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Sanctuary and Shield

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Sanctuary and Shield by frogdoggie

TITLE: Sanctuary and Shield
NAME: frogdoggie
E-MAIL:
CATEGORY: SRA
RATING: NC-17. M/SK. This story contains SLASH. VERY GRAPHIC CONSENSUAL SEX BETWEEN MEN. So, if you don't like that type of thing - STOP NOW! Forewarned is forearmed. Proceed with caution.
SUMMARY: A sanctuary? A shield? One would hope. Mulder and Skinner embark on a relationship against all odds. Will it survive? This story is romantic, but watch out for the angst. It's in here.
FEEDBACK: YES PLEASE, AND THANK YOU SIR, CAN I HAVE ANOTHER? Comments, suggestions and healthy debate are always welcome. Flames? Thanks! I need to build a bonfire so I can roast a few weenies!
TIMESPAN/SPOILER WARNING: All episodes in Season 6 up to SR819.
KEYWORDS: story angst slash Skinner Mulder NC-17
DISCLAIMER: Fox Mulder, Walter Skinner, Dana Scully, Kersh and all other X-Files characters belong to Chris Carter, Ten-Thirteen Productions and 20th Century FOX Broadcasting. No copyright infringement is intended and no profit is being made from their use.
*Authors note: This is NOT an installment in the Baton Rouge Series.
Written in April of 1999.


Sanctuary and Shield
by frogdoggie

I sit and wait. Sit and sip on a bottle of Beck's beer I retrieved from the refrigerator, and wait.

The TV is on. Classic Trek re-run. I just have it on as background noise. I'm supposed to be working on this expense report. My half of it anyway. I know Scully's got her bit done all ready. She presented it to me on diskette yesterday afternoon. Friday. Gee, a whole weekend to labor over my part of government waste. Well, whatever. I'm not working on the damn thing anyway.

No. I'm waiting. Waiting to hear the key in the lock.

I finally hear it. I glance at my watch. Eight PM. Late, but not as late as Friday night. Working OT on a Saturday. Jesus H. Christ. The lock clicks. The door swings open. Walter S. Skinner returns home like a bear to his den.

"Hey," I venture as he walks in, shoulders sagging a little.

"Hey," he nods, standing there in his trench for a moment. Just the side of his mouth curls up in a tiny, tired smile. He turns and grips the handle of the coat closet door that lies to his right. He opens the door and begins to place his briefcase inside the closet.

Fatigue and tension play over every line of his body, settling in his neck and shoulders. The stress grips the muscles there like a vice. I want to get up and cross over to him. Walk over and work the tension out of all his muscles. But...Skinner is Skinner. He doesn't like anyone fussing over him. So, I give him his space instead asking...

"Want a beer?"

He glances up after divesting himself of the briefcase.

"Yeah, I could use one," he nods, starting to shrug out of his coat.

I do finally rise and exit the living room for the kitchen, leaving Walter to shuck his Fibbie trench. I leave him in peace to do whatever he needs to do next to enter our world again.

Because this is our world. The four walls of his apartment have become a haven for us now. A place of refuge for the time being, since it's risky to meet anywhere else - especially my...stunningly utilitarian hovel. A sanctuary of sorts since we really aren't supposed to be associating with each other at all, now that I'm not assigned to him any longer.

I mean, God. Talk about timing. What a shit storm to root a relationship in. Too much fertilizer burns...ask any farmer. This whole idea might have been a hell of a lot more fertile, more easy, if I was still assigned to AD Walter S. Skinner. Yeah, assigned to him and not assigned to AD *count those sacks of shit, agents* Kersh. See, Skinner and I had come to a meeting of the minds exactly two weeks after Scully and I were reassigned to Kersh.

Yeah, two weeks after the shit hit the fan, the AD and I finally gained true understanding regarding where we stood with each other. We finally fumbled our way towards admitting we were a little more than boss, oh, excuse me, ex-boss and subordinate. We fumbled all right - you might say stumbled even. In any event, we fell head over heals into having carnal knowledge of each other, right in the Hoover Building. Yeah, as in got it on. Spooky Mulder boffs his ex-boss, and the ex made the first move. Right, you heard me. But you know, somehow I find the tube snake boogie idea rather appropriate given old J. Edgar's proclivities. Shit. Hoover's ghost acts as an aphrodisiac? Now there's an X-File for sure.

Yes - it happened one night in the Hoover Building. I was working late. It was close to 10 PM. I was sitting at my desk in the bullpen. My chair had become my regular court side seat to Kersh's *make 'em or break 'em* game. Our new AD had relegated Scully and me to hour upon hour of boring background checks when we weren't out on the road counting bags of cow shit. So, I'm sitting on my dead ass updating a bunch of interview forms when a movement catches my eye. I got a glimpse of my ex-boss leaving his office, briefcase and pair of boxer swim trunks in hand. My interest was piqued - dayglo orange boxers? Hmmm. Didn't say Skinner to me at all. It made me grin a little, though, and think...hell...I could use a dip in the company pool myself. I should see if I can join him, I thought as he walked down the hallway outside my glassed in area.

