Title: Facta Non Verba
Author: Polly - polly122456@yahoo.com

Category: MSR, Mulder POV, Missing Scene
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: Excelsius Dei, Firewalker
Disclaimer: "The X-Files" and its characters belong to Chris Carter, 1013 Productions, and FOX. No copyright infringement is intended
Thanks: To Peg's Girl for her always-wonderful beta
Notes: Written for the Fandomonium Season 2 Smut Challenge
Archive: If you want it, it's yours
Feedback: Always welcome and greatly appreciated

Summary: Actions speak louder than words

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It wasn't until I felt a hand at the small of my back that I realized this case had been a contradiction from the very beginning. First, it wasn't me but my usually skeptical partner who suggested we look into a report of an invisible sex offender at a New England convalescent home. And when I was eager to accept the simplest explanation -- that the victim fabricated the story to get out of a job she hated -- and head back to D.C., it was Scully who wanted to stay and poke around a little more. And now it was Scully nudging me forward instead of vice versa, gently steering me past my hotel room and into hers.

"Scully, I'm fine," I protested as she guided me to sit on the edge of the bed. "You heard the doctor. He said my shoulder was just bruised."

"A deep bruise," she corrected as she tossed my trench coat and jacket over the back of the desk chair. "Not to mention that you also swallowed a lot of water."

I chuckled. "Leave it to old Spooky Mulder to nearly drown in the bathroom without even getting in the tub, huh?"

She knelt beside the bed and untied my still soggy wingtips. "You joke all you want, Mulder, but for whatever reason, that bathroom was built like a bank vault. You were lucky the door collapsed when it did."

She slipped off my shoes and socks and toted them into the bathroom, returning a moment later in her stocking feet. I smiled at the notion of our shoes spending the night drying side by side, knowing full well Scully would declare both pairs unsalvageable and toss them out in the morning.

Scully was probably none too happy that her hair was also an innocent victim of the flash flood in the nursing home corridor, but I liked it this way -- falling in soft, air-dried waves against her shoulders. It was a sharp contrast to the usually perfectly styled Special Agent, one more contradiction in a week filled with them.

"In fact, Mulder," Scully continued as she carefully removed my dress shirt and dropped it on the floor next to the bed, "I'd say you're pretty lucky to be alive."

"Yeah, lucky," I mumbled.

She put her hands on her hips and stared down at me. "You don't think you were lucky?"

"Lucky? I don't know," I shrugged. "What I *do* know is that this case offered me a glimpse of my own future and it wasn't pretty."

"I don't follow you." She helped me stand and reached for my belt buckle.

"Scully, I can do that."

"I'll do it," she said, unhooking the buckle and sliding my belt through the loops. "No straining the shoulder."

There was no point in arguing, so I waited patiently as she quickly divested me of my trousers, leaving me in tee shirt and boxers. She guided me back onto the mattress, helped me swing my legs up, and tucked a pillow behind my back so I could lean against the headboard. Only then did she take off her trench coat and hang it on the back of the desk chair.

"Now what's this about a glimpse of the future?" she asked as she unbuttoned her suit jacket.

"The convalescent home, Scully," I replied. "That was *my* future. That's where I'll be in 50 or 60 years, locked away, all alone, my body falling apart, hairline receding, brain turning to mush, plumbing as unreliable as Mr. Arden's. My 'golden years' will be spent wondering who's gonna need me, who's gonna feed me, when I'm 64. Or 74. Or 84."

"Oh, Mulder, don't worry." She sat down on the edge of the bed and patted my knee. "You won't be alone."

"You don't think so?"

"Of course not," she said. "Frohike will be right there beside you." She chuckled at my wounded expression.

"So it's not enough that my shoulder is bruised," I pouted. "You have to bruise my ego too?"

"I have no doubt that your ego, like your shoulder, will make a full recovery." She patted my knee again. "And for what it's worth, I don't think you'll end up like Mr. Arden. Although something tells me that you too will enjoy trying to make the pretty young nurses blush by showing off your plumbing."

I smiled proudly.

"Right after you charm them with fantastic tales of liver-eating mutants and flukemen, of course." She stood up and placed her hands gently on my shoulders. "Okay, Mulder, I'm going to take your tee shirt off now. I'll be gentle, I promise."

I bit back a smart reply to pursue a different line of questioning.

"Speaking of Mr. Arden," I said, "It was kind of interesting that he pegged us as a couple, huh?"

"Mmm," was the only response as she concentrated on guiding my left arm out of its sleeve and pulling the shirt over my head before easing it off my injured right shoulder.

I cleared my throat. "We are, aren't we, Scully? A couple, I mean?"

