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Scully tells Mulder that she came to in the cemetery and that she remembers nothing else. She is lying.
She remembers Sheriff Hartwell. She remembers his impossible glowing eyes, the soul-sucking green depths of them. She remembers his hand on her cheek, his breath on her neck, his teeth sinking into the flesh above her carotid artery. Pleasure-pain had counteracted the chloral hydrate coursing through her system and kept her on the edge of consciousness as Hartwell took his fill from her.
Afterwards, Hartwell had pulled her from the car and laid her against a gravestone. Echoing the kindness he had shown before draining her, he wrapped her up in his jacket before leaving her in the darkness. Night had passed her by as blood dripped down and soaked into her shirt. She felt halfway between life and death, caught in a limbo which she had been unable to escape. The wounds didn’t hurt, although based on the amount of blood she had lost they were probably deep enough to kill her. She had tried not to think about what that meant.
Dawn arrived and Scully had staggered back to the trailer park. She saw Mulder’s untied shoes hanging out of a car window and made a beeline for him. As she approached, she had caught sight of herself in the back window; shadowed eyes, pale skin, dried blood smeared from the deep ring of a human bite mark above her collarbone. She spat on the lapel of Hartwell’s jacket and had used it to scrub off the majority of the blood. Scully had pulled the lapels up to conceal the bite as best as she could, then walked around the car to Mulder’s window.
She lies, and Mulder sees through it immediately. He climbs out of the car and walks towards her. The lapels of her jacket are down in an instant.
“Scully…”
"No fake fangs on this one," Scully says. "Seemed to be fetishistic rather than homicidal."
"Fetish…" Mulder splutters. He holds her by the shoulders, grounding them together. "Scully, focus. You've been bitten by a vampire."
“Don’t be ridiculous,” she says. A glimmer of doubt passes through her mind, but she dispels it. She has experienced a traumatic event, so it is natural for her to take a theatrical view on the situation and thus wonder if Hartwell really is a vampire. He isn’t, obviously; he's just a fanatic with a peculiar fetish. How could he be a real vampire, when they don't exist?
“Do you feel sensitive to sunlight? Is your necklace burning you?” Mulder asks, rapid-fire, his hands shaking her shoulders. “Can you feel your teeth changing? Are you cold? Bloodthirsty?”
Scully rolls her eyes, unwilling to humour him. She shakes off his hands then turns and heads in the direction of the motel. It's only a mile away from the RV park, and she hopes that the walk will help her clear her head. The memory of the Sheriff's teeth in her neck is haunting her mind, chasing away rational thoughts and replacing them with frivolous ones that would make Mulder say 'I told you so'.
"Scully, wait up!" Mulder calls. She hears him jog up behind her, his shoes crunching on the gravel. "Where are you going?"
"Back to the motel," she says plainly. "I'd like to get this place in our rear-view mirror as quickly as possible, vampires or no vampires,” she glances at Mulder, at the still-untied laces which are flopping around his feet as he walks beside her. “Tie your shoes, Mulder.”
“Don’t change the subj—”
Mulder trips over his laces and lands face-down in the gravel, his limbs sprawling out. Scully hears a very quiet ‘Ouch’ and has to restrain a laugh. She stoops down to help him up. He grabs her hand and scrambles to his feet, looking sheepish. As a gust of air blows by her, Scully catches the unmistakable scent of blood. It is copper-sharp and… heady?
Scully blinks. Mulder has a tiny split above his eyebrow where he collided with the ground. It is so small that she can hardly see it.
But she can smell it.
"Ouch," he says again, touching the wound. His finger presses into the fresh blood, smearing it onto his forehead, and she feels a wave of nausea pass over her.
Nausea? No, not quite.
Hunger. Desire.
Scully blanches as her body reacts to the metallic scent, arousal flooding through her system. Her clit feels as though it has a heartbeat. Unwilling to dissect what that feeling means in the context of Mulder, let alone Mulder and his blood, she turns on her heel and picks up her pace. She mentally counts the numerous holes and cracks in the road as a way to distract herself from the thought that there is no way she should be able to smell such a small amount of Mulder's blood. More to the point, the smell of it should not be making her feel aroused.
