I own no characters.
When the day had left my spirit bruised and forced my mind to ache, I'd seek comfort in her bed. It was borderline paranormal, our unspoken communication. We would neither speak words of passion nor express any protest. A quiet, secret desire led us to explore eachother's bodies in the midnight hour. We did not speak of our lovemaking; not before, not during, not after. Those years of unresolved longing built up only to make it impossible not to touch her. I touched her. Our mutual attraction. Our sexual tension. Our need for physical contact. Our lack of sex. Call it what you will, but it was love that fueled my actions.
Thunder had rocked my slumbering thoughts and chased away my sky, though unnaturally dark, was frequently sparked with lightening. Heavy rain created childish paranoia. A knock at the door killed the Boogieman.
I did not hesitate in favor of safety precautions. I did not look to see who it was before freeing my door from it's chains. As I had already known, it was her. My first instinct told me that something was wrong, but the intensity of my worry was laid to rest with one look. When our eyes met our souls touched and my body was immediate fire. For the first time since we'd begun our odd affair of sorts, she had come to me. She needed it. She needed me.
As was the routine, we did not talk. We did not say anything with verbal communication, but rather we used our mouths; our bodies. Push. Click. Shut. The door was closed and her blouse was open. I fought back the grin of a man with an inflated ego while she undressed herself so urgently. We proceeded to make quick work of the step of clothing removal.
Our naked tumble to the couch might have been accompanied by slight pain in a state of lesser arousal. Yet, my mind had be unable to process anything except for her closeness and the heat between us. From my back-leaned sitting position, I held her on my lap. Facing me. Her legs around mine. The way I forced my tongue between her lips brought immense anticipation for the activities to come. She sucked back. Kissed me on my lips, my face, my neck. I clung to her back as if I were holding onto all that was left in my world. For, in that moment? I was.
She moved her hips against me in an attempt to calm her need. This, of course, heightened mine. And I could smell her; her female scent. She'd been wet between her legs; flowing onto me. Unable to contain the aching in my cock nor the inability to think clearly, I lifted her hips and made us one.
"Mulllder!" She had moaned in a voice I will never forget. My name was slurred off of her lust-drunk lips, but she had still said it. It was still clear. I had never heard my name fall from her mouth like that had shouted the word in times of panic, whispered to me with concern. Of course the majority of the 'Mulder's she spoke were out of annoyance, but this time? This time it was because I'd made her feel so good. So good. In her. Filling her. Pounding my hips up into her's. She was groaning with fierce ecstasy; head back, breathing hard. For the first time since our conjoining, I thought about my own state. I was throbbing within her. On the edge. Loosing all control. In seconds I would surrender to her body's beautiful torture. I came when she moaned my name, again.
The regained the ability to open my eyes just as her wave of orgasm hit. For that, I am thankful. Her body shuttered and shook tight against mine. Hot breath on my neck. Warm fingers in my hair. I held her, rocked her, allowed her to rock me. We collapsed together in a sideways fall to lay among my throw-blanket pile. I'd been tired and spent, but maintained my alertness with the help of knowing that as soon as I was out she'd be gone.
"Mulder?" My name was a question just as it has been a lecture, or an answer, or a plea. She has a way of using the means of addressing me to their full potential.
"Scully?" I ask into the eyes of the woman who I am both physically and emotionally entangled with. I smile in waiting, but she only stares back. I see nothing readable in her expression. She is unknown. She is a mystery.
She began to speak just the sound of an inaudible word, but halted herself. Her eyes, they didn't seem to want to meet my own anymore. Her grip around my shoulder's lessened it's strength, but she made to effort to move away from me. When she sighed out of frustration for her loss of words, her breasts pushed against my chest. As a male, I was forced to respond with a deep groan. She chuckled at my arousal only to repeat the groan-inducing action. I smiled. She smiled.
"I love you." She had confessed. As juvenile and cliché as the expression is, my heart leapt. I made sure not to allow my grin to fade as I soaked up the shock. This wonderful shock. Our unspoken communication told her that I felt the same way. Such near-telepathy gave her confidence to continue. "I have for years. I suppose...that it took most for those years for me to realize it. Or yet, to put an end to the denial. Some part of my mind thought that if perhaps we began a...sexual relationship that the tension would ease and the frustration would release me. Maybe it isn't all about my attraction to you, but my love for you. Mulder, no one else could ever be everything to me. I wouldn't want anyone else to be."
I had listened to her with open ears and closed eyes from my pre-sleep, post-sex mini-coma. I was gone at "else to be", but she'd forgive me.
Alone. I awoke alone; empty, naked plus a raggedy piece of fleece which I'd describe as my best blanket. The aftermath of the beforenight's wicked weather fit consisted of dripping tree branches and light gray clouds. Although I appreciated it, the comfort brought by the new daylight was nothing compared to her words. Because, I love her. I refused to allow on our unspoken communication to straighten out the details of our relationship status. We would have to speak this time.