She peeled the tee shirt down my right arm and dropped it on the pile with the rest of my clothes. "You stay right there," she said. "I'm going to get you some water so you can take your medication," and she disappeared into the bathroom.

I sighed. That's my Scully; when the questions get too tough or too personal, shift into doctor mode.

*I* certainly consider us a couple. I've tried several times to find out exactly what Scully considers us, but so far, she's not talking.

I guess that shouldn't surprise me. I got the same reaction several weeks ago when I first spilled my guts about my true feelings for her.

It was the last night of our month-long quarantine following the Firewalker case at Mt. Avalon, Washington. "Scully, I have something to tell you," I said. She looked up from her magazine, and it all came pouring out in one long sentence. I was afraid that if I paused for any reason I wouldn't have the nerve to start again.

I knew I had no right to lay all this on her when she had only been back a short time. I knew she was still struggling to come to grips with her abduction and what might have happened to her. But I told her anyway.

I told her how much I missed her -- ached for her -- while she was gone, that it took her absence for me to realize how much I had come to depend on her and that I felt incomplete without her by my side. I talked of want and need and desire and trust. And I told her I loved her.

I expected her to laugh or slap my face, not sure which reaction would have been more devastating. At the very least I expected her to launch into one of her trademark rational explanations of why we could never be more than partners and friends.

What I didn't expect was the reaction I got. She closed the magazine and stared at me for what seemed like forever, then retreated to her room in stunned silence. I spent the next few hours kicking myself for being a selfish bastard and for ruining the best friendship I would ever have.

But it was my turn to be stunned later that night when she crawled into bed with me, naked as the day she was born. When I tried to speak she pressed a finger against my lips and shook her head, and when I tried to move, she pinned me to the mattress. She wanted complete control and I willingly obliged.

Scully was so young and green when she joined me on the X-Files that I suppose I assumed she would be sexually inexperienced as well. I was quite happy to discover that I couldn't have been more wrong. She did things with her hands and tongue that can only be perfected through trial and error.

I pride myself on being a considerate lover, always making sure that my partner attains at least an equal level of gratification. I'm sure Scully was satisfied that night -- several times, if the look on her face was any indication -- but she made me feel like the pleasure was all mine.

Scully set the pace, called the shots, and was in the driver's seat from beginning to end; I just enjoyed the ride, so to speak. I didn't care if she ended up in my bed because she was curious or bored or just plain horny. At that moment, I didn't care if this was only a one-night stand. I wanted to savor it, to remember every detail in case it never happened again.

When the pink light of dawn filtered through the small window, she kissed my forehead and slipped out of bed. As she retrieved her pajamas that she'd dropped on the floor, I grabbed her hand and pressed her knuckles to my lips. "I love you, Scully," I said. She smiled, touched my cheek, and she was gone.

I lay there in a boneless heap, my well-used body pleasantly aching in all the right places, the sheets sticking to me in all the wrong ones. I couldn't suppress a goofy grin when it occurred to me that I didn't have to pinch myself -- I had scientific proof that I spent the night with Dr. Dana Scully.

And that's when it also occurred to me that she still hadn't uttered one word, not one sound, since my rambling declaration. No verbal acknowledgment of my admission, just a night of incredible sex. I could only hope there was some validity to the old adage that actions speak louder than words.

Given the level of control she demanded the night before, I thought it best to let her decide when, or even if, we would discuss what happened. We made small talk at breakfast and she blushed when I asked her to pass the sausage. While we waited for our final physicals, she joked that when the doctor spotted the hickey she left on my shoulder, he'd finally have something interesting to write down in his report. Once we'd been cleared for release, we went back to our rooms and I heard her whistling while she packed.

Otherwise, there was no mention of what happened between us. Not while the endless mounds of paperwork were completed, not at the airport while we waited for our flight, and not on the short plane ride home. By the time I was loading our suitcases into the back of the rental car we picked up after we landed at Dulles, I had convinced myself that Scully just wanted to forget the whole thing.

When I stopped the car in front of her apartment building, I offered to carry her bag up and walk her to her door, but she insisted she could manage. As she took the suitcase from me, her hand brushed over mine, she stood on tiptoe, and kissed me on the cheek. No words, but a clear message that it wasn't over between us -- it was just beginning.

We'd made love twice since Mt. Avalon, once in Scully's bed and once on my kitchen floor. Scully was the instigator and directed the action both times; and while the sex was mind-blowing, I was still disappointed. I wanted words of love and romance and commitment, and Scully seemed to be satisfied with the occasional fuck.