"Wait up," Mulder calls. He's jogging beside her a moment later, staring at her. "You okay?"
"I'm fine," she says automatically. She feels hot. Hot and bothered? Feverish? “I just want to get out of here.”
“You’re sweating,” Mulder says.
Scully touches her forehead with a fingertip. It comes away wet. She realises that her underarms are damp and that there is a sticky warmth in the middle of her back. “Ah, so I am.”
“Do you feel faint?” he asks. “You’re pale.”
“I was assaulted by a creep last night,” she scoffs, “and I spent the night in a graveyard. I’m exhausted. Of course I’m pale!”
They walk in near-silence for a few minutes. Scully feels flu-like symptoms creeping up on her and she tries her best to focus on the sound of nearby birdsong and the sensation of gravel crunching beneath her feet. After a feverish shiver runs through her, she wipes her brow with the sleeve of Hartwell’s jacket. It comes away soaked with sweat. Mulder watches her, then looks at the smear of blood on his fingertip which he had collected from his own forehead. Scully can see the cogs turning in his mind and she cringes in anticipation of his next outburst.
“The blood…” he murmurs. His head whips up as he stares at her, eyes wild. Mulder rubs his bloody forefinger against his thumb and smudges the blood. “Scully, is it the blood? My blood?!”
“Of course not,” Scully lies, even as the scent of it hits her nose and she begins to salivate.
Irrational hunger begins to ache in her stomach. Logically, she knows her desire for the blood on Mulder’s hand and forehead is some sort of pica—a craving for an inedible substance—triggered by the fever she is very obviously experiencing, but there is a primal urge racing through her body on the tail of her pulse that she cannot ignore. She can vividly imagine herself walking over to Mulder and taking his finger into her mouth, tasting the sweet copper of his blood, her eyes drifting closed as she satisfies the longing deep in her gut. She would bite down on his wrist and suckle at the hot lifeblood coursing through his veins, and when she had taken her fill from him she would drop to her knees and—
“Scully?”
Her eyes fly open. She blinks at him as the world comes into focus around her. Mulder’s finger is in her mouth and she is drooling saliva down the back of his hand. She is half-hanging off him, her knees bent, her fingers wrapped around his forearm like a vice. Her frantic imaginings have become reality.
“‘M shorry,” she slurs around his fingers.
Suddenly hyper-aware of what she is doing, and feeling utterly embarrassed by it, she pulls Mulder’s finger out of her mouth with a pop! and backs away from him. She automatically licks her lips to remove some of the saliva which has gathered on them, and tastes blood.
It is, she thinks, the best thing she has ever had in her mouth. At first taste, Mulder’s blood is salty and metallic. But beneath those sharp flavours, beneath the familiar tang of copper, there is an intoxicating depth that makes her head spin and her teeth tingle. Somehow, she can sense Mulder at the core of it; it is as if the strength of his arms, the musk of his sweat, and the precise colour of his eyes have been translated into a flavour that is uniquely him and utterly divine to her.
God. She is so very, very horny.
“What…” Mulder starts. The expression on his face is almost unreadable. The tight stretch of his pants across his crotch is all-too readable.
“I’m sorry,” she murmurs. “I don’t know what I was thinking. I don't feel well. I was out all night, so I must have gotten sick from the cold.”
Mulder stares at her. When he speaks, he looks as though he is choosing his words carefully. “Scully. You've been sick three times over the past year and a half. Not once have you ever tried to cure yourself by chowing down on my finger—"
“I wasn’t trying to cure—”
“—or by sucking my blood—"
"I wasn't—"
"—so, please, be honest with me," Mulder finishes. "Tell me what's wrong. And don't tell me it's just a fever."