In the back of my mind I knew we weren't supposed to be fraternizing. He had been reprimanded as a matter of fact. But....I needed...I just wanted to talk to him, maybe? Yeah. I missed him on the job for sure. He'd always been a hard ass, but fair at least. More than I could say for Kersh. Yes, Walter Skinner had been a hell of an AD. He'd supported the X-Files as best he could over the years. We may have thought his loyalties were dubious at first. Over the years those suspicions faded into insignificance. Skinner laid his life on the line for Scully. He proved to be an ally to both of us at the last. It's what got his butt in a sling after all. Backing up the Monster Boy got Walter Skinner in hot water all right. So I just wanted to talk to him and maybe let him know I appreciated his efforts. I wanted to tell him I was sorry for what had happened between all of us.

I also wanted to see him half naked again. Ok, that wasn't a conscious thought at all. But, I'd wanted a lot more from him for a long time without ever even realizing it. I wanted him on my, and obviously at my side, emotionally and physically...but it wasn't an admission I even entertained making. The idea was way in the back of my mind - and well buried, I guess. Right along with the idea that I thought it was one of my porn video fantasies because the guy could never want me in any way, shape or position. Whatever. I was wrong on all counts. I'm glad I was wrong. I know he's glad too.

Anyway, I saw him notice me noticing him. It seemed like his pace towards the elevator slowed just a little so when I decided to get up and catch him, I could.

"Sir?"

"Yes, Agent Mulder?" he asked with some interest, "you're here late," he added in way of conversation.

"Just trying to keep after the paperwork," I replied, nodding at his trunks. "Going for a swim?"

He glanced down at his hand, and I detected just a hint of a self depreciating grin.

"Yes. Uh...I thought I'd better at least try these out once so I won't have to lie to my mother when she asks if I'm wearing her gift."

I chuckled at the small joke. I have more than one God awful sartorial disaster courtesy of Teena Mulder. Yeah, mom does give me gifts. Ties on my birthday are standard. People think my ties look like shit because *I'm* color blind. Well...close, but no cigar.

"Mind if I join you?" I asked, taking a moment to stretch and crack my back. I was really stiff from sitting. The swim sounded like an even better idea with each passing second.

I watched him think about it. I knew he was considering the ramifications. Should I, or shouldn't I ignore that reprimand? Rules and regs of the game flashed on, and then off, behind his eyes. I almost saw the words cross his mind when he came to his decision. /Fuck 'em/ I would imagine he told himself. /It's past 10 o'clock at night - who gives a rat's ass if we're both using the pool at the same time/.

So, Skinner nodded once, "Sounds like you could use a few laps for that back. Sure. You're welcome to join me."

"Great. Let me just get my stuff, and we can go down," I nodded back towards the office.

He waited patiently while I retrieved my suit coat, briefcase and trench coat. My trunks were in my padlocked locker in the gym's changing room. I joined him in the hallway, and we traveled down to the gym in companionable silence.

Well to make a long story short, we did take our swim. I watched him do some of his laps. They took very little effort. He's in good shape for a 47 year old man. I caught him watching me as I finished my last crossing of the pool. It made me almost lose my concentration to think he was studying me so closely with those serious brown eyes. He looked much different without his glasses. Still serious but not as...well not as closed off I thought.

Afterwards we decided to use the sauna. We stripped off our wet suits, going to great pains not to look at each other at that point. We wrapped towels around our waists and entered the dimly lit, simmering room. The air was dry, and hot but not unpleasantly so. He sat down first on an upper bench. I only hesitated a moment before I climbed up and sat down beside him.

He was still sans his glasses. He tilted his head back, exposing the muscular column of his throat, and shut his eyes. I did the same, and we...well we just started to talk. I thought we'd sit in silence actually. I mean silence was the AD's way, after all. He didn't speak unless it was necessary, and then with an economy and efficiency of words seldom rivaled by others.

But that night Skinner talked. So did I. Personal stuff.

He talked about his family, especially his late father. Vietnam. His marriage and ex-wife. His days as a young agent. The climb up the Bureau ladder. His non-Fibbie real life interests. His hobbies. He restores classic cars for God's sake. Reads voraciously on subjects as wide ranging as the history of modern warfare to the works of Tennessee Williams. Skinner likes classic rock from the 60s but isn't adverse to cranking up Rob Zombie or Prodigy when he's in the mood. I began to get the impression that under that gruff exterior beats the heart of a Renaissance man. It was a pleasant revelation I found myself wanting to hear much more about - in detail - in the near future.

I talked about my mother, about Sam. My father. Nothing in excruciating detail. He's read my file, after all. He more than knows the whole grisly story. No, I just touched on things. In a moment of almost reckless honesty I came close to divulging my deepest fears involving my father. I almost blurted out the question I still want the answer to regarding my paternity. But, I kept my console on that matter. I shelved the discussion for a later date. No, questions and theorizing regarding dear old dad would come later. It was a historic moment - Mulder keeps his mouth shut. Why? Because Skinner seemed to need to keep his open a hell of a lot more. I obliged him because I was mesmerized by his words.

Naturally Scully came up. To Skinner's credit he didn't ask the obvious question that seems to be on half the Bureau's prurient collective hive mind. Hey, and for the record, no, I'm not sleeping with her. Scully is probably the only success I've had where women are concerned. We're still friends. Maybe we are still friends because we haven't had sex. I don't know.

But, I talked about my profound friendship, love and respect for Dana Scully. I do love my partner. I think...I used to think it was a physical type man loving a woman thing. You know - like let's go to bed and see if we respect each other in the morning? Well...something like that anyway. I did feel a glimmer of sexual attraction for her. Just a tiny spark. But...the flame's were never really fanned to ignition. I mean we just didn't percolate. No, my love for her is different. The psychologist in me wants to say sisterly but...it's too complicated to classify when it comes right down to it. If I was really religious I might say it was a spiritual love. I know it's a bond like no other.