I told myself if that's all Scully ever wanted from me, I'd learn to live with it; but of course, that didn't stop me from trying to find out if I had any chance of becoming as important to Scully's heart as I already was to her clitoris. Subtlety had yielded few answers up to this point, so I was planning a more direct approach.

The first thing I wanted to know was how Scully would react if *I* initiated the sex. I figured if she wasn't interested at all unless we played by her rules, I had my work cut out for me. If she didn't reject my advances outright, then the next step was taking the sex in a totally different direction than our previous encounters. So far it was all about Scully's dominance; the scenario I was planning would be all about Scully's submission.

I heard the toilet flush followed by water running in the bathroom sink and figured Scully would take a few minutes to clean up before she returned with my medication, just enough time for me to mentally review the seduction I had been meticulously plotting for weeks. I couldn't tell Scully, but this was the real reason I was ready to give up on this case so quickly. I couldn't wait to get home and put my plan into action.

I closed my eyes, leaned back on the pillow, and pictured it in my mind. We'd be sitting in my office the way we always do, arguing about a case, and she'd get up to leave. But I wouldn't let her go. I'd step in front of her and lock the door. I'd hold onto her with one arm and with the other, sweep everything off my desk in one dramatic gesture.

(I'd actually practiced this one day last week when I knew Scully would be tied up with autopsies all afternoon. I did it so many times that eventually my groin started to tingle at the mere sound of the items crashing to the floor. The next day, I got a hard-on when Scully asked me how the stapler got broken.)

With all obstacles out of the way, I would bend her over my desk, hike her skirt up around her waist, and slide her panties out of the way. In my fantasies, Scully always wore a lacy black garter belt to hold up her stockings, though I had no evidence that she even owned one. I figured her sexual prowess had surprised me; maybe her lingerie drawer would as well.

I would press tight against her, put my arms around her, and undo a few buttons on her silk blouse, pulling it back off her shoulders. I would kiss her neck while I unclasped her bra and liberated her breasts from their underwire prison. I'd cradle them in my hands, rubbing my thumbs over her rosy nipples until each stood at attention.

Eventually I would unzip to release my aching cock, remaining otherwise fully dressed to remind Scully of her vulnerability. I would enter her in one smooth motion and make love to her with long, powerful strokes. The desk drawers would rattle with each thrust, and the only other sound in the room would be Scully's throaty growl as she moaned my name and God's with equal reverence.

Thanks to my vivid imagination, I could feel a very real tightening in my boxers. I reached down absently to make some "adjustments," and reality brought my fantasy to a screeching halt. I winced at the painful twinge in my shoulder and opened my eyes ... to find Scully standing at the end of the bed, a winsome smile curling her lips.

"Am I interrupting something?"

I rubbed my shoulder with my left hand and shook my head. I don't blush easily, but I'm sure at that moment I was a most interesting shade of scarlet.

"I'm sorry I took so long, but I'm glad to see you were able to entertain yourself," Scully smirked as she sat down beside me on the bed. She held a glass of water in one hand and two small white capsules in the other. "Here you go. Down the hatch."

"I don't want them, Scully."

"I want you to take them, Mulder," she said. "They're very mild. Not much stronger than Tylenol."

I raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Promise?"

She put the pills in my left hand. "Trust me when I tell you, Mulder, that it would not be in my best interest to get you too relaxed tonight."

I tossed the pills in my mouth and she handed me the glass. "Did you have something in mind?"

She flashed a wicked smile as I downed the medication. "If you think you're up to it."

And I thought I was the master of the double entendre. I handed her the glass and wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. "Are you saying that you intend to have your way with me, Agent Scully?"

She set the glass on the nightstand and stood up. "I'm saying, Agent Mulder, that I intend to ravage you right there on that bed. I know you're completely helpless, so don't bother to try and resist me."

< I might be somewhat uncomfortable with our current arrangement, but I wasn't an idiot. >

Scully removed her jacket and sighed as she tossed it on top of the pile of my clothes already on the floor. "I don't know if this suit is going to survive our unscheduled swim," she said as she unfastened her slacks and added them to the heap.

I watched her methodical yet highly arousing strip tease with fascination. "On our next case, let's be prepared and bring our swimsuits," I said. "I might even let you see me in my Speedo."

She added her blouse to the collection and rolled her pantyhose down her legs. "I should think by now you'd realize that I have more interest in seeing you *out* of your Speedo, Mulder."

I think I blushed again and she laughed as she hooked her thumbs in the waistband of her underwear.

"Why don't you let me do that?" I interrupted. "If it's my shoulder you're worried about, I could take them off with my teeth."

She pretended to consider it for a moment, shook her head and slipped the pink panties off. She twirled them around her finger and let them drop on the accumulation of clothing like a cherry on a hot fudge sundae. "Let's save that for next time."

