease. She dug her heels into the backs of his thighs and moaned
softly. Her hands tangled in his hair; his clasped the small of her back.
Their eyes met and he smiled at her, kissed the tip of her nose.

Existence narrowed to pure sensation.

The calluses on his fingertips against the soft flesh of her back.

Her flesh sheathing his.

The delicious friction as his cock slid in and out of her.

His breath hot against her neck.

His soft hair between her fingers.

The smell of his cologne, of his sweat, mixed with the
pungent smell of sex.

The way he looked at her. Like he was drowning.

"So...good," he whispered against her ear, harsh, wet words.
She bit her lip and reached down to clutch his behind, a signal to speed
up the tempo. He obeyed, as always, slamming her against the lip of the
tiny aluminum sink, running his mouth over her neck, her lips, her face.
They moaned in unison, a song of their own making, trying to stay quiet
and failing miserably. With any luck the roar of the plane's engines would
drown them out.

Almost the instant she started to come he did too, the two of them convulsing,
jerking, burying their faces in each other's necks in an attempt to muffle
their involuntary cries. Time crystallized as their bodies surrendered to
momentary oblivion.

When it was over the hum of the artificial lighting was deafening.
Everything seemed sharper, enhanced. Razor-edged.

Scully breathed a ragged sigh as Mulder slipped out of her. He slumped
against her, laid his head against her breast. She placed a kiss on the top
of his head tenderly, with more than a hint of amusement. "That was one
dare I'm glad I accepted," she said throatily against his hair. He grunted
in contented agreement and wrapped his arms around her waist.

"We should get going," she whispered. "We're lucky no one's pounded
on the door yet."

Mulder made a protesting sound deep in his throat, but reluctantly straightened
and started putting himself to rights. Scully did the same, and they incurred a lot of elbowing and accidental hitting as they tried to maneuver in the cramped space.

"Ready?" he asked when they both looked presentable. She nodded. He
kissed her briefly before he opened the door and poked his head out. "I'll
go first, then you wait a beat and follow."

"Right." One by one they strolled down the center aisle, careful not to move
too slow or too fast. Scully barely resisted whistling a
nonchalant tune herself. Nothing to see here... She had a sneaking
suspicion their fellow passengers were staring, but forced herself to
chalk it up to paranoia.

They slipped back into their seats with nary a hitch. Scully glanced at the
surly Gen X-er, who was now reading a "Preacher" comic book and mouthing
the words to whatever tune was blasting into his ears. Lovely. She sighed
and settled into her seat, smiling as Mulder went into his leg-manipulation ritual.

He looked over at her and grinned, sending a flush of heat straight down her
core and making her wonder how much time they had left until the plane landed.
It was going to be a long flight...

"Where did Mona go?" Mulder wondered. "I really worked up a thirst."

"I can't imagine how," Scully said, smiling.

As if on cue their favorite flight attendant materialized at Mulder's elbow. "Are
you two enjoying your flight?" she asked archly, awaiting further orders.

Scully offered her a smirk. "You have no idea."

End.