“What do you want me to say?!” Scully cries out, her frustration with Mulder’s questions and his infuriatingly still-untied laces bubbling over into a sudden outburst. She starts rambling before she can stop herself, her words coming out in a panicked stream. Sweat drips down her back and she paces on the spot, half-shouting at Mulder as she goes. “I don’t feel right, Mulder! Okay? I’m feverish, I’m aroused, I want to lick that little cut above your eye, your shoelaces are driving me crazy, and I feel like I’m going to throw up on your feet. All at once! I don’t think I’m halfway turned into a vampire, but I don’t feel normal either. I don’t know what the hell I’m thinking or what I’m doing, and I don’t know why I just started sucking on your finger.”
She pauses for a breath. Mulder scoops her into a hug before she can start talking again. Sweat drips down her spine and underarms as he holds her. His hands are unspeakably cold against the heat of her back, even through the sheriff's jacket. The hug is intended to be comforting, but her skin is tingling and itching as if there are a million tiny insects crawling all over her and Mulder's tight hug is doing little to relieve her of that sensation. She tries to focus on the familiar comfort of Mulder's embrace, on the knowledge that no harm will come to her while she is with him, but a claustrophobic panic is beginning to build inside her.
Mulder pulls back just before Scully's discomfort escalates into a full-blown meltdown. As he steps back, she smells his blood again. The scent envelops her mind in a thick fog, blocking out her rational thoughts and replacing them with overtly erotic ones. Visions of sucking Mulder’s neck—and other parts of him—appear in her mind’s eye. Why, oh why, is she so desperate to taste his blood again?
“There’s something wrong with me. Something I don’t understand,” she says quietly. It goes against every logical bone in her body, but she can’t deny how she feels. “I just don’t want to believe it.”
“I’ll believe for the both of us,” Mulder says, his voice soft and comforting, the faint outline of the vein in his neck utterly tantalising. Scully bites down on her tongue; the sharp pain brings her back into the present moment, pulling her out from the heat of her thoughts. Mulder continues: "Let's get you back to the motel, get you something to eat. Then, we can figure out what to do next."
They continue walking down the road. Silence reigns between them, save for Mulder's feet scuffing against the ground and Scully's slightly heavy breathing. She sweats through the sheriff's jacket after ten minutes of walking and discards it in a shrub along the side of the road. Mulder had tied his shoes before they set off again—it had made her feel instantly more comfortable, and she tries and fails not to think about the implications of that reaction as she walks.
Every step feels more laborious than the previous. It takes a tremendous amount of physical effort to keep putting one foot in front of the other. It takes an even more tremendous effort to keep her thoughts from wandering and to batten down the proverbial hatches of her arousal, so that she does not leap across the space separating them and devour Mulder whole. Her underwear is damp with the mere thought of it. She should be scared of her feelings, she knows—but she cannot shake the feeling that tasting Mulder’s fresh blood would be the single most erotic thing she has ever done in her life.
When they arrive at the motel, their rental car is on fire. Mulder swears loudly and runs inside the lobby, emerging a moment later waving the nozzle of a fire extinguisher in the air.
"There's no point," Scully says, conjuring one of Mulder's patented pouts with her words. She's right; the body of the car is a mangled black mess, all four tires have melted, and the glass windows have shattered. No number of fire extinguishers could make the car driveable again. "Just leave it. We'll call in a new one."
She sits down on the motel steps, as far away from the sweltering heat of the car as she can, while Mulder calls in for another rental car. She listens to the call, trying to glean snippets of information.
"Can you put me through to AD Skinner? Thanks… Hey Skinner. Yeah, uh, mostly good… You'll get a full report later, but… Yeah… No, actually, we need a call-in. Our rental car got, um, vandalised… No, I don't think the security deposit will cover it. Can you send a new one out?... What?... What do you mean?... How can it not be on a... How did... Okay… Yeah… Tomorrow? Um, Scully's not feeling too well, so… No… Yeah, that's fine. Okay. Thanks."
Scully has her head in her hands when she feels Mulder sit on the steps beside her. He's getting nervous about the fire; she can almost smell the anxiety on him. His scent is overwhelming, becoming stronger and more compelling by the minute. Without looking at him, she asks: "Are they going to send a car out?"
