untitled
'TRUTHS
UNSPOKEN'
By: Kimogen
Something
deep inside her soul has told her to trust him. Yet even as they
lay entwined in the darkened motel room; she wearing nothing but
the light cotton gown, he still fully dressed; she is unsure
about the validity of the voices inside. Even now that she has
handed over her life to him, silently agreed to run away with
him, she is not sure that she has made the right decision. It
sounds so romantic when she thinks of it like that, when she
tells herself that they have run away together, but as always,
nothing is as great as it was in the storybook. Even though her
mother will have received a message earlier that day, courtesy of
Walter Skinner, telling her that her only remaining daughter has
become a fugitive, Scully is unsure that her choice was the right
one. She cannot even be positive that he will not hurt her. He
is, after all, so wrapped up in his cause, she knows for certain
that she will never have him completely to herself. Certainly,
she knows that she will always have his love, but Fox Mulder is a
man with an obsession. And Scully is not sure that his fixation
is her.
From the very beginning, Fox Mulder has had the ability to make
her heart beat faster and a blush spread over her cheeks. From
the first time she laid eyes on him, his glasses perched on the
end of his nose, Scully had felt the undeniable electricity spark
between them. The tension had begun its ascent at the moment she
had knocked at his door. It took them many long years to admit to
the pressure that had built between them, finally allowing it to
escape one lonely night, little more than eighteen months ago, in
Scully's comfortable queen-sized bed. It has all been downhill
from there. Once their feelings were out in the open, there has
been no holding back the deluge.
She has let Mulder take her in ways she only ever dreamed of. She
always relinquishes all self-control to him, loving the ways in
which he can make her body respond to the lightest of touches, a
whisper of breath across her ear, even the most innocent of
fleeting glances. He always could. Scully has never before felt
the way that Mulder makes her feel. She is blissfully happy when
she is with him, yet there is always a sickening worry that she
has to bury deep in the pit of her stomach. She knows that every
second of every day, Mulder is thinking. He is always planning
the next move. True paranoia. She wishes that she could see
inside his brilliant mind, for although she can read him like a
book, his emotions so clear in his eyes, her only insecurities in
life are provoked by her lover.
Now, as she is curled in his arms, his arms wrapped around her
and her hand rubbing circles on his shoulder, Scully wonders. Can
they ever be truly happy together? Or are they doomed to spend
their lives in misery, trailing across the country in search of a
truth that has brought no happiness or satisfaction so far, only
death, sickness and heartache. Scully is unsure of whether she
can bear much more. Giving away her son; the only thing in the
world that was ever truly hers to give her love to so fully; has
caused her pain that Scully doubts she will ever be truly free
from. Just the thought of her darling William causes a tear to
escape and fall down onto Mulder's cheek.
He knows immediately what has caused her sadness: they never did
need words. Their language has always been a silent one. He rolls
her onto her back, positioning himself so that he is covering
her, pinning her with his presence but supporting the majority of
his weight on his forearms. He knows what she needs to take her
mind away from the here and now. He wipes away her tears quickly,
bending his mouth to kiss her lightly, reassuring her. Even
through her insecurities, Scully manages to smile. She missed him
so much when he was gone, and this time with him is precious to
her. She needs to make the most of this moment.
In this instant, Scully knows she has him. As Mulder runs his
fingers through her auburn hair, she knows that he is reveling in
its new length. Her hair has been kept short as long as she has
known him – her attempt at curbing her femininity, demanding
equality. Mulder loves the things that motherhood has done to her
body, her mindset. Away from the ‘old boy's club' of Bureau
life, Scully has become easier, freer with her emotions. Not only
is her hair longer, but her eyes and mouth are creased with lines
drawn by smiles. He doesn't remember them being there the last
time that he held her this way, her body clamped between his
thighs, his hands combing silken tresses into a fan across the
pillow. He can see the mark their son has left on her, a faint
memory of happiness visible beyond her sorrow. Her body has
changed too, he notes, as he parts the thin cotton of her gown.
Having anticipated this moment, Scully had the sense to wear
nothing beneath her robe. His eyes flit over her rounded breasts,
her fuller tummy. He has to force himself to hold back as he
divests his own clothes and returns to the bed.
Mulder reaches out to touch her body for the first time since
before his first disappearance. He wonders whether the last time
they made love was the night their son was conceived. He shakes
his head slightly, knowing that the dates don't match up. He
hasn't dared to ask her, but Mulder bets that she knows exactly
when it was. He will work up the courage to ask. One day.