< I made a mental note to amend my over-the-desk scenario accordingly. >

She climbed on the bed, quickly removed my boxers, and sat down on my thighs, her knees hugging my hipbones. She still wore her camisole and as her breasts bounced invitingly before me as she settled in my lap, I realized that I never saw her take off a bra. Had she been unconfined all day and I hadn't even noticed? If I was missing details like that, I needed to start wearing my glasses again.

She placed her hands on my shoulders and smiled when she saw my cock already coming to life courtesy of its proximity to a patch of wiry, neatly trimmed red curls.

"Time for the ravaging to begin," she purred and kissed the tip of my nose.

"Scully large and in charge," I said as she trailed her lips along my jaw. "You know, Scully, I must confess, I do find this aspect of your personality very sexy. And not just in bed. I mean like the way you took charge of this case. Major turn-on."

She sat up and pondered this revelation as she might any bizarre theory I tossed her way. She bit her bottom lip and lazily drew an imaginary line across my chest.

"Well, as long as we're making confessions, Mulder," she said shyly, "I have one too."

I tried not to betray my cool exterior as my stomach started doing flip-flops. I nodded for her to continue.

After a deep sigh, she lifted her eyes to meet mine. "Do you remember the other day in the office? That videotape I found in the VCR? Remember I said I put it in the drawer with the other tapes that weren't yours?"

I couldn't imagine where this was going. "Yeah?"

She bit her lip again. "Well, what I didn't tell you was that before I put it back in the drawer, I watched it. In fact ... I watched all of them."

My heart sank. Not the confession I was looking for. Then I realized what she said.

"W-What?" I sputtered. "You w-watched them? Why?"

She shrugged slightly. "Curiosity, I guess. I mean, I have seen X-rated movies before, but since you kept these in your desk, I figured you found them particularly ... stimulating. And then it became more of a research project."


Her fingers fluttered down the well-marked path between my belly button and groin and back again. "Yes, research. You obviously enjoy what you see in those films. I thought if I watched them, maybe I could learn a few things. So I could do the things you like, make it more pleasing for you."

"I couldn't possibly find you more pleasing than I already do." I was positively gushing.

"I'm serious, Mulder."

"So am I," I replied. "So, um, did you learn anything?"

"I did, actually." She smiled like the cat that ate the canary. "I learned that some women are extraordinarily flexible. And I learned that some men have extraordinary stamina."

"Scully, you do know that they use a lot of special effects in those movies, don't you?"

"But the most interesting thing I learned," she continued, "was that those three videos all had one thing in common."

I tried to feign ignorance. "Really? What was that?"

"Well, in all three the 'star,' for lack of a better term, was a redhead."

I smiled. "No kidding? I hadn't noticed."

She raised an unbelieving eyebrow. "Like the mysterious hitchhiker in 'Red Headed Stranger' who was brainwashed to perform oral sex every time she heard a Willie Nelson song."

"Yeah, they don't make 'em like that anymore," I interjected.

She disregarded my commentary. "And the heroine of 'Big Bad Mr. Wolfe,' I believe her name was 'Little Red Riding Wood.' She uttered the immortal line, 'Oh, Mr. Wolfe, what a big tongue you have.'"

"To which Mr. Wolfe replied, 'The better to eat you with, my dear.' There's nothing like the classics."

My dramatic interpretation was met with an icy stare.

"Sorry," I said. "I guess we should leave the acting to the professionals, huh?"

"Acting?" She snorted and shook her head. "And last but not least, there was 'Little Oral Annie' who managed to give a whole new meaning to the term 'leapin' lizards'."

"Two thumbs way up for that one," I said, but Scully didn't seem to appreciate my review.

"Three movies each featuring a redhead," she summarized. "And all of them neatly tucked away in your desk drawer. You're the psychologist, Mulder. What do you think that means?"

I thought for a moment and replied, "In layman's terms, I think that means I'm busted."

"Tell me, Mulder," she said as she began to move backwards toward the foot of the bed, "were you surprised to learn that I was a natural redhead?"

"Pleasantly," I answered truthfully. "Scully, what are you doing?"

She took my cock in her hand and grazed her nails along the underside, gently rubbing her thumb over the sensitive tip. "Just something that Little Oral Annie did for Daddy Warbucks." Then she bent down, took me in her mouth, and followed the same path with her tongue. She repeated the sequence, hand to mouth, until I thought I would explode.

"Scul-lee," I moaned, "I can't ... you need to ... now."

She grinned. "Daddy Warbucks was slightly more articulate." She crawled forward in slow motion, seemingly indifferent to the way my penis bobbed against the inside of her thigh in eager anticipation.