So, whatever Scully and I have together I know it's something tremendously special. A true partnership and I'll do anything I can to preserve it. I'll watch her back and I know she'll watch mine. I mean, Christ. She hasn't had it easy sticking with a pariah like me through thick and thin. She deserves anything I can do for her at this point. I give her all the credit in the world for having guts of steel and balls to match.

We talked about that idea too, Skinner and I. He thinks Scully's one part Mrs. Spooky (in other words as certifiable as I am), and one part Wonder Woman. In either case, we both agreed - she's a hell of an agent, and a hell of a woman too. Discussing Scully brought us around to the Bureau in general of course, and then the job in particular.

The work. The X-Files. We both discussed...my quest. The truth, and why I still think it's out there. His unique version of why he agrees in theory, but has so much trouble agreeing in practice. As we talked about the X-Files one fact dawned on me. It startled me too in its implications. It made me feel...strangely nervous but also pleasantly excited to contemplate this turn of events. What was so stimulating you ask? Well...I started to realize, deep down, that my quest had somehow become his quest as well. On a gut level I knew this fact, more than anything else, was going to cause an irrevocable change in both our lives. My heart raced at the prospect.

So, we engaged in conversation. I don't know why. Maybe it was the phase of the moon. A mid-life crisis moment for him. I mean, I have that natural proclivity to run off at the mouth. I was thinking maybe Skinner was a closet blabber mouth too. Shit what a combination of words. Paint in image in your head? Closet? Mouth? Yeah, well it should.

He was in the closet all right and he had some mouth. I was in the closet too - I have to admit that, of course. And I'll have to admit that my mouth work proved to be outstanding as well - eventually. But how we got around to discovering those two facts...I'll never really know. Maybe it was the dry sauna heat - even though the rooms pre-set temperature had dropped with the expiration of the timer, as we sat inside. The faint smell of eucalyptus. The dim lighting. Maybe it was the fact it *was* a full moon. I'm not sure.

Eventually, I tended to believe it was the fact that two people were finally just coming to terms with something neither one of them had acknowledged for a long time. Almost six years in fact in which neither one of them was savvy enough to know the others heart. We were admitting we were two lonely people. We were truly alone and we needed someone to remedy that condition. In gaining that knowledge we were also beginning to realize that the other was the one to banish that loneliness for now, and forever.

Yeah, as incredible as it may seem, Fox Mulder, psychologist and profiler, was clueless when it came to analyzing himself or the man who would come to be the most important person in his life very shortly. Incredible? Hardly. Of course I'm being sarcastic. Hey, I've been off my game before - more than once. But never quite this far and never with so marvelous an outcome.

Being clueless was some trip too. I mean one second we're talking about Scully's ability to raise her eyebrow just like Mr. Spock...and the next second Skinner's hand's on my thigh and mine's over it, squeezing his fingers.

No preliminaries. No warning questions like /So, Mulder. How to you feel about large, muscular men? Ever watch WWF wrestling? How about gladiator movies? Or maybe...ever seen agent so in so in the shower. Christ. Whad-da-ya think of that guy's Johnson? Hung like a horse, isn't he?/ You know what I mean? Fishing to find out if I might be looking to take a walk on the wild side? Blow some leather flute while I'm doing it?

Nope, not a word. Just a nervous hand on the thigh, followed by a deep swallow and then a pinning of my eyes. The eyes. Ok, that's what did it. I looked into his eyes and I was drowning. Sunk. Jesus, he has eyes to die for really. I would imagine men may have died for them in the past, as a matter of fact. His magnificent eyes reflected his soul. When I looked in his eyes I saw his decency, his innate strength... his goodness. But those brown depths also reflected his fear. He was dying inside at revealing his inner most desires. I could tell, that up to almost that very second, he hadn't had any idea he was going to grope my leg. But...a veil was lifting off Skinner's soul somehow, and he just took the chance. It was a go for broke gambit. Well...that's rather *Skinneresque* as well.

So we were staring into each others eyes. I'm sure mine were as big as saucers. His looked like a wild mustang ready to bolt. I could feel my mouth parting slightly and it wasn't from the heat in the sauna. I wanted to speak. I needed to say something, anything to let him know it was ok, and that he shouldn't be afraid. He didn't need to worry because he wasn't the only one having a sudden epiphany regarding his sexuality. I mean Christ! I'm almost 40, and this guy's 47, and neither one of us had ever admitted we might want a man? Evidently.

But I couldn't get out a single syllable. Instead, I squeezed his hand again and gave a slight nod of my head. He's observant. The AD's still a crack investigator after all. He saw my almost imperceptible affirmation. Read the acquiescence in my eyes. I nodded, and I guess, swallowed spit as well. His eyes never lost mine however, and when I released his hand, he snaked his fingers up under my towel. He certainly found the obvious evidence of my desire for him that night. I watched his face as he brushed my hardening dick. He actually sighed with relief.

I sighed with arousal. I was getting perpendicular all right. My cock felt hot, like molten metal right out of the forge. I was getting hard. Hard as hot steel under the blacksmith's hammer. But this steel needed more work. I sucked on my bottom lip in hopes Blacksmith Skinner would bring his hammer on down.

