TITLE: Spoken
AUTHOR: Jess M.
EMAIL ADDRESS: snarkypup@mindspring.com
DISCLAIMER: Um, no. If CC doesn't know that, I don't know how to break it to
him.
DISTRIBUTION STATEMENT: Anywhere, just let me know.
SPOILER WARNING: Some for En Ami, but you don't have to have seen it, and it
won't spoil much for you.
RATING: NC-17
CONTENT WARNING: Sex. It doesn't feel smutty to me, so I won't label it as
such.
CLASSIFICATION: MSR
SUMMARY: Mulder and Scully have friends! No, really. They go bowling. They
witness a break-up. Soul-searching ensues (of course).

AUTHOR'S NOTES: Thanks to Linda for suggesting it would be nice for the
Dynamic Duo to have friends and do something simply for the fun of it, like
bowling. Of course, it's not that simple, but that's just me.

Visit my site for all my fiction, lovingly archived by Galia:
http://galias.arjika.com/Jess/jess.htm
Then visit Galia's site for more great fiction!
http://galias.arjika.com/visions.html

Email me, it feels so good, baby.

SPOKEN

Phyllis and John were the best thing that had ever happened to them, without
question. In the dark week after CGB had left her with nothing, not even a
whole partnership, she had been sure it was over. Guilt so intense it might
have actually been Mulder's, rather than her own, sank over her every time
he refused to meet her gaze, every time he turned away when he caught her
look. Scully had no way to broach the disaster, no words to comfort him. So
out of practice in speaking her own emotions, she found herself standing
with her mouth half-open in apology only to have Mulder walk right by
without looking over to notice.

In the copy room, making yet another copy of the emails he and the Gunmen
had found on her computer, she wiped back tears that weren't really there in
an effort to get control. From behind her, a cheerful voice startled her,
sent her staggering forward into the machine.

"Dana Scully, if I'm not mistaken."

She turned to see Phyllis Wheeler, her roommate from the Academy, standing
in the doorway with her hands on her hips. She had not aged a day in the
last ten years, Scully thought bitterly, pushing her own limp hair behind
one ear and smiling weakly.

"Phil," she said. "How are you?"

"I'm over in Organized Crime, is how I am," her friend answered, grinning.
"That ought to tell you everything."

Scully thought that after seven years buried in the basement, it told her
surprisingly little. But she smiled and shook Phyllis's outstretched hand.

"Well you look great," she said and Phil laughed, her dark hair rippling
down her back in waves of Pantene-inspired health. Again, Scully found
herself pressing back the tips of her own cut, wondering at the depth of her
own mourning, that she felt compelled to cut off all her hair.

"So do you, though I hear things have been tough," Phil said, holding her
hand a bit longer than was necessary for two people who hadn't seen one
another in nearly ten years, but that felt right, from a friend. "I was
actually on my way down to find you. I hear you've been relegated to the
basement."

Scully glanced at the bright winter light slanting through the windows of
the copy room, tinted by the glass but still so intense it hurt her eyes to
stare too long. "Yeah," she said. "I'm down in the dumps, so to speak."

Phil smiled. "I wanted to invite you to come bowling with me, just like old
times."

At the Academy, bored and restricted to activities that wouldn't end up on
their record, they had decided to try bowling one night, as a statement of
their own inability to get dates. Surprisingly, it had been fun. They were
both competitive by nature and had discovered that under that excuse, they
could talk for hours about things they would normally have bottled up. Back
in their apartment, they had barely bothered with hello.

"I'd like that," Scully said warmly. What would it be like to have a friend
besides Mulder? Someone who wasn't so infused with the unspoken that she
could hardly remember what she hadn't told him and what he had guessed on hi
s own.

"Bring that moody partner of yours," Phil said, "And I'll introduce you to
my 'better half', John Rhymes."

