Work Text:
ichor ( noun)
1.
Greek Mythology
the fluid that flows like blood in the veins of the gods.
Mulder wondered why they hadn't done any of this sooner. Now it all felt far, far too late.
He woke in Scully’s bed, in her fresh, soft sheets with a quilt over them to keep them warm, with her cuddled close to his chest. His arm was draped carefully over her, and the scent of her was intoxicating. If not for the physical evidence in front of him, he might have thought that the previous night had all been a dream.
Somehow, it wasn’t. None of it was – not her invitation for him to come over, the bottle of wine, their stumbling into her bed, his lips on her, her hands on chest, his cock buried deep inside her. A confession of love from both of them. An understanding that time was running out.
“Good morning,” he said when her eyes fluttered open and she yawned. He dared to lift a hand and brush her bangs from her eyes. She didn’t object.
“Hmm, good morning.” She lifted her head, and he got a good look at her mussed-up hair, the mascara she’d forgotten to wash off the night before. “What time is it?”
“After ten.” He allowed himself to run a hand down the soft skin of her back, stopping right right above the curve of her ass. It felt wrong, forbidden, even when last night had shown they were past that.
Scully sighed and collapsed back onto his chest. “I was worried I had missed Mass for a moment.” Her mother had encouraged her to go to church more and more these days. She didn’t complain; it made Mulder uncomfortable.
What mortal sin could she possibly have to confess?
“How are you feeling?” he asked. He had asked her the same last night, when they had both come down from the high. She had been cold and asked him to retrieve a few more blankets from the closet. There, in the little nest they had made, they spent the rest of the night.
“I’m feeling alright.” She picked herself up and propped her head upon her elbow. He could bottle up the way she looked and live off of it forever.
He felt something warm blossom against his cheek, and for a moment, he thought it was a tear. He pulled back for a moment and found a bright bloom of red under her nose.
“Scully.” He reached up to brush the blood from her lip and she lifted her hands to her face in an attempt to stop the bleeding. It flowed over her fingers, persistent.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, carefully moving to get up.
“Don’t be. Come on.”
They were both naked in the bathroom together, and somehow it was more intimate than any activity they had done the night prior. He ran a clean washcloth under the warm water and held her cheek gently in his palm as he washed off the dried blood under her nose.
“This was a short one,” she muttered. “At night they… last a while. I’m glad it didn’t happen before this.”
“We would have handled it then too.” He took a step back and surveyed her face. The underside of her nose was often rubbed raw from tissues and paper towels and anything else in reach when her nosebleeds started. “Do you want to eat something?” There was a diner near him that served a good brunch. She didn’t seem to have much of an appetite these days.
“I think I just want to lie down for a minute,” she said as she carefully stood up from the toilet seat cover she was perched on. “I’ve accidentally made it worse before.”
Mulder on her heels, Scully carefully crawled back in the bed, resting her head gently on the pillow, as if the slightest sudden movement could trigger it to start again. He joined her on the bed, choosing to face her. Their bodies formed some sort of curled-together heart.
Scully wouldn’t meet his eyes. The situation might have been awkward if they hadn’t known each other for years now.
“I don’t want to die, Mulder.”
He sat up at her words, disturbing the stillness of the room. Looking down at her, he could see how pale she had become.
“I’m going to find a way, Scully. You’re not going to die.” She looked up at him in a watery expression and lifted her hands to cradle his face, fingers caught in his early morning scruff.
“And if you don’t,” she whispered, “you have to promise me you’ll live. Promise me that, Mulder.”
“Dana…” He could not stop and consider the other option. He knew part of his soul would die without her.
“Mulder. Promise me.”
“I will. I will.” He could lie to keep her sane. To let her believe for just right now.
He decided, after that, that he couldn’t think about death anymore. Right now, in her bed, shielded by her quilt against the cold, he could ignore it. He wanted to kiss till his lips went numb, till he succumbed to starvation or exhaustion, whichever came first.
Sensing that she also wanted a distraction, he started at her collarbone. Upon his first kiss, she gave a gentle hum and tilted her head upwards. There was a fresh mark there from the night before. He hadn’t meant to leave it, but the second she had felt the light sharpness of his teeth she had begged him to continue.
Lower he went, kissing the faded stretch mark on the top curve of her breast and bringing a hand to the other. He loved the gentle sigh she gave when did so. There was still so much to learn about her, and he was about to lose it all. He wanted to curse God a thousand times over – and he didn’t even believe in Him.
He brushed his lips just gently over the gentle curve of her stomach, and she whispered: “I think it’s unfair.”
A kiss to her inner thigh. “What?”
“I feel worshiped here.” She brushed a finger over his cheekbone. “You need to take a turn, too.”
“Later,” he promised, only half meaning it.
With his lips on her again – at just the right spot – she gasped. For a moment, he could pretend that he could breathe all of his life back into her.