Title: Truths Unspoken (1/1)
Author: Kimogen
Spoilers: The Truth
Rating: R for sex and language
Summary: Set to follow directly from the end 
scene of The Truth.
Scully is having some late night doubts.
Disclaimer: These characters are the property of 
someone undoubtedly richer than me. Which isn't 
hard right now.
Authors notes: I really should be writing an 
essay right now...call this procrastination if 
you will.
Feedback is always welcome: Kimogen5@hotmail.com


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 queensized 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 things 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.