She had heard the name, somewhere, she thought. A mob expert, with more
field experience than anyone else in his department. Thoughtful and kind, he
would be a perfect partner for her quiet and determined friend.

The question, of course, she thought as she took the dark back stairway to
Mulder's office, was whether or not he would accept. Two weeks ago, she knew
he would have jumped at the chance to be with her, in any capacity, but now?

When she opened the door, she was struck immediately by a sense of deja vu
so strong she could hardly move. Mulder bent over the light table on the
back counter, sorting through slides. And when he raised his eyes to meet
hers, she could have sworn she saw the same distrust as that first
afternoon, seven years before. Once again she opened her mouth and found her
heart pounding so loudly she could barely hear her own thoughts. One thing
surfaced above the steady thumping and the rush of blood in her ears: Don't
let me go. Please, she thought, swallowing her fear, don't let me go.

"Scully?" he said, his face switching to concern, though that did nothing to
erase the ache spreading through her, recirculated by her own heart.

"You'll never guess who I just saw," she began, her voice rushing out with
words she hadn't really formulated. Before he could answer, she hurried on.
"My old academy roommate, Phyllis Wheeler."

"From O.C.?" he asked, surprising her. "I hear she's pretty good."

She nodded, still standing in the doorway, watching as he removed his
glasses and focused instead on her.

"She wanted to know if we'd like to go bowling with her and her partner this
Saturday."

"Bowling?" Mulder said, raising his eyebrows.

"It was something we used to do together, to ease the pressure," she told
him and waited for some reaction. "If you don't want to go..."

He shook his head and panic surfaced, bubbling. Then he spoke.

"Of course I'll go," he said. "I never pass up a chance to eat bad hot dogs
and throw around a ball or two."

"Really?" she heard herself say, her voice high and plaintive.

"Scully," he said gently, "Did you really think I wouldn't go?"

She said nothing.

xxxxxx

The first Saturday was strange. John liked to pick alleys away from the
city, claiming you got better ambiance and fewer gang members. Scully
supposed he would know. They met at Pete's Pin Palace, half an hour outside
Reston, which meant Mulder picked her up and drove them both. The ride was
awkward and Scully wondered, not for the first time, if other people knew
what to do in situations like this, if normal people solved these things by
say, talking.

She and Phil sat on one bench, with Mulder and John chatting on the other.
The two men hit it off right away, laughing over Mulder's time in Violent
Crimes, which was something she had never imagined him doing. Phil was the
same as ever, chatty and bright. Mulder bought her a Bud and a package of
Good and Plenties, perhaps, she thought, as some sort of peace offering in
exchange for being invited along.

He was a good bowler, but not as good as she was. It was so strange to her
to hurl the ten pound ball down the lane and watch as it slammed into the
pins, just like being twenty-two again. When she got her first strike,
Mulder high-fived her and grinned, for the first time in the last two weeks,
and she forgot for a moment to breathe.

It happened again the second time they went, that moment of recognition.
Things had improved between them, gradually, and as she sat at a seventies
white plastic table with Phil, drinking a beer and eating Hot Tamales from
the box Mulder had bought for both of them, she caught his eye. John was
bowling, pausing at the arrows to line up a difficult split. Phil was
rambling, talking about her new apartment and wall paper when suddenly there
he was, a few feet away, staring at her. For a long moment she met his gaze,
filled with heat and joy so complete it overwhelmed her. The only sound,
louder than the crashing of pins to wood, than Phil's warm voice, than the
bad fifties rock, was her own heart, waking and stretching and finding
itself in prime condition for a run. She smiled back and watched in delight
as his eyes narrowed and his teeth, white and straight as a model's, made
her want to swoon. Oh Mulder, she wanted to say, oh yes. There you are.

When he moved away to take his turn, Phil touched her arm gently.

"Dana," she said, her voice low and secretive, "Is it that way for you two
too?"

