Back at it with another songfic. Matt Nathanson just released an EP of Dep Leppard covers, and they all made me think of a warm, summer night where Mulder and Scully are enjoying their house. Pre-IWTB. Listen to Nathanson's "Pour Some Sugar On Me" cover while reading if you can. Or just go listen in general because it's fantastic.

Dana Scully had been restless all day. Ever since she sat down at her desk to do paperwork after her last surgery at 2:30 p.m., she had been itching to get home. It was a warm Friday in June and all she wanted was to be sitting on the porch with a cold drink, a book, and Mulder by her side.

When the clock hit 5 p.m., she lost her willpower and headed out the door. She drove a little higher above the speed limit than she cared to admit, anxious to leave the city behind her for a few days. The farther away she got, the better she could breathe. Exhaling the bullshit.

Never in her wildest dreams did she think she'd like living in isolation, but right now, after all she'd been through, it suited her. She didn't quite trust the world enough to live in the city again. The unremarkable house she shared with Mulder for the last two years was perfect.

She turned off the highway and tore down the back roads. Her desire to get home for the weekend had cut her usual 45 minute drive down to 35. When she stopped at the gate, she practically sprinted out of the car to open it, drive through and close it again. A necessary task, but just another thing between her and relaxation. The simple bliss of having the newfound privilege be domestic.

When she pulled up to the house, she sighed with content. Finally. Dropping her keys on the kitchen table and setting her work bag down by the door, she allowed herself to be a little messier than normal. She jogged up the stairs and heard the water running and Mulder singing to himself. The words were hard to make out, but he sounded happy.

She shed her work clothes and bra as fast as she possibly could, trading them for worn in denim shorts and a black tank top. Scully caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror and ran a hand through her copper hair, now growing past her collarbone. She liked what she saw. She felt full again, like she could exist without being afraid of what was around the corner. Her cheeks and breasts were fuller now that she was back to a stable diet and exercise routine. The summertime out in the countryside had already given her some extra freckles, which she knew drove Mulder wild. She grinned.

The water came to a halt and she called out, "Hey, it's me!"

"Hey," Mulder yelled through the door. "Be out in a sec!"

"Take your time," she called back. "I'll be on the porch!"

She grabbed her latest read, "A Farewell to Arms" by Ernest Hemingway, off her nightstand and headed downstairs. Before going out to the porch, she got two cold beers for her and Mulder out of the fridge and popped the caps off.

The air outside was still warm, but there was a slight breeze. Absolutely perfect porch weather. Scully set the beers down on the little side table she'd bought at a flea market last summer and relaxed onto their porch bench. The cushions were covered in white linen and she sunk into them, tucking her legs under her thighs. She had opened up her book and read a few pages when she heard a faint acoustic guitar.

Mulder must have put on music. They had a boombox with a fairly long extension cord that they often brought out onto the porch on nights like these. They'd put on some Crosby, Stills & Nash or Fleetwood Mac while they sat on the bench, flipping through their books or lazing making out like teenagers.

The guitar got louder and the door creaked open. Scully didn't look up from her book, assuming Mulder was bringing out the boombox and some reading material of his own. But then she heard a familiar voice that didn't belong to Lindsey Buckingham.

"Step inside, walk this way… you and me babe, hey hey!"

She looked up and saw Mulder with an acoustic guitar around his neck and nothing else. Fully naked, just the guitar covering his pelvic area. He was grinning that goofy grin she loved and strumming.

"Love is like a bomb, baby, c'mon get it on… Livin' like a lover with a radar phone…"

"Mulder," she laughed, smiling. "When did you learn to play guitar?"

"I've been teaching myself," he said, smiling at her. "I needed a healthy, constructive hobby."

The phrase sounded familiar. It was what she'd said to him a few months ago when she was worried he spent all day in his study. She's leave for work and come back to find him sitting in the same spot, sometimes with no evidence that he'd eaten the whole day.

"You sound good," she remarked, setting her book down. "Keep going."

He gave her that mischievous schoolboy grin and continued serenading her.

"Lookin' like a tramp, like a video vamp, demolition woman, can I be your man? Razzle 'n' a dazzle 'n' a flash a little light, television lover, baby, go all night…"

Suddenly, Scully recognized the tune. This song. It brought her back to one of their early days on the run. They'd been driving for almost 30 straight hours, just switching off and letting the other one sleep in the passenger seat, and the Def Leppard cassette tape had gotten jammed in the tape deck. They didn't care much, they both liked it. Then it started to skip. And finally, it would only play this song.

"… Break the bubble, break it up, pour some sugar on me… Ooh, in the name of love.."

Scully jumped up and planted a kiss on Mulder's lips, cutting him off mid-chorus. He kissed back hungrily, pulling her towards him. Her body smashed into the guitar but she was too busy kissing him senseless to notice.

They broke apart and Mulder whispered, "I'm hot, sticky sweet, from my head down to my…"

She chuckled and gave him another quick peck.


"Oh hell, you know how it goes," he said, sliding the guitar strap down and leaning the instrument against the wall before pulling her back to him, flush against his naked body. He squeezed her ass and she tangled her fingers in his hair.

"Hey, Mulder?"

"Mhmmmm?," he replied, kissing his way down her neck.

"Pour some sugar on me."

"With pleasure," he mumbled, pulling her into his arms and carrying her into the house.