He pulled in just ahead of her, into a no-parking space, and smiled at the double-take she went through at seeing him.
He thought her acceptance of his offer to drive her was mechanical - perfunctory, automatic obedience of her superior. He did, however, notice a slight flush to her skin as she climbed into the car.
When her presence invaded his automobile, his personal space, he went into total brain-lock. All he could do was drive and talk, and Oh, God, Almighty, he was babbling -was he babbling?- something about Mulder, about their last case. He couldn’t even keep track of what the hell he was saying. He glanced sideways, and she was looking at his hands on the steering wheel. She was looking, but she was kind of - glazed over - or something.
If his mind wasn’t working at all, then hers was working overtime. He could see it, even in the quick glances he took away from the heavy traffic.
They were almost at her destination, and Skinner wanted desperately to slow down, pull over, lean closer to her and look into her eyes. He wanted to know exactly what she was thinking. He could feel the sexual tension in her, waves of it coming off her, assaulting him in his spot behind the wheel.
He wanted to invade her space, invade her mind, invade her body with his.
Drive the car, he told himself, drive the car, drive the car, drive the car, drive Scully, drive into Scully....
They had arrived, and he pulled smoothly to the curb, resisting the tremendous, gut-wrenching urge to just slam her up against the car door and kiss her savagely until she either begged him to stop or begged him to keep going, keep driving. He could drive his tongue, he could drive his cock, he could drive...
She was out of the car, and he looked out and waved good-bye, pulling out as soon as he could, not even glancing back into the rear-view mirror. Just driving.