Scully stared at her friend until Phil blushed and looked down. "Yes," she
answered at last, having decided several weeks before that lying didn't suit
her. They sat in companionable silence, secure in the knowledge that each
understood the other completely. How good it was, Scully thought that night
in the dark car, to have someone understand how she felt. The loneliness,
the need.

They continued to get together, sometimes on consecutive weekends, sometimes
with months in between. "It's so great," Mulder said to her one night as
they drove home from Virginia, "To have friends together, isn't it, Scully?"

To have friends together, like a couple. Scully nodded and squeezed his
hand. Indeed, it was great.

xxxxxx

Five months after they had started, it all ended. One night, just like that.
They were back at Pete's Pin Palace, but Phil was oddly subdued, her mind
wandering even as Scully tried to draw her out. When John glanced over at
them, halfway through the game, Phil looked away. Stepping up to the table,
John laid one hand on her shoulder.

"Phyllis," was all he said, but she shook him off, her face coloring.

"Excuse me," she gasped and disappeared into the bathroom. Scully shot
Mulder a puzzled glance and followed. Phil stood at the sink, washing her
face and crying despite it, sobbing into her handfuls of water.

"Phil," she offered. "Come on, what's wrong?"

"Didn't John tell you?" Phil asked, shaking her head like a dog, water
streaming from her chin down the front of her blouse.

"No," Scully whispered. "Tell me."

"John is getting married," Phil said bitterly. "To some woman he met over
the internet. Next month."

Scully knew better than to offer congratulations. Her mind lighted on a
moment of jealousy over Mulder in her own life, when he met that woman with
the dogs. The comfort of understanding was suddenly a curse.

"I'm so sorry," she said at last and pulled her damp friend in for a hug.

"It's all right," Phil said at last, drawing back. "We never talked about...
I mean, I never told him how I felt. I was so sure he loved me. I've just
been blindsided by this."

"I can imagine," Scully said gently.

"No you can't." Phil's answer was fierce and miserable, startling Scully.

"Phil, you know Mulder and I..." she began, but was cut off by Phil's head
shaking angrily.

"You don't understand, Dana, because Mulder would never do this to you. You
two have..." She seemed to struggle for the right words. "You two have an
unspoken agreement. I can see it in the way you look at one another."

Scully pushed her immediate reaction away. This wasn't about her and Mulder.

"What will you do?" she asked, neither agreeing nor disagreeing.

"I've told him I want a new partner."

Scully's heart sank. "Oh Phil," she said. "Don't do that."

"What else is there to do?" she asked and Scully knew there was no answer.
"I can't work with him, wanting him like I do, knowing someone else has him
for the rest of his life."

xxxxxx

Mulder was chewing tentatively on a stirring stick from the cup of coffee he
had been holding when they emerged from the bathroom. The game had clearly
been over then. Scully sighed and curled tightly into the corner of the car,
listening to the steady thwack of the wipers across the windshield. Rain
poured past them, rushed at them, swirled around them. It reminded her of
Florida and the hurricane. Mulder's jaw clenched as they were passed by a
large truck.

"So," he said at last, both of them knowing he'd been patient longer than
was usually possible. "What the hell happened back there?"

"John is getting married," she said by way of explanation. Mulder just
stared. "Phil is in love with him."

"Oh," Mulder said after a moment. "That must be difficult."

"I would think so," she answered, closing her eyes against a strange pain
that seemed to start in her chest. "Phil wants to quit the partnership."

"Oh no," Mulder said. "What a shame. They work so well together."

"Well," she began, her mind on the dark road ahead. "I don't think I
could..."

They were both mercifully silent. Scully swallowed and concentrated on not
pushing an imaginary brake peddle every time the car swerved on the wet
pavement. Even above the pounding of the rain on the roof of the car, she
heard it first. A steady thump from beneath them.

"Mulder..." she began just as the tire burst, sending them into a shivering
spin and settling them firmly on the shoulder.

xxxxxx

"Jesus," he hissed. They were facing the wrong way, staring at the lights of
cars on their own side of the highway. "Are you ok?"