Skinner's hand shifted and stilled, cupping my balls very gently as my erection grew. I saw it in his eyes then, the question. "Mulder, may I?" The silent entreaty asking my permission to go further. /May I? Go for it, sir! God, what took us so long?/ jumped instantly into my mind.

But, I studied his face and thought - this is really dangerous. What if someone walks in? What if the place is bugged, has a camera? What if...a dozen different objections. But guess what? I gave a shit. Objections? Who cares. After all, have I ever let those kind of issues stop me before when push came to shove? Do I worry about protocol when something really matters? Hell no. And if anything really mattered at all, I knew the next few moments did as I gazed into Skinner's dark eyes.

In answer, I touched his cheek. That's all it took. We didn't exchange another word really. He took his hand away from my crotch, and placing it on my shoulder, pulled gently. He used his other large hand to turn my hip. I twisted round, shifting to face him, and scooted close. Our towels flipped up and fell open, flat against the bench. I glanced down for a moment and saw our twin erections, his thicker, and slightly longer, trapped between us. Since my legs are leaner, I swung them up, and over his legs, straddling his hips. Well ok - I'd done something similar before at least. Phoebe, and later Diana, and I had tried just about every position in the book.

He ran his hands up and down my arms experimentally, feeling my tensing, jumping biceps. His hands moved off my arms and across my chest, pressing, teasing my skin. One hand lingered over my heart, splayed there to feel that organ thrumming away under my breastbone. I thought I saw him smile a little, and then his hand traveled on, caressing. my stomach tenderly. His touch was feather light one moment, and urgent the next. He was so focused on my body, I became utterly fascinated with his voyage of discovery. I was trembling under his fingers as they left goosebumps over my skin, despite the heat of the sauna.. His hands continued to explore, wandering further until he was stroking both my hips, and then both my thighs.

I wanted to touch him badly, but I hardly knew where to begin. There's a lot to touch, I mean. He's got that weight lifters physique. Hard muscles. A broadness to his frame. He's a hard body gourmet's feast when it comes right down to it. I'd had too many meals at McDonalds I guess. But touch him I did after I marshaled my courage. God. He was warm, hard, soft, rough, smooth, and wonderfully taunt, yet flexible...all in one package. I still remember the sensation of tight, flat, stomach and groin muscles. I can never forget the scars that bisected his stomach and groin like raised veins through marble.

At any rate, we were clumsy, but enthusiastic. Our breathing rapidly became open mouthed gasping. His a low growling sound, mine more high pitched and stentorian. We explored each other with only our hands because we didn't want to take our eyes off each other's faces by that point. It was how we were gauging each others reactions and emotions. If there had been any hint of discomfort or displeasure I know we would have stopped our hesitant exploration. But there wasn't any disagreement at all. No, we were in full agreement on this issue. We were watching our faces transformed in ecstasy. I will never forget the delight of those moments, seeing Walter lost in me for the first time. Sweat ran down my face, stinging badly as it entered my eyes. It stung but I refused to blink. I couldn't, wouldn't shut my eyes on the vision of his powerfully, handsome face lost in lust and wonder.

Finally our hands made it back down to each other's genitals, and he took my cock in one strong hand. If my eyes stung I forgot it quickly when a new, more raw, and sharp bolt of arousal speared my groin. A short, sharp, shock and I wanted jolt, after jolt, for sure.

Skinner thumbed my cock delicately, running his thumb over the tip. He concentrated on the crown and I moaned, but bit back the sound. I saw him smile then, a real smile that reached his eyes. He knew he'd given me a phenomenal rush, and it was turning him on even more. I thought he was both exhilarated and excited to know he was giving me pleasure. God, he looked breathtaking when he smiled.

I smiled back, and reached down for him, lifting his cock up into my right palm. He hissed slightly when I drew my fingers up under and along his length. I caught some of his pre-cum and using my thumb and forefinger, swirled the liquid around his glans. Hey, I know what I like. I assumed he'd like the same. Then I wrapped my hand around his dick and started to pump him very slowly. He nodded his head, moaning deep then, and I smiled wider.

I draped my other hand and arm over his wide shoulder and he propped himself against me the same way. After a short time it was too much trouble to look at each other anymore. We rested our foreheads together and looked down where our hands worked over each other's swollen, hot flesh. Sure the position was awkward, but I think we were way beyond caring. Every once in a while he'd glance up under his eyelashes at me. I'd smile again and so would he. Our twin smiles became almost a single rictus of pleasure in short order. He was grunting softly, gasping a little. I sounded like a damn locomotive. Yeah, the little engine that could all right - could finally get some with someone who obviously cared about giving in return. I was beyond moaning. I could barely catch my breath. My arousal was climbing to heights I'd never experienced before. I was rendered voiceless, and I could have cared less about that too.

Christ he has a gorgeous cock I thought distantly as liquid ecstasy began to pool in my groin. I'd seen a few erect cocks in my life. All shapes, colors and sizes in porn videos. This was maybe the first real one I'd ever seen that was impressive enough without being in danger of qualifying as stunt cock of the year on some fuck tape.

I was hoping he thought my equipment was passable as well. I guess he did because he let go of my dick and switched to holding both my shoulders in his hands while he ground his cock against mine. I pulled my hand up out of the way, and held him closer while we humped our way home together.

