Disclaimer: You must be kidding.  CC would never let these two
do this!  These characters are not mine, they belong to Chris
Carter, TenThirteen, and Fox Broadcasting.  I mean no
infringement, and I'm making no money.

Dedication: to Kimpa, who one year ago, offered to make a home
for my stories.  Thank you, Kimpa, from the bottom of my heart.
Go see her wonderful site at:
http://www.kimpart.com
 

Beyond Words
by ML

"Say it, Scully," Mulder groaned into my ear one of the first
times we made love.

I didn't understand what he was asking me to say.  I have to
say, it put me off a little.  Was he asking me to tell him that
I loved him?  I already had, more than once.  Was he really so
insecure that he needed reassurance even as I welcomed him into
my body?

So I said, "I love you, I do," and I kissed him.

He kissed me back, and nipped at my neck.

"And...?"  he managed to gasp out after a moment.

What?  Telling him I loved him wasn't enough?  "So much," I said,
and added, "so, so much."  And I kissed him again, even harder,
running my hands up and down the muscles of his back and buttocks
as he moved.  God, he felt good under my hands.  His skin was so
smooth, and the interplay of muscles -- and what they were doing
to me -- was exquisite.

He shook his head slightly, and sweat droplets rained down on
me.  "Tell me how you feel, what you're feeling."

He didn't know?  "I feel...good," I said.  "Very, very good."
I tried to smile up at him, but by now he had his eyes closed
and his teeth gritted.  I knew the telltale signs, so I gripped
his buttocks tighter (something I'd already discovered he liked),
and rode out his orgasm with him.

Some time later, while still basking in the afterglow, Mulder
reiterated his request in more specific terms.

"Scully, don't you know how to talk dirty?"

I blinked and turned to look up at him.  "Come again?"

He grinned.  "Don't change the subject, Scully.  All in good
time."

Damn Mulder, anyway.  Even in the exhausted aftermath of sex,
he's got a quick mind and a quick tongue.  And he wanted
reciprocity.

"Don't tell me you don't know any dirty words, Scully," he
added.  "I've heard you."

"I know all the vernacular terms perfectly well, Mulder," I
told him.  "Why do you want me to talk to you during sex?  Does
it help you achieve a better orgasm?"

I think he tried not to wince, but I could feel it.  "Not if you
say it like that, Scully," he said.

I was embarrassed that the subject even came up, though I should
know by now that no subject is off limits to Mulder.  I tried to
deflect him with a little humor of my own.  "You don't like dirty
doctor talk, Mulder?"  I teased him.

"It might work for other doctors, but I guess I'm a little more
earthy than that," he said.

I have to concur.

It's certainly not that I don't know how to swear, as Mulder
pointed out.  I'm a sailor's daughter, and I have two brothers.
I know all the words, and I use them judiciously.  "What the
hell happened, Mulder?" is one of my top five phrases.

But somehow, talking during sex has never been in my repertoire.
Even making much noise at all, before Mulder, was pretty rare.

I can't help it with Mulder.  He makes me moan, gasp, scream, and
yelp.  Nothing very articulate, mind you, but I can't help myself.
He makes me feel that good.  I've never before lost myself in the
act the way I do with him.

As for Mulder's behavior in bed, he's much more talkative than
anyone I've ever been with, though my experience is admittedly
rather small.

And he talks a lot.  He says more than "oh yeah," or
"ohshitohfuckohgodI'mcoming;"  he's a virtuoso of dirty talk.

"Scully," he moans into my mouth as he slides into me, "I love
how you feel.  I love the way your body feels around my cock.
I love to feel how hot you are, how wet you are.  I like knowing
I do that for you.  I wanna do everything for you, Scully.  I
wanna make you feel the way you make me feel..."  He kisses me,
a deep but tender exploration of my mouth as he gathers momentum.

"Can you feel that, Scully?" he groans out as he thrusts deeper
and deeper.  His lips are right next to my ear, and he speaks in
time with his movements, drawing a gasping breath between each
phrase.  "I can feel you.  You're perfect.  You're a perfect fit.
Nothing has ever, nothing has ever, felt so good, oh so good, to
me as, being in you, being with you."