"I'm fine," she answered quickly. "You?"

He nodded and took a deep breath. "Guess I'll brave the deluge and see about
changing that tire."

"Do you want me to go with you?" she asked, placing a hand on his arm. He
smiled at her and covered her hand with his own.

"There's no point in both of us getting soaked," he said. "Believe it or
not, I know how to do this."

She smiled back and let him step out into the night. From the back, she
heard him pop the trunk and struggle to lift out the spare from beneath the
crud he kept back there. There was a moment of silence and then a series of
expletives. He slammed the trunk closed and climbed in beside her, steaming
wet.

"Spare's flat," he said, gripping the steering wheel. The water dripping
from his hair reminded her briefly of Phyllis. She sighed.

"It's ok," she said. "I'll call triple A."

He nodded and waited, tapping his fingers on the dash as she dialed.

"They'll be here in about an hour," she said after a moment's consultation.

"An hour?" he said, but he sounded weary.

"Turn the heater on for a moment and dry off," she instructed. "It's getting
cold in here."

"Guess we don't have to worry about running out of gas," he said and turned
on the engine. She could see their hazard lights reflected in the slick
surface of the road for just a moment, as the renewed wipers cleared their
view. Mulder switched them off and once again the car became a damp cave,
hidden behind a fall of water.

"Bad night," she said, meaning the weather.

"Yes, it was," he said, meaning the outing as a whole. She leaned her seat
back and listened to the hiss of passing cars.

"Truth or dare?" she asked, after he switched the engine off.

"What?"

It was a game they hadn't played in years, not since the early days of their
partnership and long drives or stakeouts, a way of getting to know one
another, though the questions had always remained innocuous and light.

"Truth or dare?" she asked again.

"Truth," he finally replied, as he always did, both in the game and in his
life.

She thought about it for a moment and decided she was yearning for something
tonight, a connection. She didn't want to know his favorite color or the
name of his best friend in third grade.

"Tell me about your first time," she said and watched his eyes narrow in
confusion.

"You don't mean that first time, do you?" he asked and sighed when she
nodded. "I don't want to tell you. Maybe I'll take the dare. What could you
possibly make me do inside a car?" She didn't answer and he tapped his foot
nervously. Finally he said: "Fine, Scully. It was with Phoebe."

"You don't mean that Phoebe, do you?" she asked, her tone light. Jesus, did
she really want to know this after all?

"The one and only," he said. "What, you thought I was a regular Romeo, didn't 
you, Scully?"

She shrugged, not wanted to examine her answer.

"Phoebe was my first, and it was... damaging. She wasn't exactly an
enthusiastic teacher," he said.

"I'm betting that's an understatement," she said quietly, urging him on.

"Yes. Consequently, I came out of that relationship with a very low opinion
of myself when it came to... that."

"I take it that's changed?" she asked, curious from his tone.

"Not really," he shrugged. "Diana was the next one... and whatever you might
think, Scully, she wasn't Phoebe. She was kind and gentle and loving. But I
suppose you never get over your first time, not really."

"Don't tell me that's it?" she asked, incredulous.

"No," he said, but his voice had become distant, sad. "But that more than
answers your question. Truth or dare, Scully?"

"Truth, of course."

"Of course," he agreed. "So tell me about yours."

She nodded. It was the expected follow-up. Tit for tat, so to speak. "I don't
suppose I'll get lucky and the tow-truck will come right now?"

"Probably not," he said, and she watched as he leaned back into the door of
the car, stretching his damp legs out over toward her feet.

"Well, I was about the same age," she said slowly. "It was my freshman year.
His name was Michael and I think we'd dated for about six weeks. I don't
know why, but I just wanted to. I guess I felt old and inexperienced and I
didn't want to get left behind. He was very nice about it, gentle and sweet.
But we didn't last." She shrugged to finish the story and Mulder nodded.
"Truth?" she asked.