I felt him tense and then grunt something low in his throat. I thought maybe it was God, but it might have been Fox, I wasn't sure. My head was buried in his shoulder, and I couldn't hear very well. I felt the warm, spurts of semen splashing up onto my stomach and then into my chest hair. He thrust against me spastically, fast and hard, for a few more moments. He wrapped his arms around my back. All the muscles in his body were in spasm. Large and small muscle groups were winding up, and then snapping loose convulsively like so many rubber bands. I could feel his heart beating like a jackhammer.

I know I yelled "Fuck!" when I shot. My cum hit him right in the chin. I was coming so hard I thrashed against him like a marlin on the end of a deep sea fishing line. I grabbed him, enveloping him in my arms as best I could. I pounded my cock and balls against his, sliding all over his crotch in the mixture of sweat and semen that flowed between us. I think I was laughing and sobbing at the same time. I know Walter was making some kind of sound between a sob and a groan. I mean it was a monumental release in so many ways. Rugged. Raw and joyous. I wanted the climax to last as long as it could - for both of us.

When I came back to myself I was slumped against Skinner, struggling to regain my breath again. He stroked my back as we both trembled and huffed from our labors. Eventually I felt him pushing me away a little. I sat up and looked at him again. Saw my semen on his chin. He must have noticed where I was looking and reached up to wipe it away with the back of his hand. He stretched his hand across and ran a finger from my groin up onto my chest. His finger made a trail through his cum where it left it's sticky traces over one of my pectorals. His hand traveled up to my chin.

It occurred to me that he hadn't kissed me. Hadn't even tried. I caught his eyes again. His eyes closed, and he moved his face towards mine. This is where we both found out our mouth work wasn't bad at all. For kissing I mean. His kiss started out with a tentativeness I found intoxicating in it's sweetness. But, as soon as I opened my lips to admit his tongue, he grabbed the back of my head and crushed me to his lips. It felt like he'd devour me. But God...it felt good to be his meal.

I have to say, with some pride, I was able to match him. Hey, I can suck like a Hoover vacuum cleaner when I put my mind to it. Yeah I can suck, and not just on my partner's face either. So, by the time we broke apart I know the AD's head was spinning as fast as mine. He closed his eyes again and pulled me close, burying his head in my neck.

He spoke the first words either of us had uttered in almost an hour, quietly, against my skin.

"I'm, sorry," he murmured, his lips buzzing against my sweating flesh.

I glanced sideways into his ear. Tried to study his bald head, the fringe of hair that rings it. I looked at what I could see of him, and asked, dazed, "Fffor what?"

"For waiting," he whispered, raising his head slightly. I could feel his smile play over my cheek.

So, we've tried to be together as much as possible since that night. It hasn't been easy, but it's been worth it. This apartment's become our refuge. It's debugged on a regular basis by the guys. Frohike owed me a few favors so he's doing it gratis for now. When I'm in town, I'm here as likely as at my own dismal residence. Which unfortunately isn't often. Scully and I are back on the road. We're counting bags of shit for Kersh's paramilitary fertilizer census again.

But I like it here. I have to admit this place is a lot more homey. Walter Skinner keeps a comfy, cozy, warm hearth. A very snug den. I'm getting spoiled while we're still getting to know each other. God, to think I knew so little...that we knew and understood so little about each other after six years. Well...maybe it isn't hard to understand. We went out of our way to not pry, to keep our distance. He was the boss, I was the pain in his ass. So, now we're remedying that situation. Making the unfamiliar more familiar. The unknown more known. The AD is an undiscovered country and I'm sure I'm akin to the surface of the moon to him.

But we're managing. This weekend was supposed to be a longer opportunity to get acquainted with each other. A little food, a little fun, a lot of sex. It would have been a longer weekend if Mr. Skinner hadn't had to put in his OT for the *FbastardI*. Of course, Mr. Mulder should have put in some OT on this expense report. He brought it home, but now it's going to wait anyway. My man is home. He's here, and I'll welcome him back to our world.

I return to the living room, carrying the Beck's beer. He's sitting on the couch watching the classic Trek rerun. I found out the AD is a secret Star Trek fan as well. He's always found William Shatner's over acting extremely amusing. Yeah, he laughs like hell at Shatner's histrionics. I'd have to agree it's a riot, but I just got off, hell still do, on Mr. Spock's cool more than Kirk's scenery chewing.

"Here you go," I tell him, handing him his beer.

"Thanks, Mulder," he replies, as I sit down with my beer. I sit close to him. I can feel the tense muscles in his shoulder relax a tiny fraction as I slide over and touch my bicep and hip to his side.

"Feels good," he grunts, acknowledging my close proximity. He reaches to loosen his tie. He pulls the silk from around his throat and tosses it over the back of the couch. He unbuttons his dress shirt, just the top two buttons come open under his long, thick, but nimble fingers. His shoes are toed off next and then his feet are propped up on the coffee table. A quick swig of beer swallowed and obviously relished completes the tableau. I sigh and take another pull from my Beck's.

We sit and watch the show in silence for a while and I feel him start to unwind in increments, very slowly. He chuckles now and again at Kirk. We have a brief conversation regarding the stunning Lt. Uhuru. He comments sardonically on some idiotic commercial for yet another disaster movie on the USA Network. Finally, he finishes his beer and so do I. We set both our empty bottles on the coffee table. He wraps an arm around my shoulders.