His words, and the sound of his voice, always add so much to what
I feel when he makes love with me.  Just hearing his voice on the
phone is enough to make me feel weak with desire.  No one sounds
like Mulder; he can make the most mundane subject seem intimate
when he speaks in his soft, sandpapery voice.  I don't need any
particular words; just the sound of his voice in my ear.
Preferably in person, but over the phone is the next best
thing.

Does my voice do the same thing for him?  I like to think it does.
I hope it does.  Maybe he wasn't always calling just to talk shop
after all.  It puts those late night phone calls into a whole new
perspective for me.

And now that we've upped the ante on our relationship, so to speak,
Mulder seems to want more from me than shop talk.

So even though Mulder's request sort of put me off, I've been
trying to say more, and use the vernacular rather than the
`proper' terms.

"Tell me, Scully," he asked me the next time we had sex (I guess
I could say "as we were fucking").  "Tell me what you feel..."
How he can even form a coherent sentence at a time like that is
beyond me.  He was close to achieving orgasm, I could tell.

Look at that. "Achieving orgasm."  How clinical.  How *fucking*
clinical.  That's what Mulder was talking about.

Anyway, at this point, he was so close, so very close to coming
... and I wanted to give him that last push over the edge.   I
could feel my mouth forming the word:

"Cock," I gasped out as he thrust in.  I felt his jerk of surprise,
and then his convulsive shudder all through my body as he came,
and came hard.

There, I said it.  He came.  His cock was inside me, and he came.

And then I came, too.

That's all it took.  It wasn't so hard to say, was it?

Heh.  I said "hard."  Twice.

The problem now is that everything I say seems to have a double
meaning.  I've never been that fond of slang or nicknames for
body parts, and so many ordinary, innocent words take on different
meanings when used in other contexts.  Mulder can make almost
anything sound like a come on.  Or maybe it's just that I'm
sensitized now.  I bet Skinner doesn't hear the subtext when
Mulder says something like, "Scully came with me."

Or, maybe he does.  He gets this expression on his face sometimes
that says, "You're not fooling me, not for a minute," but he
follows the "don't ask, don't tell" path of least resistance.

Maybe he likes us, a little, and it's his way of showing it.  It's
not a theory I want to test out, however.  There are limits to
everything.

Anyway, with the idea that practice makes things easier, I
practiced saying words and phrases I could use on Mulder.  I
muttered them to myself as I cleaned house.  I said them in my
car when I was stuck in traffic.

I have to admit, "I love the feel of your cock in me," was a lot
more fun to say than, "Stay in your own lane, asshole!"  But it's
one thing to whisper it to yourself in the privacy of your car,
and quite another to say it to your lover.  At least, it seemed
that way to me.

I tried so hard to get over my reticence the other night.  Mulder
was making love to me with his usual abandonment, touching here,
licking there, telling me what he was doing to me, what he was
going to do to me, what I was doing to him.  He was making me
moan and groan, and cry out with pleasure, as he always does,
and I wanted to give him more.  I wanted to give him everything
he wanted and needed from me.

And I couldn't.

I did my best, I really did.  The words formed in my head, but I
couldn't make my mouth say them.

Before long, Mulder sensed that there was something wrong.  He
stopped what he was doing, and rolled us both so that we were
facing each other.  He reached out to smooth my hair away from
my face and asked me gently, "Scully, what's wrong?"

To my extreme embarrassment, I burst into tears.

I have to hand it to Mulder, he was very patient, especially
considering that my breakdown was a pretty dramatic way to
perform coitus interruptus.  He pulled me into his arms and
held me as I sobbed incoherently into his shoulder.

Finally I was able to calm down enough to confess.

Again to his credit, Mulder didn't laugh at me.

"It's just so ridiculous," I said, my voice catching on a sob,
which just upset me more.  I tried to calm myself -- it was so
unlike me to be so emotional, so out of control.

"Shh, shh, you don't need to feel that way," Mulder did his best
to soothe me, too.

"It's not that I don't want to," I tried to explain.

"I know that, Scully," he murmured and kissed my temple.  I could
feel his erection poking me in the thigh and it made me feel
guilty.

"I'm not a prude, you know that," I said.  "I wanted to do this
for you."

"You don't have to, Scully.  It's not a deal-breaker, you know."
He kissed me softly again. "You already do a lot for me.  I love
the way you look at me, the way you touch me."  He gave me more
soft kisses, here and there, glancing touches on my brow, my
cheek, the tip of my nose.  "And you may not realize it, but
when we're making love, you tell me a lot without words."

