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Three Letters:Ten Points

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They're sitting on his couch, as usual, but what's unusual about this Saturday night is that he asked her to bring over her old Scrabble board game, the one she inherited from her mother, the one they used to play on Sunday afternoons. She had to drag the kitchen chair to the hall closet and stand on her toes to reach the dusty box tucked away in a high, far corner. When she went into a sneezing fit after she sucked in a nose full of dust, she hoped Mulder had planned something a little more exciting than a few hours of linguistic twister.

However, it became apparent as they settled into his couch and he plopped a six pack on the floor between them and set up the game that this was the entirety of his Saturday night plan.

It beat annotating autopsy photos at home, though not by much.

"VEEP, Mulder?" she asks again. She stares at the letters he proudly plunked across the middle star of the board.

Mulder sits back on the couch and it squeaks its own protest. "What's wrong with VEEP?"

She raises an eyebrow. "Is that some sort of insect noise?"

Mulder nods his head, and it's the nod he does when he doesn't even realize he's nodding. Perhaps a better description of it would be a gentle bob, she thinks as she casts a questioning look his way. He takes a deep breath. "Well, it could be. But you know, the veep. Second in command. Vice president. VEEP."

"Mulder, that's slang."

"Scully, I don't know what rule book you follow, but the Official Scrabble Player's Dictionary says VEEP is a perfectly playable word."

"Have you even read the OSPD?"

"Not cover to cover."


"Okay, I saw it sitting on a shelf at Borders. But I'm sure VEEP is in there. You gonna make a move or not?" He takes a drink of his beer and she sighs with a small shake of her head. She lowers her eyes to her tiles and tries not to fixate on the slightly distracting scent of his cologne. BAUTAIR. The letters scramble in her head. She looks at the board, and then at Mulder, who's taking no time at all to finish his first bottle.

She tries to sneak the tiles onto the board quickly, as if he won't notice. He leans forward as her hands move away.


She straightens her back and lifts her chin slightly, feeling a subtle blush across her cheeks. "What?" She blushes more profusely at her indignant tone.


She takes a long swig of her beer, and then another, and then another. She can't help but smile. "Yes. Aubretia. It's a genus of flowering plant. It's native to Europe, actually."

"You get on my case for a slang word, then you throw down aubretia," he says, raising his eyebrows and hunching over his board. It makes her smile more, the way he fakes offense. "Why I ever agreed to play Scrabble with a doctor..."

"I'm a medical doctor, Mulder. I don't treat aubretia. I simply retrieved it from the vast array of knowledge I store right up here."

He looks over at her. "Up there, huh?"

She finishes off her beer and reaches for the six pack of bottles on the floor. "Your move. Quit complaining and think of a valuable word."

x x x x

She's amazed that they're able to keep up a consistent level of play at increased blood alcohol levels. "It really is a testament to our intellect," she declares as she lays down FIQUE off of his ENCAGE, "that we're able to pull this off after three beers."

"The mind is a curious tool," he says as his tongue flicks out against his upper lip. She feels a tiny shudder of something not incredibly intellectual stir in her abdomen and hastily attributes it to the warm alcohol buzz radiating in her body. He bites his lower lip and then glances over at her. "Fique. The Colombian national fiber. You know a lot about grain sacks, Scully?"

She giggles--honestly giggles--and he smiles and settles back on the couch again, his hands behind his head. She glances at his torso, the cotton of his t-shirt rippling against the muscles underneath. She feels warm again. Too much beer. Beer and long words. Not a good thing for her, she knows this. They could be a good thing, but not in the generally accepted definition of good, not the definition that they are used to adhering to, anyway.

"That I do not," she says. "Your move. Get going."

He hums and she runs her fingers over her thighs. She can hear him breathing, just enough to make her think a little too hard about his parted lips as he contemplates his next move. His next move. If only, she thinks.

He sets down his tiles and she rolls her eyes. "Mulder...HOWF?"

"Bless you," he says. She giggles and lightly slaps his knee, then leaves her hand there, feeling his warm knee through his jeans. Maybe he won't notice. "It's a meeting place. It's also the acronym for the Hardcore Oklahoma Wrestling Foundation."

She meets his eyes. "How do you know that?"

He laughs and shifts on his cushion. She realizes her hand is still on his knee and pulls it away. "Best not to ask. Your turn."

"I know," she says, studying her rack. She picks up two letters and lays them down. "PEC."

"Oooh, I know that one," he says. "That's a real word, Scully."

"All of my words have been real words, Mulder," she says, pulling her hair behind her ear. They're both hunched over their letters now, elbows on their knees. Her head is delightfully spinning. It's good to let go a bit, she thinks. She lets her thigh settle against his, the lightest of touches that makes her heart beat faster.

He lets out a small laugh, then plays his word. She shakes her head and tries not to smile.

"What, Scully?"

"I...nothing, Mulder." She giggles. She feels so juvenile.

"Scully, a cox is a person who steers a small boat. Cox is also a verb, as in, to cox."