But right now, there are more urgent matters at hand. Scully is
smiling as he cups her breasts, raising an eyebrow at the warm
flesh spilling over his hands. She predicted this reaction.
Mulder is definitely a breast man. He used to tell her that hers
were made for his hands – they fitted perfectly into his
palms. He had been amazed when he first saw her feeding William,
eager for his own turn to press his mouth to her rosy nipples
once again. Only he had never had the chance. His departure had
been so sudden, so soon after the birth...
Now, it takes all of his self control to be gentle as he laves
his tongue across her flesh, eliciting a soft sigh from Scully
and drawing her hand up to tangle in his hair. Her skin tastes
just as he remembers it, but the sensation of her in his mouth is
causing his brain to short circuit. She is so much softer than
even his desperate fantasies allowed him to recall. Neither of
them can believe that this is real – that they aren't
fantasising the whole scenario.
Mulder's hand strays between her thighs as his mouth moves
upwards to claim hers. He strokes the skin of her inner thigh,
knowing it to be as light as cream without even needing to see
it. His fingers trace a pattern upwards, his eidetic memory
recalling the constellation of freckles that lead the way. He
wonders if she has any new freckles since he was last able to
look there and vows to investigate before the night is out. His
tongue is stroking over hers, in and out of her mouth, as his
fingers slick through her wetness. He quickly finds her clitoris,
rubbing gentle circles that make her legs jump slightly on the
mattress, before his fingers set a rhythm counterpoint to his
thrusting tongue. Scully moans, shifting restlessly beneath him,
urging him on. He knows from her grasping hands and twitching
legs that she is close to orgasm. Mulder adds a third finger to
the equation, hooking his fingers forwards and she immediately
tightens around him. Still kissing her and pumping his hand in
and out of her body, Mulder coaxes the orgasm from her, riding it
out with her until her thrusting hips slow and her stomach
muscles relax beneath him.
Finally, he knows from the look in her eyes that she is ready for
him. Mulder has been worried that he would hurt her, after so
long, and after such a traumatic labour, nine months earlier. He
knows how badly she was torn when giving birth to their son, only
just making it to the hospital in time. She had lain in his arms
that night as he carried her, pale and shuddering, drenching them
both in the blood that seeped from her. Mulder cannot help but
wonder how vulnerable her patched flesh is. Even though it has
been many months, Mulder would never want to hurt her. He would
rather take things slow. He hesitates, questioning her with his
eye. Her grasping, guiding hand gives him all the reassurance he
needs and before he knows it, he is buried deep inside her.
Scully had forgotten how good this felt. She knows that he was
hesitant because he didn't want to hurt her, and is glad for his
restraint. It has been a long time. She feels her insides
adjusting to accommodate his size, but she feels little pain. The
burning ache of stretching flesh soon becomes tingling pleasure.
She is grateful for the euphoria of her earlier orgasm, which has
made things much easier than they could have been. Mulder is
still inside her, allowing them both a moment to get used to the
sensation. She suspects that he is very near the brink already.
She knows that she is.
At last, Mulder begins to move. He is slow at first, his eyes
never leaving her face, gauging her reaction. But he soon begins
to lose control. Scully urges him on silently, coaxing his
control out of him until he has forgotten all about jail cells
and Truth and trusting no-one. And as Mulder reaches the point of
oblivion, she sails up with him, all thoughts of lost love and
babies and life on the run leaving her mind as white light
obscures it all and all she can do is feel as he slams into her
again and again and again.
It is all over sooner than she is prepared to let him go. Her
arms wrap around his wide, sweat-soaked back, holding him to her
as he attempts to roll away. He doesn't resist, happy to lay in
the comfort of her embrace, her body soft and pliable beneath
him. He has missed her far more than she will ever know. These
moments are precious to him, as valuable to him as they are to
her. He knows how Scully loves to make him forget about the pain
and suffering in his life, to force him to focus only on her and
he is grateful for her efforts. He is only truly happy when she
manages to empty his mind by filling his senses. He wishes that
he could give himself to her entirely, but knows that he never
can. He is, after all, a man obsessed. And Scully is right. She
isn't his fixation. She never will be. Except for during those
brief moments when all is right between them and the world is
kept at bay by little more than a flimsy motel door.
THE END
'
Disclaimer:
These characters are the property of someone undoubtedly richer
than me. Which isn't hard right now.
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