He nodded again, his dark eyes barely visible in the gray light of the car's
interior.

"Who came after Diana?" she asked, smiling.

He groaned and ran one hand over his face. "Don't do this," he said. "Don't
ask me to tell you this."

Surprised, she reached out and touched his knee. Despite how slowly she had
moved, he jumped. "Mulder," she said. "You don't have to tell me anything if
you don't want to. You know that."

He turned and rested his forehead against the steering wheel for a moment.
"She was a suspect," he said quietly. Scully's mind raced. What on earth had
she opened up?

"While you were in Violent Crimes?"

"Are you kidding?" He looked over and shook his head. "No, not then."

"An X-File?" He nodded and she could only stare. "Before I joined," she
said.

She wasn't sure what happened when he shook his head, but something in her
mind exploded and she practically screeched.

"You slept with a suspect on one of our cases? Jesus, Mulder, which one?
Which fucking one?"

Miserably, he shook his head again. "You weren't on this one."

"But it was after I..." And then suddenly she got it, as if everything had
just clicked into place. "Oh God," she whispered and Mulder turned his head
away to look out the window. "While I was gone."

"Yes," he murmured. "There, Scully, there's your truth."

She sat, stunned, watching the rain pour over the car like a faucet had
opened above them. Her mind couldn't wrap itself around it. Visions of that
time, of drills and white lights and pain crept up and sat like gargoyles at
the edge of her thoughts.

"I couldn't tell you," he whispered. "I couldn't tell you. I felt so guilty,
Scully. You were lost somewhere and I knew... I knew you're weren't dead. I
knew you were somewhere in terrible pain, and I couldn't save you. Hell, I
couldn't even save her. I was so lonely and I thought maybe I could make it
go away, dull the pain, but it didn't work. She died and I was left with
less than before, less than nothing. I'm so sorry, Scully." He was looking
at her then, his forehead on his hands, which were white around the crest of
the wheel. She gazed at him for a moment, seeing the tension there, and
suddenly Phyllis's voice echoed in her head.

"Don't feel guilty," she said quietly. "Now you've told me, and I don't hate
you. I might even understand you, Mulder."

"Right," he said, his voice filled with venom. "You have your own truths,
don't you, Scully?"

"I do," she affirmed. "I'll tell you a truth you didn't know, Mulder. Before
Philadelphia, when we were on the case with Leonard Betts... you remember
when I fought him, in the ambulance?" He nodded, and she plowed on. "He told
me I had cancer. I knew before Ed Jerse. I knew I was going to die."

Mulder's eyes slipped closed and he sighed raggedly. "Oh Scully," he said.
"And I was so busy being an ass..."

"No," she stopped him. "I said it wasn't about you, and in many ways it wasn't.
I wanted to prove to myself that I could still walk away, that I could leave 
you and everything we'd done to one another behind."

"You proved that rather effectively," he said softly, his eyes still closed.

"No," she said. "I didn't."

He opened his eyes and stared at her. Even in the darkness she could see he
was on the verge of crying.

"I couldn't do it, Mulder. Oh, I could hurt myself, certainly. I could brand
my own pain and sense of self-loathing on my back, but I couldn't hurt you.
Not like that."

Sliding one hand from beneath his head to touch her leg, he sighed. "You
didn't sleep with him."

"No," she agreed. "Literally or figuratively."

"Why?" he whispered. "Why can't we break away from each other, Scully?"

"Would you want to?" she asked. "Would you want to be John?"

"No." He rubbed his eyes briefly and leaned back. "I sure wouldn't."

"Phyllis said something to me tonight," she said, finding courage in the
tight confines of the car, in the night, in the rain. "She said you and I
had some sort of unspoken agreement."

He snorted. "I think I've spoken it before," he said and she smiled.

