36. Scully. (:
36. “That’s so gross.”
Scully learned very early on that her partner had strange eating habits. Like a toddler, everything he touched seemed to end up in his mouth. It was bad enough to watch him inhale a chili cheese dog, but to stick his finger in a pool of residue and take a taste on the mere suspicion it was maple syrup, was something else.
“That’s so gross,” Scully would chastise, her face twisted in disgust.
“What?” Mulder would ask, innocent question marks in his eyes as though he had no idea why she was disturbed.
Sure, he’d turn his nose up at tofu and unbuttered popcorn, but over the years she’d seen him eat frito pie, poutine, rocky mountain oysters, pickled pigs feet, tripe, fried Spam, deep fried Oreos, curried goat, and probably at least 100 other things she couldn’t even remember. Wherever they were, he always managed to find the strangest places to eat at. She was more than happy to stick with pizza and Chinese take-out just so she didn’t have to watch him dig into a plate of chitlins or cheese curds.
Anytime she brought it up to him that what he was eating was in fact, so disgusting she couldn’t bare to look at it, he would remind her that she ate a cricket. And it was alive when she ate it. She would never live that one down.
Something began to happen over the years, though. While he used to be able to wash down atomic hot wings with a Slurpee from 7-11, eventually, he’d show up in Scully’s room in the middle of the night begging for an antacid or for her to just kill him and put him out of his misery. Even milder fare as simple as French fries started to get to him.
“Poor Mulder,” she would say, retrieving a packet of Rolaids that she always kept at the ready for him. “You could always have a salad.”
“Never,” he would answer, defiantly.
In one moment of indigestion of such spectacular proportions, he lay curled into a fetal position on her bed and vowed never again to eat anything fried ever again and declared horseradish to be secretly manufactured by the devil himself. Scully couldn’t do much besides offer him a bottle of Pepto Bismol, which she also started carrying regularly, and rub his head for him until he fell asleep. And in the morning, it was biscuits and gravy for him at the all night truck stop across from the hotel before they were on the road to their next investigation.
And when they’d finally crossed that line from friends to lovers, it came as no surprise to her that in less than a week he’d have licked and tasted just about every square inch of her body. In a sleepy afterglow as she lay on her stomach, he mouthed the sweat from her spine from her neck to her tailbone. All she could think is that everything he touched really did end up in his mouth…eventually.
“That’s so gross,” she murmured, looking back at him over her shoulder with her head pillowed on her arms.
“What?” he asked. “I happen to like the way you taste.”
“You also like the taste of liverwurst so you’re an unreliable judge.”
“You know, you ate-”
“A live cricket once. Yes, Mulder, I know. I also never claimed to like the taste.”
Several passes of his tongue later, he was beside her, a mirror of her own position with his head turned towards her and pillowed on folded arms.
“You know what the best part is, Scully?” he asked.
“You taste like sunflower seeds and you’re never going to give me heartburn.”