"Tomorrow," Mulder replies. Scully groans into her hands. "Looks like Chaney, Texas, has gone the way of the dodo. Skinner's using our last known location to get a car out to us, but it won't be any time today."
Scully sighs. She is far too tired to devote any energy to wondering how or why Chaney has disappeared off the map. Without saying a word to Mulder, she rises and heads into the motel, leaving him alone with the burning pile of wreckage that was her ticket home to familiarity. Scully collapses onto a bed inside the motel—Mulder's, she sincerely hopes—and stares at the ceiling, willing sleep to take her away. Unable to calm her racing mind down enough to even doze, she simply stays awake. Half-mad with the arousal which is continuing to build within her body, she briefly considers turning on the Magic Fingers just so she has something vibrating to grind on.
Mulder appears in the doorway a few minutes later, providing a welcome distraction from her desire to hump the pillows like a teenager. He holds out a bag of chips and a cup of crushed ice, waggling them in Scully’s direction.
"I always thought I'd be the one to get turned into a vampire," he says meekly.
Scully restrains a laugh. He sounds genuinely upset, as if he has been left out of a game. She lifts her head off the pillow and says sardonically: "Come over here and I'll share the wonders with you."
Mulder sits on the edge of the bed, placing the chips and ice on the bedside table. He shuffles over to her, until they are only a foot apart. Scully invites Mulder to lay his hand on her forehead, and he grimaces as he feels the warmth of her skin. Then, she pulls the collar of her shirt down and to the side, revealing the bloodied bite mark left by Hartwell and her sweat-soaked chest. Mulder, a warm-blooded male through-and-through, does not stop his gaze from wandering further down.
“Can’t resist, can you?” she says, smiling despite herself.
Mulder shrugs. "I'm only human."
He seems to realise then that his hand is still on her forehead. He lowers it, placing it on her knee instead. Scully tries to focus on the comfort of his touch, but her attention is drawn by the blood on Mulder's forehead. He has tried to scrub it away with his sleeve and it has long-dried, but the tiny wound still remains. She can smell it. The scent is powerful enough to make her dizzy. He’s close enough that she can hear his breathing and see the gentle rise and fall of his chest. She can see the shadow of stubble which has appeared on his cheeks, the softness of his lips. Ever since they met, Scully has found Mulder to be pleasing to look at—she is, as he says, only human—but she finds herself suddenly overcome with an appreciation for how attractive he is.
Scully realises that it's not just the blood that is making her feel dizzy. It's Mulder, too. She wants him, and for more than his blood. Arousal is still coursing through her body, blurring her rational thoughts and replacing them with thoughts of her very available co-worker who is only a few inches away from her. She reaches out and strokes her fingertips along the prickle of stubble on his jaw. Mulder's breath catches in his throat, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down. Scully's gaze drifts to the slight vein in his neck. She can almost visualise his pulse beating through it, pushing hot red blood through his system.
Mulder takes Scully's hand in his free one, his cold palm laid across the too-warm back of her hand, and moves her until her fingertips are pressed over his carotid artery. She can feel his pulse thumping, the sound of it somehow resounding in her ears even though there is no chance she is actually hearing it.
“Do you want it?” Mulder asks.
“Do I want what?” she asks innocently, although she knows exactly what he means. At least, she hopes she knows exactly what he means.
“My blood,” Mulder responds. His mouth turns up into a sweet smile that makes Scully’s heart skip a beat. “I would let you have it, if you wanted it. You seemed to like it earlier.”
Scully laughs, even though her stomach aches with hunger for his blood and her mouth waters at the mere suggestion of tasting it again. Her pelvis feels heavy with the deep-set arousal which has settled itself between her legs. She feels briefly unnerved by how normal these new feelings have become over the past hour, but deflects her worries with a quip: “That may be the strangest proposition I’ve ever received.”
“I want you to take it,” Mulder says, pressing her fingers into his neck. His heart beats faster, the thumping increasing beneath Scully’s touch. His gaze burns into hers. She wonders if she will erupt into flames. “I trust you not to accidentally kill me or take too much.”