His leg is so warm against hers, and she's tingling right at the spot where their skin would touch, if it wasn't for their pants, and she's starting to sweat from the alcohol and from thinking about the tanned, taught skin of his thigh.

"Could you use it in a sentence?" she asks, blinking doe eyes at him.

He smirks and squints one eye. "Aye, matey, I be coxin' my boat right into yer dock."

She laughs, she can't help it. Then she's rolling with laughter and she can't stop herself. "Mulder," she says through her chuckles, wiping her eyes. "I'm way too drunk, because that wasn't funny, not in the least."

"Arrrr," he says, nudging his elbow into her side. She giggles and leans her torso into him, welcoming his arm to brush against her breast. She keeps her eyes on the board. She's afraid of what might happen if she looks at him.

"Ummm, let's see," she says, plucking at the letters on her rack. "Oooh, I've got a word."

"Is it better than my 'COX'?" he deadpans.

"I wouldn't know," she says, laying her tiles down and sitting back with a triumphant sigh. "How about NOVA?"

"Great show," he says.

"Talk nerdy to me," she says with a smile. "You watch way too much PBS."

"Porn Broadcasting System?" He's running his fingertips over his lower lip, back and forth, and it's driving her crazy.

"Public." She wants to reach out and touch his mouth. She's never wanted to quite so badly.

"Right." He lays each tile perfectly down on its square on the board.

She puts her hand over her eyes and tries not to laugh. "Mulder!"

"What! Every time I lay down a word, you act so appalled."

"Well, if you'd stop laying down words laden with innuendo and words that are rarely even used in general discourse..."

"Scully, NUTTER is not sexual. Not in the least."

"Please elaborate."

He sighs, but he's smiling pretty broadly. His arm brushes the side of her breast again and she's not sure it's unintentional. "It's just someone who collects nuts!"

"Who do you know that collects nuts, Mulder? Did you collect nuts as a child? Can you get a degree in, in Nuttology to become a nutter? Who in their right mind--"

He kisses her hard, and the silence that follows is perforated by the sound of his bubbling fish tank and the squeaking of the couch as he leans into her, his hand on the back of her head. His tongue slips over her lips, then pushes against her teeth. She lets him in and breathes out as the tip of his tongue traces hers.

"I'm tired of playing games with you," he whispers against her lips.

She suddenly feels very, very sober. "I'm not playing," she breathes. She can't stop looking into his eyes. He catches her lower lip between his teeth and she kisses him, and suddenly, the last thing she wants to do is stop. She's tired of stopping, of waiting.

Tonight, she's gonna bingo.

She slides into his lap and their tongues flick against each other before their lips meet again. His hands gravitate to her ass and she moans sharply against his mouth when his fingers press into her, pulling her down onto his lap. Her knees tighten against his hips and she feels pinpricks of heat down her spine.

His hips push up between her legs and she breaks the kiss to tilt her head and breathe. He runs the flat of his tongue up her neck and she feels him hot and hard through her jeans.

"Jesus," she hisses as she grinds down on him.

"Big word," he breathes, nipping at her earlobe. She takes a sharp breath in as he sucks on the skin below her ear. "12 points."

"Formal name, you can't play formal names," she whispers, running her fingers under his t-shirt. She feels goose bumps rise on his skin. He laughs and she traces his nipples with her fingernails.

"Oh yeah?" His hips are pushing rhythmically up against hers, and it feels so good, and so bad, but bad in a good way. In the best way possible. She's so wet she can feel it as she rocks against him.

"Yeah," she says. She kisses him softly and lingers there as their hips work against each other.

"What're we doing, Scully?" he says, his fingers tracing circles on her lower back.

And there it is, the out she could take, God knows she's taken it so many times before.

She pulls her shirt over her head and tosses it to the floor. "Swapping tiles."

x x x x

She can now add "Scrabble board" to her list of places she's partaken in sexual acts.

The only uncomfortable part about it, she thinks as her bare legs slide over his shoulders, is the tiles embedding themselves into her ass. She feels his tongue trace over the inside of her thigh and lets out a whimper. Suddenly, the tiles don't matter nearly as much as they did a second ago.

His mouth covers her and she gasps sharply, pulling his head closer. The coffee table trembles under her back as he presses his hands against it, leaning into her as his mouth moves on her pussy, his tongue sliding through her. Her heels hit his bare back and she feels the Scrabble tiles grinding into her back as she arches away from the table with a moan.

"You like that?" he asks, his tone amused.

"Use your...oh, Jesus, use your keen sense of...fuck, Mulder, I'm trying to talk here," she says between laps of his tongue.

"Go ahead," he murmurs as he gives her another slow lick. She twists her hips with a low, satisfied groan. The Scrabble board shifts under her ass. "Unless you want me to stop."

"No...just...just forget it." She snarls her fingers into his hair and pulls hard. "Just keep going, please, keep going."

He laughs softly, and she knows how much he must love to hear her beg. He complies with her order, his tongue moving around her clit, and he starts doing crazy, crazy things that make her hips thrust to his mouth to encourage him. Her lips part with bated breath and she feels the warmth inside her slowly building.

"Fuck," she groans. He hums his approval at her choice of words.