"Do you think you'll need to go in tomorrow?" I ask quietly, running my hand up to squeeze his where it rests on my shoulder. I try to keep the hope and longing out of my voice. I don't want to make him feel guilty for abandoning me because I know he thinks of it in those terms. He has that guilt, even though he probably realizes logically that I more than understand what this job entails. But...I can't help it. I had plans for this weekend and most of them have been flushed down the FBI crapper. So, a little ennui slips into my voice, despite my good intentions.

"Hell no. I'm done. No more meetings. No more reports to research and complete. No more kissing Freeh's ass. Sunday's free," he smiles over at me.

"Good. I have plans," I smile in relief.

"I would imagine you do," he replies huskily. He leans in and kisses me. Our mouths play over each other for a few moments. We part with a wet, sucking sound.

"Hey, food?" I ask raising an eyebrow. Ok. Kiss...mouth...devour...meal...food i.e. has the AD had dinner yet? Get it now? Good. Sorry, my mind works in many odd and mysterious ways.

He chuckles.

"I could say something about you being enough sustenance, but that's as corny as shit."

I laugh, straightening up, and he continues his answer.

"I did take a dinner break. I walked down to 'The Golden Dragon' and got a carry-out."

"Ah," I nod. I reach over and touch his jaw. His evening beard stubble is rough under my fingers. His jaw muscles are still tense. I rub them a little and he shuts his eyes in contentment.

"Well, I made some spaghetti for myself. There's some left for tomorrow. I can't make pasta for one even if I try," I reply, gently stroking along his jawline.

"Sounds good. I haven't had Italian in a while," he pushes into my hand a bit harder. I comply by increasing the kneading pressure.

"You know what'd be good, though?" I ask.

"What?"

"A hot bath. You need to relax. I think it would help," I whisper, leaning over to kiss his cheek. I pull back and he straightens up, flexing his jaw back and forth. There's a little crack and he smiles at me.

"Well, that certainly helped, Mulder. But a hot bath? Yeah, not a bad idea," he nods.

Later after I draw his steaming bath, mixing in some therapeutic sea salts, we both climb in together. Sometimes he sits against the back of the tub and I sit in front of him, nestled between his legs and against his broad chest. Tonight however, I want to finally massage his head, neck and shoulders a little. I've been wanting to do it from the moment he walked in the door. He's more than happy to accept the attention now. So I'm seated behind, cradling him between my knees.

I'm kneading and working the back of his neck. The shoulders are all ready done and their lax state tells me I did my job to perfection. Now I just need to loosen the ligaments along his cervical spine. I'm sure you're not surprised to hear that Walter Skinner clenches his jaw. Yes, he's an expert at it. He can grind his back molars almost audibly during a meeting. Agents watch for the tell tale pop of his jaw muscles in order to get advanced warning that they should duck and cover.

So now, I work his neck and then down into his jaw again. He's making little sounds, each one a cross between a grunt and a sigh, as I finish my ministrations. Finally I release his neck and pull on his shoulders so he'll lean against me again, letting the combined warmth of the water and my body keep the muscles from tensing again.

"How's that?" I ask, kissing his scalp.

"Perfection. Best hands in the business," he replies. I can hear the peaceful smile in his voice. I know he's smiling even though I can't see his face. I rest both my arms on the outside of his and let out my own sigh of contentment.

"Thank you," I comment, rubbing my leg over his.

I close my eyes for a moment and suddenly a squirt of water hits my nose. My eyes pop back open and I'm staring at Flipper. Another squirt of water hits me right in the eye.

"Hey!" I exclaim in mock indignation. Walter Skinner rumbles laughter from deep in his chest, giving the rubber bath toy one more squeeze.

"I'm sorry you ever bought that thing. I really am," I huff a little. He laughs a little more and runs the toy under water.

Flipper the dolphin. You know...from that 60s TV show? Yeah. Walter bought me a squeezable Flipper to use in the tub. It was kind of an inside joke actually - at my expense in a way.

See...the first few time we were together....ok...remember the Flipper theme song? Remember the line "We call him Flipper, Flipper...faster than lightning?" Well...I had something of a hair trigger the first few times we made love after that night in the sauna. I'd just get so torqued up, I'd blow before I knew what hit me I guess. It was fucking embarrassing to revert back to your teens and not be able to delay that kind of response. But we worked on it. Nothing like a firm hand - your partner's - in the right place, at the right time, to stop the gun from going off. At any rate, we were watching a Flipper rerun one night after taking one of these baths together and well...you get the picture. Yeah, I was dubbed faster than lightning. I guess I can be thankful I wasn't saddled with Flipper as a new nick.

No, Walter had some mercy there. Also, the toy was purchased after I'd gotten better control of myself. So Flipper was almost a trophy for not discharging my bolt, so to speak. At any rate, we laughed about it a lot and hey - both of us play with the toy in the tub once in a while. Right now I want to wrestle it away from him. I make a quick grab for where he's dunking it in front of his crotch. I know he's getting ready to give me another watery salvo in the face. I try to snatch the toy out of his grasp and instead I end up grabbing his cock.

He really starts to laugh then.

"Wrong porpoise, Mulder. You want this one!" he snorts, brandishing Flipper and squirting back over his shoulder with expert aim. Bulls eye...hit me with your best shot.

But I've got him now, I think. In more ways than one. I cup his balls, squeezing them with some firmness. He stops the Flipper deluge instantly.

