Disclaimer: Not mine! Mulder and Scully belong to Chris Carter, 1013, and Fox.
“No man can physically change into an animal, Mulder.”
“How do you explain the tracks we found outside of Jim Parker’s ranch? Human footprints changing into animal tracks from one step to the next,” I ask.
“It’d been raining. The ground was muddy,” Scully takes a drink of the white lightning I handed her a moment ago. No grimace or facial distortion of any kind. I’m impressed.
She pauses, considering her next line. “What you saw were simply two separate sets of tracks converging at a fortuitous time, Mulder. The animal tracks were likely made by one of the large cats that roam the area. If memory serves me right, the Parkers had a caged mountain lion on their property.”
“Caged being the operative word here,” I reply, index finger pointed in her direction while I sip on my own glass of poison.
She lets out a huff of air. Eyes downcast, she swirls the clear liquid around in the mason jar. Seems she’s debating whether to have another go, maybe the aftertaste of bad vodka mixed with too little glycerin has kicked in. “It’s been a month since we wrapped up the case. Lyle Parker is dead, there are no such things as werewolves. People kill people, Mulder.”
“I know what humans are capable of, but aren’t you at all intrigued by the possibility of a man transforming into a wolf?”
“Pondering the existence of shape-shifters and supernatural creatures won’t bring us any closer to finding that elusive truth of yours, besides, science holds more than enough mysteries to keep me occupied for a lifetime.” She brings the jar to her lips and drinks.
“But you signed up to hunt aliens with a once brilliant VCU profiler?” I say, then lean in to give her a gentle tap on the knee.
This gets me a half-smile. She’s particularly endearing tonight, sitting across from me in blue jeans and a white t-shirt, legs crossed in a perfect lotus position. We picked a spot off the trail, put down a blanket and a picnic basket, if you can call a bottle of moonshine and a couple of mason jars a picnic basket, and watched the sun set over Devils Tower. The day’s long been replaced by the bright darkness of the night sky, but we’re still here, sitting, talking.
I give her another tap on the knee; wait for the inevitable rebuttal or eye roll. Neither happens. Still contemplating her glass, Scully clears her throat. “You know, historically werewolves have always been male, and...”
“And the feminist in you finds this folktale sexism objectionable?” I ask.
“Well, if there were werewolves, it wouldn’t make sense for them to be exclusively male,” she says.
“So you don’t believe in werewolves because you can’t become one?”
She raises her eyebrows and I respond with a shrug, emptying half of my moonshine in one swig. The intense stinging along the lining of my throat tells me this was a bad idea. I squeeze my eyes shut, shake my head.
One glance at what must look like a tortuous expression on my face is all it takes for Scully to start laughing. “What I was about to say,” she pauses to catch her breath and examine her glass. “What I mean is that there is no biological basis for such a distinction, and from a reproductive perspective it seems rather ineffective to have all members of a species be of the same sex.”
“But that’s assuming werewolves mate, reproduce sexually,” I say, finishing off the rest of my drink. The heat dispenses across my upper body, and already I regret my act of male bravado.
“So how do werewolves reproduce?” she asks. Her voice is low, sultry almost.
“The most common stipulation is that you become a werewolf by being bitten by one, though there are records of pureblood pups being born to women who’ve had encounters with lycans or male werewolves.” I cough to calm the heat in my throat, but it only increases my awareness of the burning sensation in my chest.
Patting the spot next to her on the thick wool blanket, she motions for me to come closer. “Let’s talk about something else.” She puts her still mostly full jar of moonshine to the side and I throw her a quizzical look. “It tastes like cat piss,” she says.
I chuckle and toss my empty glass into the grass next to hers. “It wasn’t an in-store purchase, so you never know what you’re gonna get.”
The wooziness in my head tells me I shouldn’t stand so instead, I crawl to bridge the space between us, quickly wrapping one arm around her waist. A shiver crosses her shoulders and neck. She twitches. Even the summers are chilly at 5,000 feet above sea level.