"Next time try it when you're not on drugs," she counseled and he grinned, 
a smile touched with sadness. For a second, she grinned back, before 
feeling him lean toward her. This is it, she thought, forgetting all 
about New Year's Eve. This is it, she thought, as his lips touched hers.

"I love you," he whispered against her mouth. "I love you, Scully, and I
will wait forever."

Blinding light bore down on them and she realized they were facing the
tow-truck, come at last.

"I love you too," she tried to say, but he was already opening the door to
the traffic and the rain. Water blew in, coating her face in an icy mask.
She managed to wipe some of it off before he popped his head back in, musky
from the heat of the car.

"I heard that," he said and laughed as he shut her in.

xxxxxx

The rain had lessened by the time they reached her apartment. Mulder killed
the engine and they both looked across at her window, as if expecting to see
a sign there, a note on what came next. A shower of pale copper seemed to
fall in front of her doorway, luminous beneath the street lamp.

"Would you like to come in?" she whispered, despite the fact that it was
well past two.

"Yes," he said, and removed the keys from the lock with a finality that made
her shiver.

He followed her into the building, both their clothes emitting sweaty woolen
waves of scent as she stood and tried to unlock the many deadbolts now
lining her door.

"Here," he said, his voice just behind her ear and he placed one hand over
hers and helped her turn the shaking key. She was frozen, unable to turn the
door knob, the last step, and enter her apartment. Mulder gently moved her
hand down and they opened it together. Getting past the doorway, she
thought, watching the rain slide down the windows of her apartment, was
another story. "I'm just as frightened as you are," he whispered, one arm
around her waist, the other bracing them against the doorjamb. "Maybe more
so."

She nodded and they stepped into her hall almost as one unit, unable to
extract themselves from one another. Mulder kicked the door shut behind them
and reached back like a contortionist, throwing lock after lock, clicks like
gunshots in the still room. They were confined together now.

He didn't move at first, standing still behind her, his body just an inch
away. Her breathing was shallow and her body seemed to rustle and shift, as
if looking for a place to settle in for the night. Then she felt his hands
on her arms, running up the wool toward her shoulders. When he reached the
collar of her jacket, he eased it back and helped slide it from her body to
fall, wet and heavy, to the floor. They paused then, the reality of the act
shocking her as much as being naked actually would. His hands followed the
same path, then dipped forward, skimming her breasts to rest between them,
his fingers on the small pearled buttons of her sweater. She could feel him
shake.

Pity coursed through her, and she lifted her hands to his, guiding them down
to her waist. "Just lift it," she whispered so as not to break the spell of
the silence. Gently, he pulled the sweater over her head and dropped it
beside her. She watched it pool at her feet, a puddle of pale fawn silk and
felt Mulder's hands on her belly. He didn't caress her, merely rested there
as if waiting for the tremors to pass. Bending his head, he kissed her just
behind her ear. "Oh God," she said and he reached up to tip her head and
kiss her neck, his lips soft as cream, as lotion.

How anyone could tell this man he was a bad lover was beyond her. It didn't
matter how he actually did the deed, she thought, savoring the feel of his
hand sliding down her stomach to cup her. It was how much and how intensely
he loved that mattered. Any fool could see that.

She spread her legs for him and let him grind his fingers into her tender
skin, right through her jeans. Winding her hands over her head, she found
his hair and tugged until she could kiss him, awkwardly, on the mouth. He
pressed against her, his chest damp and scratchy with wool he hadn't yet
removed.

Turning, she slid his coat from his shoulders, avoiding his searching glance
until he stood bare-chested before her and she could smile warmly at him,
feeling his heated skin. She couldn't stop there, unbuttoning his jeans and
sliding them, boxers too, down his long legs to get caught on his shoes. It
didn't matter, she had no qualms about kneeling there, slowly freeing him.
She slid back up his body, kissing as she went, pausing to take him in her
mouth and listen to him moan. He wasn't huge, and she thought perhaps he
felt the comparisons to the men in his videos as sharply as she held herself
up to his imaginary women. What he was, was perfect. She was a small woman,
after all, and nothing pleased her less than to anticipate pain. Stroking
him firmly, she rose completely and looked into his lowered eyes.