"Are you sure I've got the wrong porpoise?" I ask smirking into his ear.

"On second thought..." he lets his voice trail off as I start to gently massage his nuts in their sac.

"No," he gasps when my hand circles his cock.

"Uh huh," I smile against his neck and then I kiss him low, below the collar line, sucking his skin hard.

"Jesussss," he hisses, arching back against me, "oh man," he whispers as I start to stroke his cock with a rhythm I now know he'll like.

"I...Mulder I don't know...I'm tired, man..." he murmurs as I pump him.

"Shhhh....this'll feel good even if you don't get it up, Walter," I whisper in his ear, "Just relax and enjoy it," I add, gently licking where I've left a small mark on his skin.

It took me a long time to get used to calling him Walter. Never Walt. That was the agreement. He never calls me Fox and I don't call him Walt or worse yet - Wally. I make allowances for Fox during the heat of passion. But if I ever call him Wally I know I'll lose my balls.

He nods slightly as I continue to stroke and massage his genitals alternating between his cock and his scrotum. My left hand plays over his chest, tweaking his nipples. Ah, yes. The AD is discovering that his nipples can be very erogenous. He shivers, and I kiss his neck.

"Good?" I ask him again, pulling my lips back away from the pulsing artery under his skin.

"Yeah. Great," he nods again, shifting a little. He presses into both my hands and grunts again with arousal.

Oh yeah, it's good. He's starting to get hard. The guy really is a stallion whether he's tired or not...well...most of the time. Oh sure, he has the odd moment when the old sergeant doesn't want to salute. I mean, don't we all? But for the most part this old soldier is ready, willing, and able even if his mind has doubts. I mean the body's willing. It's willing tonight for sure.

"Too tired, my ass," I chuckle, and then so does he.

"Your ass is right....Oh God," he moans as I run my thumb over his glans. I toy with the slit at the tip, getting my finger slick with a mixture of his pre-cum and the warm bath water. I work the pad of my thumb into the slit and then around it. Walter gasps.

"You like?"

"Jesus, yes. Always. You....it's just so good. But...can you...I mean...Christ..."

"Fast or slow?" I ask him. I know sometimes he just wants the release. No foreplay just a quick jerk off session so he can come, and then fall asleep. It's a natural sedative for him, and after this kind of week, I figured that's the way this would go. I don't begrudge him that at all. He's more than attentive to my needs. So, if I can do this for him and know he'll sleep better tonight it's fine by me. I think this is what true sexual sharing is about anyway. The give and take between two people. Giving the other what's needed at any given moment.

"I'm sorry I just...I need..."

"Never be sorry to ask for what you need, Walter. I want to give you this, ok. It's part of my pleasure too."

I start to rub over his cock's crown and glans with my thumb and forefinger. I know this is going to make him go off quick.

"K. God...yeah, fast. Please..." he gasps.

I reach forward with both hands. I circle his entire cock with my right and start to crank him fast and hard. I use the fingers of my other hand to rub underneath the head, stroking the frenulum. It doesn't take long.

His back arches up like a long bow. Walter roars in guttural pleasure.

"FUCK!" he shouts. His body grows rigid, taunt. I can't see his face, but I don't need to see it to know he's hit the O-zone. I can see and feel his whole body shaking. His toes are curling up. God I love it when he comes. It's as much fun as when I do.

Semen geysers up, arcing to splatter his knees. We haven't had sex for a week so obviously Mr. Skinner hasn't had any meetings with Mr. Hand. I'm kind of honored really. He'd be honored too. I've been abstaining as well as a matter of fact. So, right now, the wood I'm sporting is going to need some attention...and soon.

Walter collapses back against me. I hold him close while he rejoins the land of the living.

"Fuck," he gasps again, "it's lucky my heart's in good shape."

I laugh and push up a little so he'll move off me.

"Sorry, cramp in my leg," I wince. It's true. I think I was tensing from the excitement of sharing his orgasm as much as he was straining during it.

"Oh shit, can I..." he asks, looking back over his shoulder and touching my thigh.

"No, its' ok. I just need to stand up," I smile at him. He scoots forward and I do stand up and step out of the tub. His eyes zero in on my crotch. Well of course I'm erect. I mean...what else? I grin at him.

"Christ I must have been fuck blind if I didn't feel that thing on my backside," he comments, his laugh rumbling out of his chest again.

He stands up himself, water cascading down his body. He lifts one muscular leg up over the edge of the tub as well. He's out in one quick motion, and then he sits down on the tub's edge abruptly. He's still breathing a little hard. He stares down at his feet for a moment, regaining his lungs. I smirk. He's obviously weak in the knees. Yes sir, the AD's been well fucked. Now I feel pretty damn good. I did my job well. I'll just give myself a little 'atta boy, Mulder for that one.

"Well your mind was definitely elsewhere," I reply, reaching for one of the fluffy white towels that hang on the rack nearby.

Walter's head comes up and he stares at me. I move the towel to dry my hair and head. I let it trail down my body, wiping slowly as I go. I wipe down my legs and then bring the towel back up and between my thighs to run it gently over my straining erection. It's a risk to play with myself this way. I still want to hold back, but I think it's worth the risk. I'm watching Walter's face as I slide the towel back and forth.

He looks at me with unbridled lust and something I'm still not totally comfortable with seeing there - love - in his eyes. Ok. I'm not used to that emotion being given so freely in this direction. But...I'm getting to like it...I know that for a fact.