“Come here,” I say and wrap both arms around her for warmth.
“Tell me about this place. Why is it called Devils Tower?” she asks, looking at the white laccolithic butte rising proudly towards stars. Even with tree branches obstructing our view, there’s no denying the beauty and sheer imposing force of the first National Monument - 867 feet of igneous rock surrounded by nothing but short grass prairie and rolling terrain for miles and miles. It’s simply there, exposed, nature at its purest.
“Nothing nefarious about this place, Scully,” I whisper into her hair. “It’s false advertising, well not quite. The Devil part of the name is due to a misunderstanding. Native Americans refer to the place as the Home of the Bear or the Great Gray Horn among other names, but during an early expedition an interpreter translated it to ‘Bad God’s Tower,’ which then was turned into Devils Tower, and it’s stuck around ever since.”
“Seems unfair,” she says.
“I came here as a kid with my dad and a group of boys from the Indian guide’s club. We meant to climb it, but I chickened out.”
“You have a fire and a heights phobia, Mulder?”
I laugh, relax my arms around hers. “I don’t know what to tell you. I feel drawn to this place. It awes me in a weird spooky kind of way.”
“Hmm,” she murmurs and nestles her head against my chest. I feel warm and it’s getting harder to concentrate, but I like this, the two of us here in the open.
“It’s a big rock, I can see why young you would have been frightened.”
“Did Agent Scully, medical doctor, just make a dick joke?”
“What if she did?”
She turns around in my lap, deposits a kiss on my mouth, soft, frisk, a hint of cold air lingers on her lips even as they’re pressed warmly against mine.
I break away to look at her face, let my fingertips brush against the goose bumps on her arms and watch as she stretches her neck in response to my touch. Her skin feels smooth, cold like marble against the fire in my fingertips.
“If you’re wondering about the missing apostrophe in Devils Tower, that’s a clerical error,” I whisper.
She’s more insistent when she comes back, dives right in, moves her hands to my neck, through my hair. I lean forward, but she’s holding the reins, taking me along for the ride. She pushes me onto my back and I keep thinking I should protest. We’re outdoors after all, within a stone’s throw of the tourist path and the moon is lighting up the sky like a second sun, but I can’t form any words.
Scully’s not concerned about the moon or the stars. She’s focused. Her hands reach for my belt buckle and I jerk my hips at the contact.
“Shhhh,” she whispers. No words, only practical fingers working their magic.
She moves her lips to my neck and bites down right as she unfastens my belt. The combination sends a shock running through me. “Scully what are you…?” she pins me hard to the ground and I never get to finish my sentence. I’m astonished at her boldness, but too hazy to act.
I can’t think and I’m not sure whether to blame the alcohol or the sudden decrease in blood flow to my brain. My erection is sudden, strong. The pressure of her hand on my groin makes me twitch and Scully notices. She moves to the side and grabs the waistband of my jeans and boxers, drawing both down to free my begging erection.
I’m grateful for her quick thinking.
“Oh Scully,” I murmur, earnest in my need for her touch.
My cock keeps flexing, I need her mercy.
I lift my head and find her, elbows up, tying her hair in a ponytail like she’s about to go for a run or hit the gym. Please, Scully, I pray silently to myself. She adjusts the elastic band, then drops down on her knees and takes me into her mouth.
I toss my neck to the side, let my eyes roll back into my head in an ultimate pleasure reflex. Most of my upper body is off the blanket. Prickly grass blades, leaves, and little twigs stick to my skin, but the pleasure is so wholesome, so intense, I disregard any discomfort.
Eyes shut I feel her head bobbing up and down purposefully. She’s hungry, there’s no teasing or licking. Night sky Scully means business and takes me in all the way, her lips sliding tightly along my length while her thumb and index fingers squeeze the base of my cock.
My mind is a foggy mess of sensations and my legs tremble each time I urge her to take me in deeper with another sway of my hips. Her tongue is warm and wet on me and all is good until suddenly it isn’t. The comforting suction gone, replaced with the grazing of teeth along my shaft. “Jeeeez Scully,” I flinch, but she pushes on and the grazing turns to scraping.