“You sound crazy, Mulder,” she says honestly. Her words comes out breathy, her speech caught between a whisper and a gasp.
“Maybe I am,” he whispers, rolling his eyes faux-maniacally, “or maybe someone I love is suffering, and I want to help her any way I can,” the hand on her thigh squeezes a little harder, his fingers gliding down into the inside of her thigh ever-so-slightly. She cannot tell whether it is intended to be comforting or…
Scully blinks. She feels suddenly very detached from her body, as if she is sitting behind her shoulder watching another version of herself have this charged conversation with Mulder. Only an hour ago they had been arguing over the existence of vampires, and now they are flirting with the implication of Scully drinking Mulder’s blood. She realises that they are flirting with the implication of something else, as she looks into Mulder’s eyes and sees an undeniable shadow of desire within them. It is not just her that is suffering the throes of arousal; Mulder wants her, just as much as she wants him.
Her underwear is soaked. Her mouth is dripping with saliva. She can hardly breathe. She is aching for it. At this point, she doesn’t care what ‘it’ is; whether it is Mulder’s blood or the bulge in his pants, she would take it happily.
"Fuck it," she says. Mulder opens his mouth to respond, but she kisses him before he can.
His lips are soft and welcoming beneath hers, and his hands immediately move to lace through her hair. He pulls her closer to him, kissing her deeply and warmly. Somewhere in the back of her mind the non-feverish, non-vampiric Scully celebrates finally being able to kiss him. She has spent what feels like a lifetime denying her blossoming feelings for Mulder, but now, as she tastes the sweet familiarity of his lips, she can’t remember why the hell she waited so long.
Scully wastes no time in taking what she wants—and what Mulder has willingly given. She trails kisses across Mulder's jaw and down his neck, using the sensations on her lips to seek out the subtle swell of his carotid artery. It pulses beneath her lips and she feels a similar sensation low in her pelvis. Her conscious mind feels as though it is clawing at a precipice as she takes Mulder’s skin between her teeth, tasting the salt of his sweat and smelling notes of smoke and tree pollen from the air outside. She wants to investigate how she can possibly taste these things and wants to explore the sudden increase in her olfactory abilities, but she cannot focus her thoughts on anything but Mulder.
She cannot wait any longer.
Scully sinks her teeth into Mulder's neck. He makes a sharp sound of surprise as her incisors and canines pierce his skin, but he does not pull away. Blood floods into Scully’s mouth. A whole-body tremor passes over her as the warmth of it registers on her tongue, as she swallows and feels it trickle down her throat. She claws desperately at his arms, his chest, his neck, pulling him close as she suckles at the wounds she has created, drawing more and more of his blood into her mouth.
Mulder’s fresh blood is intoxicating. The sharp, metallic salt of it is only a backdrop to the ‘Mulder flavours’, to the elements of his blood that reflect who he is, mirroring him in this moment. She can taste the familiar comfort and kindness of his embrace as he wraps her up in his arms, encouraging her to drink more deeply.
His scent surrounds her as she buries her head in the crook of his neck, and she can taste that too; he tastes musky and loamy, like an animal burrowing through fresh dirt, like the first flowers of spring, like a tree that has fallen into a bed of moss. Somehow, there are memories in his blood, too; she can taste the colour of the first coffee he ever made for her, the shape and weight of the Superstars of the Super Bowl VHS he had brought to her hospital room, the crackle of his sunflower seeds, and every single smile he has ever flashed in her direction.
Euphoria floods through Scully’s system. She hasn’t gone deep enough to puncture his vein, and she hasn’t taken much from him—less than half a cup, she thinks—but every morsel is ecstatic. A drop of blood beads at the side of her mouth before trickling down her chin, eliciting a shiver.
Scully mumbles, “Oh, god,” against Mulder’s skin, eliciting a groan from him.