I smiled at him.  I don't know if I will ever be able to
adequately express to him how me makes me feel.

"I like to talk, Scully," Mulder continued.

At that understatement, I gave a delicate snort and he grinned.
I put my hand on his cheek.  "I like to listen to you," I told
him.

His eyes brightened and a slow, unutterably sexy smile spread
over his face.  "We've always been good at non-verbal
communication,"  he continued.  "As long as we have that,
we're okay.  We're better than okay, don'tcha think?"  He
brushed his mouth over mine, and nudged my lips apart,
practicing his own potent brand of non-verbal communication.

No words were spoken for quite a while after that.  I was very
aware of our breathing, and the soft moist sound of lips sliding
across lips.  The occasional faint click of teeth meeting teeth.
A little gasp from Mulder as I reached down to grasp his erection,
and my answering one when his hand found my breast and began to
fondle it.

I began to lose my self-consciousness to Mulder's touches and
kisses.  I no longer thought about, or cared, if any words
crossed my lips or not.  In fact, all my thoughts were rapidly
losing coherence.  All that mattered was the feel of Mulder's
skin against my own, the sound of his breathing, the scent of
him.

As Mulder continued to prove his point, he won a particularly
loud moan from me.  He paused in his ministrations and grinned
at me.  "I like that I can make you moan, Scully.  That means
more to me than any words you can say."  He slid his hand down
my body and cupped my mons, letting his fingers trail across
the flesh within.

I moaned again, moving against his hand, and whispered raggedly,
"Don't make me beg, Mulder."

Where did that come from?  I was as surprised as he was when
the words left my mouth.

"Never," was all he said in return.  He slid his hand around
my thigh, pulling it over his own, entering and filling me
in one smooth action.

If either of us said anything after that, I have no memory of
it.  We were in a place beyond words, beyond anything but the
all-consuming wonder and delight of the way our minds and bodies
filled and complemented each other.  I haven't the words to
describe how Mulder made me feel, and how, judging from the
expressions on his face, I made him feel in return.  He didn't
need to say anything.  It was obvious in every touch, every
movement and sigh.  Mulder is just as eloquent without words.

Much later, Mulder's talkative side re-emerged.  "Hey, Scully,"
he said in a raspy undertone as I hovered just on the edge of
sleep, "you'll never cease to amaze me."

"What do you mean, Mulder?"  I asked drowsily.  I wanted to
pay attention to what he was saying, but the idea of falling
asleep to the comfort of his voice was also very appealing.
I half-opened my eyes to see him looking at me at very close
range.

"First you tell me that you can't talk during sex, and then you
dazzle me."

I roused a little bit.  "What are you talking about, Mulder?
I don't remember what I said."

"It's okay, Scully."  He propped himself up on his elbow, giving
me his slow, sexy smile.  "Maybe you've been speaking to me all
along, but I never shut up long enough to hear it."  He traced
his finger along my cheekbone and across my lips.  "I heard you,
loud and clear."

As I said, I have no memory of anything I said.  Making love
with Mulder is the closest thing to an out-of-body experience
I'm ever likely to have, I think.

Mulder's thoughts seemed to be running along the same lines.
"Maybe we really got inside each other's heads," he was saying.
"Maybe you didn't say anything out loud, Scully.  But you spoke
to me, all the same."

If that's true, I have Mulder to thank for it.  "Sounds like an
extreme possibility to me, Mulder," I said.

"Maybe it's a theory we'll have to test again, in the near
future," he leered at me.

"If that's what you have in mind, Mulder, then we'd better get
some rest.  If I remember correctly, it was a pretty rigorous
experiment."

He grinned in surprise.  "I'm speechless, Scully."

Not for long, I hope.

"I hope you never stop talking to me, Mulder," I whispered into
his chest as we both drifted off to sleep.

It's not often that I get the last word in with Mulder.  This
night was no exception.

He pulled me closer to him.  "Don't you stop, either," he
murmured back.

"I won't," I said.

"Good," he said.

"Mulder."

"Hmmm?"

"Shut up and go to sleep."

I could feel him chuckle deep in his chest.  "'Kay."

<Good night, Mulder,> I thought.  If he could hear that, then
he'd know I got the last word.

I thought I heard his voice as I slipped over the edge into
sleep:  "Don't be so sure, Scully..."

end.

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