“Easy, easy” I say, reaching for her shoulder with my arm. She loosens her grip, then pulls her mouth off my cock.
“I didn’t mean you had to stop,” I plead, but she’s already on her feet.
“I’m not,” she zips down her pants, kicks off her shoes and one after the other, her clothes land flying in the grass.
She’s exquisite, her skin glistening like a white pearl under the moonlight. She wets her lips and the thought that she can taste me on herself is a massive turn-on.
“Come,” I whisper and extend a hand.
Dark eyes stare into mine while she takes up position on top of me. One hand on either side of my head, she guides me inside of her with nothing but the rocking motion of her hips. Delicate precision. I place my hands below her waist and I’m struck by how cold her skin is compared to the warmth that engulfs me. How can she be both hot and cold at the same time?
“Scully you’re freezing,” I say, caressing her thighs.
This triggers something in her because she throws back her head, moves her hands to my chest and pushes down hard. The moon acts like a spotlight, illuminating her with a surreal mood, and I notice her skin’s not pearly white. She’s sparkling, brilliant like a diamond.
She moans and increases the pace of our lovemaking. The light catches her teeth, white like snow, and sharp like glass. Funny, I don’t remember her cuspids being this pointy. I blink desperately, once, twice, and a third time, hoping it will change the view in front of my eyes, but Scully’s still here, still sparkling brightly, fucking my brains out while howling at the moon.
Heart pounding wildly, my mind racing a million miles an hour, I suddenly put the pieces back together. The Parker case, Scully finding Lyle at the ranch, Scully sitting atop the stairs, shaken. Me firing my gun at a large furry creature, then at what turned out to be nothing but a mounted bear head. Something jumped me downstairs and I lost my gun, she’d said. Our report to Skinner indicated that she was attacked, but not harmed. She’d have noticed a bite mark. Maybe it was only a scratch? Was a scratch enough to turn her?
“Scu…,” I start, but there’s no way she can hear me over her moans. She’s feral, her face flushed with pleasure. I detect a speck of something crimson at the corners of her mouth. Blood. My neck twitches as I remember the bite she initiated earlier. I bring a finger to the spot. My skin’s warm and there’s something wet smeared below my ear.
I look at my hand, and Jesus Fucking Christ, it’s red. Scully bit me. Werewolf Scully bit me!
I’m simultaneously terrified and incredibly aroused. She’s riding me hard like there’s no tomorrow, my own shape-shifting she-wolf. God, she’s beautiful. I join in her quest to forget the world, urging her on from underneath, grasping and bucking with everything I’ve got.
She leans forward, her face over mine, and I see the animal in her. Is she going to bite me again? Eyes large and black against her luminous skin, she holds my gaze like I’m prey. Oh Scully, what happened to you?
My body seems to have a mind of its own and I watch by in shock as my hips continue to match her speed, each thrust edging me closer to the void. She growls, snarls her lips to reveal her fangs and dives for my neck.
“Scully! Scullaaaay!” I scream as I come inside of her.
I reach out, wrap my arms around her waist and hold her tight. Whatever happens, whether I shape shift next month or we end up with a litter of werewolf pups, I’ll keep her, always.
“Mulder what are you doing?”
“Scully?” I lift my head and rub my eyes. My eyelids feel heavy like I’ve been crying and though my vision is blurred, I can see her clearly. There are little droplets of sweat on her brow, her neck, her chest. And she’s warm, so, so warm. The sparkles are gone too, replaced with the familiar afterglow of satisfaction following a night’s excitement.
Relieved, I drop my face into the crook of her neck and exhale.
“Mulder, what in the world?” A mixture of bewilderment and uncertainty marks her voice. She has no idea. She cradles my head, runs her fingers through my hair.
“Scully… you were a… never mind, you’d never believe me,” I say and proceed to squeeze her for all she’s worth.