"F is four points," he says, twirling his tongue around her clit once. "U is only one. C," he continues, pressing his tongue against that spot and making her body shudder, "is three points, and K is a whopping five..." flick. "...points. Thirteen points, Scully, unless you put it across a premium square."

"Shut up," she hisses with a smile, her body straining against his mouth. His tongue works faster, harder, and she scrapes the back of his neck with her fingernails as she feels herself starting to come. He doesn't stop, as if he can tell that if he did, he'd regret it.

Her orgasm is a swirling, dizzying sensation that hits her abdomen before shooting straight to her head. She squeezes her eyes shut and moans his name and God's name, over and over again, as she falls over the sweet edge. He laps at her slowly, and when she lifts her head, he's looking up at her through the strands of his hair that have fallen over his face.

"How many points did I score?" he asks, deadpan as always.

She puts her hand across her eyes and tries to hold back a laugh. She unlocks her legs from around his neck and lets them fall away. She sits up and he rises to his knees. She kisses him hard, tasting herself on his tongue, raking her fingernails over his back.

"You won," she breathes against his mouth. "Now get on the couch to claim your prize."

They look at each other and he grins. He scoots up on the couch and she stands up between his legs, looking down at him. She bites her lip and runs her fingernails slowly over his kneecaps and up his thighs and he settles back into the couch cushion, his eyes traveling her body.

Their eyes meet and she climbs into his lap, straddling him between her knees. She twines her arms around his neck. He's started breathing erratically, softly, and she feels his cock graze her inner thigh. It feels unbelievably hot and hard and perfect.

She puts her hand down between her legs to stroke him once, then again, her own body tingling from touching him, from his response to her. He grits his teeth and the back of his head hits the top of the couch as he takes a deep, sharp breath in.

"You like that?" she asks, arching her eyebrow at him. She leans over and kisses him on the mouth, her hand working slow strokes between them.

"Mmmmmm," he murmurs as they kiss, his tongue pushing against hers. His hands travel her sides, then around to her back, and she realizes that there are tiles stuck to her skin. His hand passes over them and they start to tumble down to her ass, and she feels him clutching at them, trying to catch them.

"Hazard of the game," he says, bringing his hand around to show her the few letters he found on her back. They stare at the tiles.

"What're the odds?" she asks with a laugh.

"That the letters would spell 'sex'?" Mulder says, plucking the other letters off his hand and tossing them to the floor. "I'm sure you could do some fascinating statistical analysis of its probability. Tomorrow." He arranges the three letters in order and looks up at her with a grin. "Ta-da."

"Very nice," she says, kissing the side of his mouth. "But I'm done playing games with you."

With that, she tugs on his cock, lines it up and slides down on him before he can say another word. And his next sound isn't a word--it's a groan as he closes his eyes and bites his lip. He flings the letters across the couch and grabs her ass with both hands. "But I like this game," he breathes.

"You do?" She slides up his cock, then back down again. His fingers dig into her hips and she breathes out, trying to capture the amazing feeling of Mulder inside of her.

"Yeah, Scully. We should..." She squeezes his cock and starts rolling her hips on him, inciting another groan. "We should have played this a long...fuck...long time ago."

"Yeah," she breathes, kneading his shoulders as she rises and falls on him. He starts to move his hips with her and she moans, tilting her head back. He presses his lips against her chest and kisses her, licks her there as she moves faster on him, suddenly impatient, because he's right. This game should have been played out a long time before now. "We can play...again, soon, maybe we can play all night."

"Tournament style," he says, thrusting up against her harder. She whimpers as he hits the end of her, then grinds down against him.

"Better finish this round, then," she says. His teeth graze her collarbone and she holds the back of his hair tightly as she starts to fuck him faster.

His hands are everywhere, and there are no more tiles to find, just soft skin that he explores as she tenses around him, inciting a growl from the back of his throat. He pulls her tightly against him and buries his face in her neck, his teeth sinking into it slightly, and she twists her hips and works his cock like the hundreds of times she's thought of before, the secret moments she’s kept to herself until now.

She feels him start to tense up and she smiles, pressing her body against his more tightly. "Mmmmm, Mulder, that's it..."

"God, Scully," he breathes, grabbing her thighs tightly. "Just..."

A few more rolls of her hips and he bucks up and nearly knocks her off his body. She holds him tightly as comes inside her, his eyes squeezed shut as his head hits the wall behind him, but he doesn't seem to notice. His groan is the most delicious sound she's ever heard. She puts her head on his shoulder and his hands roam her back lazily, fingers tracing her spine.

"Yeah," he says after a few minutes. "Good game, Scully."

"Yes, it was," she says, kissing the side of his neck. They sigh.

“We gonna play again?” he asks, his hand wandering up to stroke the back of her hair. She giggles and closes her eyes.

“As long as you promise not to cheat,” she says. “And not to make up words.”

“Mmmm,” he says, twining her hair around his fingers. “Hey, um, you know what?”

"What, Mulder?"

"Well, I just thought you should know for future reference... you spelled aubrietia wrong."