His hands dig into her skin, pressing into whichever part of her body he has his arms wrapped around; she can’t distinguish where her own hot, arousal-flooded body ends, and where the cool, calming edge of Mulder’s begins. Mulder tilts his head slightly, causing the flow of blood to quicken. Scully moans against his neck, feeling a sensation not dissimilar to the first waves of an orgasm ripple through her. She is surprised by how guttural and primal she sounds.
Mulder’s wandering hands find their way to the sensitive areas on the front of her hips, the sensation piercing through the fog of limbs and flesh that has consumed her senses. She gasps, the sound thickened by the blood which she continues to drink from Mulder’s wounds, and hears him moan lowly in her ear. Reaching down with one hand, she feels the swell of Mulder’s pleasure beneath his pants, her thumb dragging across a small wet patch over the head of his cock. Feeling her own body pulse in reaction to this discovery, she allows herself to be swept up by another compulsion—one she knows Mulder will be equally interested in indulging in.
It takes Scully only a moment to remove her pants. She latches onto Mulder’s neck and continues drinking while she wriggles out of her pants, kicking them off the edge of the bed. Mulder unzips his fly and shoves his pants halfway down his thighs. Scully straddles Mulder's hips, smearing blood across her face and chin as they adjust their positions.
Scully reaches between her legs and grabs Mulder's hard cock, squeezing the surprising girth of him between her fingers. She guides his cock to her entrance and sinks down onto him before she has a chance to think twice about it. Her pussy has been soaked since she first sucked on Mulder's finger an hour prior and the ridge of his head slips inside her with little trouble. Mulder moans as she takes the full length of him, his voice cracking as she settles with his balls pressed right up against her.
Instinct takes over. She rises up on her knees slightly before lowering herself back down, relishing the slow, pleasurable sensation of the thick base of Mulder's cock moving just inside the entrance of her pussy. Scully begins to set a steady pace, gently riding Mulder's cock while she laps at his neck. She hardly moves an inch up his shaft before she rides back down, rolling her hips down against his, undoubtedly driving him mad with it. He's unbelievably hard, his balls already tight against her perineum; he seems to be hardly a moment away from climax. A vision of Mulder coming inside her passes through her mind, and she nearly comes on the spot.
“Scully…” Mulder says, his words half-whisper and half-moan. “You feel so good.”
Scully simply groans against his neck in response. She wraps her hand around the back of his head and anchors herself with it, using that point of contact as a lever so she can ride him a little harder and suckle more deeply at the blood flowing from the bite. Her breath begins to come in short, sharp pants. Her mouth is full of his blood, her pussy tight around him, pleasure flooding her body from every angle.
Mulder's hips move up against hers, driving his cock deeper inside her. She reaches down with her free hand and pushes his hips down, riding him more forcefully and hoping that he will take the hint; she is running this show, not him. He fucks up into her again and she stills.
"Mulder," she warns, speaking against the slick skin of his neck. She consciously squeezes his cock, pulling a groan from his throat. When his hips sink back down onto the bed obediently, she raises herself up until his cock is barely inside her, the hard ridge of his head swelling at her entrance. "Let me."
He makes a sweet, desperate noise of affirmation, and Scully sinks back down. They groan in unison, Scully's clit throbbing with the feeling of it. Fuck, his cock feels good, she thinks dizzily.
"Fuck, Scully…"
Scully moves her mouth so she can create a fresh wound on Mulder's neck, sinking her teeth into his skin just as deeply as before. The sudden fresh flow of warm blood across her tongue elicits a moan from her. The rhythm of her hips falters for a moment as she is briefly overwhelmed by the sensation of drinking Mulder's blood anew. Mulder's cock pulses inside her as she begins drinking from the new bite, timing each swallow with every slow roll of her hips.
Her senses feel heightened, like every nerve in her body is a live wire attuned to Mulder's charge. She can hear the slick sound of their bodies joining and the suckling sound of her own mouth. She can hear Mulder's panting breaths and feel the tension in his body as he draws closer to climax.