"You are so beautiful," she said and he nodded, understanding that she was
reassuring him. A long shudder passed through him and he gently removed her
hand. She let him undress her then, watching him kiss her breasts with a
touching devotion as he passed them to unbutton her jeans. She had no fears
of her own body when she looked at his rapturous face as he knelt at her
feet. When he buried his face in her sex and kissed her there, her legs
weakened and they slid together to the floor.

"Bedroom," he gasped, kissing her between breaths.

"Right," she agreed, reluctant to get up. If only she could close her eyes
and suddenly be in bed. She felt him rise and extend a hand to her.

"Come on, Scully," he murmured and she knew she really would follow him
anywhere, especially now. The pale pink light of the street lamp cast bright
shadows across their bodies. He paused in the doorway to her room, as if
unsure of his reception there, so she stood behind him and touched him,
stroking the soft skin of his back, of his ass, of his thighs until he could
move again. "Your bed is so soft," he said as they sank back into her
comforter, she collapsing half on him, half on the cool cloth. "How is your
bed so soft?"

"It's just a bed," she told him. "You should try one more often," and he
smiled and kissed the tip of her nose quickly.

She felt his hand again, slipping between her legs. He parted her and rested
there. "Tell me what you want," he said. "Since I intend to be the only man
who will ever touch you here again, it seems like it's my responsibility to
be certain I do it well."

"Try something," she said, relaxed and comfortable in his arms. "I'll let
you know when you get the picture."

He grinned, all teeth in the dim light, and began to explore, sliding first
one, then two fingers into her and chuckling as she arched her back. "That's
not it," he said. "I can do that anytime. I want to make you come, Scully."
She pulled his hand up and then around in slow circles, demonstrating. He
moaned before she did, watching as she rolled her head back and forth
beneath him. "Open your eyes and look at me," he commanded. When she did,
the reality of the moment burst into her consciousness and floored her,
washing over her in an orgasm so intense she had to slam her eyes closed to
keep from crying.

They were both silent then, moving toward each other until he was resting
within her, his eyes closed, his mouth open in an expression she was sure
had to be awe. When he began to move, she went with him.

No one could do this badly, she thought. It was so simple, this movement,
and yet so monumental. They rocked together, complimenting each other,
letting it build. She knew how close he must be, but he held back, squinting
with effort. She kissed him on the shoulder, on the chest, on one small,
flat nipple. Still he rocked, pulsing inside her like a rocket, barely
sliding back and forth, prolonging the pleasure.

"Go," she whispered into his open mouth. "Go."

"Yes," he answered, and pulled her arms up above her head. She wrapped her
legs around his torso, as high as she could get them on her own and he
shuddered. Then he began to thrust, rising up until he was nearly gone, then
slamming into her. Oh, she would be sore tomorrow, but it felt so good
tonight. In one sudden, aching push, he stopped and she could feel him
quiver, the orgasm starting in his groin and travelling to his toes, to his
fingertips, and through them to her own. His face was buried in her neck and
he licked her there, wetly. She smiled and ran her hands down his tender
sides to caress his arched back.

"You don't need to tell me that was good," he said softly. "I know it was."

She laughed. "So you weren't thinking about your first time?"

"This was it," he said. "All the others were just sex."

He relaxed at last, laying limply on top of her, growing smaller within her
until she could barely feel him there. "Oh, Scully," he said quietly, his
mouth pressed into her hair. She traced hearts and flowers, elaborate in her
mind, into the damp skin of his back, marking him. "That was so..." She
shook her head, and touched his lips.

"I couldn't possibly describe it," she said and felt him nod, understanding.

end

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