As she positioned herself over my lap I tried to reach forward, my fingers searching for her center, but she gently pushed me back.

"No, Mulder, you'll strain your shoulder. Just sit back and relax."

"But I want to make it good for you," I argued through clenched teeth.

"I'll make it good for both of us," she replied. "Trust me?"


She kept her eyes locked on mine as she reached down to guide my cock inside her. She was ready for me and she slid all the way down and up again, down/up, down/up; so good, so smooth. She settled into a fluid rhythm and I adjusted my thrusts to match her tempo.

At first I thought Scully liked to be on top because she wanted to maintain control, but I soon realized that her little scientific mind had quickly calculated this was the best position for us given our height difference. It offered maximum comfort and maneuverability for both of us and it facilitated kissing whenever we felt like it.

And during sex, Scully felt like it. A lot.

As if reading my thoughts, her lips hungrily devoured mine, her tongue darting in and out of my mouth in synch with the movements of our bodies. As our pace quickened, Scully gripped the headboard for support. One spaghetti strap of her camisole slipped from her shoulder, allowing one perfect breast to spill out seductively in front of me.

I captured the nipple between my lips, licked and suckled, worried it with my teeth. As the headboard banged against the wall, Scully tossed her head back, closed her eyes, and moaned. She was obviously an excellent student of the cinema; it was a perfect imitation of the quintessential porn queen. Little Red Riding Wood couldn't have done it better.

We were both close now. Once I felt her tremors begin to pulsate around my shaft, I couldn't hold back. We cried out at the same moment and collapsed against each other. I flinched when her head hit my shoulder.

"Sorry, Mulder." She pressed a make-it-better kiss on my collarbone. "I shouldn't have ravished you tonight. I should have given you something a little stronger for the pain."

"I'm fine, Scully," I said. "Being ravished by you is the best medicine I can think of."

When I was completely soft she slid off me and I spooned up behind her. I pulled the covers over us, held her in my arms, and kissed her hair. "I love you, Scully," I whispered.

She squeezed my hand, pressed my fingers to her lips, but said nothing.

She'd already given me hope for the future tonight, and it was probably crazy to push any further, but I couldn't help it. "Can't you just say the words, Scully?" I asked, throwing caution to the wind. "Just once? For me? Even if you don't really mean it?"

She rolled over to face me. "I know you, Mulder. That's not really what you want." She caressed my cheek and brushed her thumb across my lips. "I wish I could say what you want to hear. It's just not as easy for me as it is for you. Please be patient. The words will come, when I'm ready. Just give me a little time, okay?"

I nodded. "Okay. I'm sorry."

"There's nothing to be sorry for. Besides ..." She kissed my Adam's apple, my jaw, my cheek, my lips. "Don't you know that actions speak louder than words?"

"I know that," I replied as she snuggled closer, resting her head just above my heart. "I just wasn't sure if *you* knew that."

"I do," she said. "And until I'm ready to *tell* you how I feel, I'll just have to continue to *show* you. Is that okay with you?"

I shrugged. "I guess there are worse things than being Dana Scully's boy toy. It's a deal."

Her hand disappeared under the covers and a moment later she gave my cock a playful squeeze. "Poor Mulder," she teased. "Are you afraid that all you'll ever be to me is a replacement for my vibrator?"

She giggled uncontrollably at my shocked expression.

"Scully, what's gotten into you?" I asked. "Are you sure while I was locked in the bathroom at the convalescent home you weren't sampling some of Gung's mystery mushrooms?"

"No, I just like making you blush, Mulder," she answered. "It's good practice for the old folks home. We'll make quite a team, won't we? You showing off your plumbing and me reminiscing about my vibrator. We'll embarrass the hell out of all the nurses."

I smiled. "Do you really think we'll still be together 50 or 60 years from now, Scully?"

She kissed my chin and reached behind her to turn off the bedside lamp. "I'm counting on it. Goodnight, Mulder."

"Goodnight." I pulled her closer and sighed contentedly. We're a couple. Scully loves me. One day she'll say the words, but in the meantime, she promised me her actions will speak volumes.

But I'll need constant reassurance, so I should probably double check every so often to make sure nothing has changed between us. Like in a few days, I'll bend her over a desk and let her show me how she feels.

Words won't be necessary. Good thing -- cause I'll have a pair of panties between my teeth.


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Additional Notes: The title of the Season 2 X-Files episode on which this smut challenge is based is "Excelsius Dei," which is Latin for "Glory to God." "Facta Non Verba" is Latin for "Deeds, not words" (or "actions speak louder than words").