"You have no idea how long I've wanted this," Mulder gasps, his voice quiet even though his mouth is right by her ear. "How long I've wanted you, Scully, fuck…"
Scully can only moan in response. She opens her eyes, flicking her gaze up to Mulder's face. A fire blazes in the depth of his eyes as he looks at her, his soft lips slightly parted, hair ruffled where she has her fingers laced through it. He is trembling slightly, his body tight with pleasure, but still he smiles when their eyes meet. She forgets to drink for a moment, utterly swept up in the beauty of him. Why had they waited so long to do this?
"I'm all yours," Mulder murmurs. "I always have been."
"You're mine," Scully whispers back. She bites back into the wound again, sinking her teeth into the small holes she has created, savouring the fresh flow of blood. "All mine."
Scully's words hit Mulder hard. His eyes flutter closed as he gasps out a warning; "Scully, I'm close, I—fuck."
Mulder reaches between them and presses his fingers against Scully's swollen clit. She bucks up into his touch, moaning, as Mulder sets a steady circular rhythm with his fore- and middle finger. Scully has been horny for over an hour, and the sudden input of pleasure brings her racing to the edge of climax in only a few seconds.
"Mulder," she gasps. "Please don't stop."
Mulder comes with a stuttering moan, his cock pulsing as he spills inside her. He begins fucking her as he comes, his cock pounding into her with a sudden forcefulness that makes her dizzy. His rhythm on her clit falters but he keeps going, pressing against her and bringing her closer to the edge as Scully whimpers against his neck. She feels his come spilling out, gliding down his cock and slicking her thighs, and that sensation alone causes the swell of an orgasm to begin crashing over her.
Suddenly, Scully's mouth is flooded with new flavours. One sweet and spicy at the same time, chased by a hot-and-cold burst, like an aged whiskey poured over ice; the other, as familiar and comforting as a good book read by a roaring fireplace. Her pleasure-addled brain somehow recognises these flavours as hormones; oxytocin and dopamine.
She has just tasted Mulder's orgasm in his blood.
Scully comes instantly. She cries out Mulder's name then bites him hard, compelled to swallow as much of his blood as she can as an orgasm rips through her. Her vision blurs, heat and pleasure overwhelming her. She loses all sense of her own rhythm, losing herself instead in the desperate sensations of Mulder fucking her, the throbbing of her clit, the rush of hormones in both their veins. He is intoxicating, the taste of him amplifying her orgasm beyond any other, the very essence of Mulder bringing her to ecstasy and back again on a wave of blood, sweat, and come.
She collapses against his chest, her strength evaporating no sooner than her climax levels out. Mulder moves with her, reclining further down, not moving to remove his softening cock from inside her. She rests her head on his shoulder, finally releasing her teeth from him. His neck looks like a crime scene, but she finds no shame in the observation.
"I love you," Mulder half-sighs and half-moans into her hair. He sounds sleepy already, and she can't help but smile.
"I love you too," Scully murmurs back. She realises, as the post-coital fog drifts away from her, that she means it.
Clarity comes to her as she lays upon his chest, listening to his heartbeat and breathing rate slowly return to normal. Her feverish panic has disappeared, and it seems that her previous denial of their situation seems to have morphed into a calm acceptance of it. She had taken such pleasure from drinking Mulder’s blood… she can hardly deny that something within her has changed, even if she isn’t sure what it is. Their relationship has changed in the space of an hour,
“Can we do that again?” Mulder asks after a while. Scully snorts against his neck, unable to help herself.
“Well, you tell me. How often do vampires need to drink blood?” she says, the word feeling almost familiar on her tongue now. Mulder shrugs, then launches into a short lecture about the varying cultural interpretations of vampiric mythology. In the end he can’t come up with a good answer, but she doesn’t mind.
“We’ll figure it out together,” he murmurs, wrapping his arms around her. “You’ll be okay.”
Scully nods, burrowing down into his embrace. She is at the end of her old life and at the cusp of a new one she does not understand, but she isn’t scared; Mulder will be her safe harbour in the storm of her next life, and that is all she needs to know.