I watch his eyes smolder with desire as I lift up my cock and balls from underneath, and cradle them in the soft white cotton.

"Bring it over here," he growls from his seat on the tub.

I drop the towel at my feet and step over it. I walk the three short steps it takes to stand in front of him. My cock's pointing at his nose.

"Beautiful," he murmurs, reaching to stroke my balls.

"Suck me," I half gasp, and half groan. I'm leaking pre-cum. Some drips onto the tiled floor.

His reply is to steady my cock in his fist and then carefully work his mouth over the head. I watch as his mouth opens wider and he swallows me whole right down to my nuts. I can feel his tongue sliding along the underside as he pulls back again. He starts sucking...and I'm gone.

"Jesus," I moan, tilting my head back. I hold onto his shoulders as his head bobs up and down on my flesh. He's good at this now. We haven't been at it long, but Walter's mastering oral sex at a much faster rate than I am, I think. Figures. That's why he's the AD and they pay him the big bucks. Oh Christ. Who gives a flying fuck. Mother of God, he's just good and...oh shit.

He pulls his mouth off me for a minute just to catch his breath and let me catch mine too. I'm really huffing. He smiles up at me, my pre-cum smearing his lips. He wipes it off with his left hand and takes my cock in his right again. He kisses the tip, and then down I go right to the back of his throat. I rock my hips into his face. I'm careful not too do it too forcefully because I'm still unsure of how much thrusting might make him gag or hurt him. This seems fine because he's doing most of the work anyway. Like I said - one talented mouth. So, we've established a good rhythm. I feel my orgasm building in my groin and at the base of my spine. I shut my eyes and give myself over completely to the sensation.

Walter's left hand grabs my ass, kneading one butt cheek in time with his mouth work. Eventually I feel him reaching a pre-cum damp finger between, probing my anus. We haven't gone there yet in point of fact. No, we're working up to it but this is still virgin territory. I gasp slightly as he slips his finger inside and then out again. The next thrust is harder and then he's gliding his finger in and out in time with my rocking hips and his bobbing head. The stimulation is out of this world. I let out a whine of pleasure when he manages to locate my prostate and flicks it carefully for the first time.

At the end, he brings his mouth down to just the tip and he's flicking his tongue underneath the head too, imitating that move on the frenulum I used on him earlier. My thigh muscles start to vibrate. He works me back down to the base one more time. His mouth slides half way up for the return trip, and I'm coming, yelling at the top of my lungs. I know I grip his shoulders hard enough to bruise, but I'm beyond conscious thought. I also forget any semblance of gentleness as my hips go on autopilot. I fuck Walter's face in total abandon. But he takes it all, and he takes all of me too, swallowing each spurt of cum that I shoot down his throat.

My thrusting hips finally slow, and I feel Walter release my rapidly wilting dick. I fall forward a little and he catches me around the hips, pressing his head against my stomach.

"God. I...hold...hold on, Walter," I murmur, stroking his head. I want to say hold me...but...well...you know how it is between guys on occasion. Even in the throes of passion we...uh...ah skip it.

"I've got you. I've got you, Fox," he whispers, kissing my navel. I hold his head tenderly against my sweating skin.

A short time later...

We manage to crawl into bed. Yeah, we're more than ready to hit the hay. I can't stop yawning and Walter's eyelids are at half mast. We're curled up under the covers and spooned together just the way we like it. Walter's lying at my back. It's a habit of his. I like this habit - like the feeling of being shielded a whole hell of a lot. It's not something I've had very much in my life. A shield at my back. It's a hell of a thing to have that kind of protection after all these years.

Walter nuzzles my neck. He moves his lips up even with my ear, and whispers into it.

"I love you," he murmurs, and my breath catches in my throat.

This is the first time he's verbalized it. I mean sure, I've seen it in his eyes countless times over the last few months. Observed it in his gestures, his voice, his actions. But...he's never once uttered the words. I'm a little stunned for a moment. Then...my heart leaps with joy.

My body glows with the warmth filling my soul. I snuggle back against my lover, and pull his arm over my hip and down onto my stomach so he can draw me even more close.

"I love you too," I find myself saying before I even realize I would. I say it and I know it's true. I do love him. I want him by my side, and at my back forever...for as long as forever ends up being.

As I snuggle against his strong chest, I feel the second shock of the evening. Tears. I can feel the wetness of a few tears on the back of my neck as he kisses me there again.

I squeeze his arm and settle against him. I won't acknowledge his crying. It wouldn't be the AD's way to want to discuss something like crying with joy. I feel him rub his face in my hair to divest himself of the emotional evidence. I also feel the tears trickle down my cheek. They're leaking from the eye that rests against the pillow. I rub my face carefully to obliterate those tears too.

"Walter," I mumble, in an attempt to distract him. Distract us both.

"Yeah, Mulder?"

"You think we can get together next weekend. I...I mean my schedule's clear at this point."

"I'd like that, yes," he replies yawning sleepily, "but I have some meetings late on Friday and then I've got my regular date at the gym..."

"Oh yeah?" I interrupt.

"Right. Boxing. Down at the South Street Gym. But after I'm done I can call you, and we'll get together."

I smile to myself. That's my Skinner. Anything to stay in shape. Even if it means sparring with some guy half his age who's trying to clean his clock. Well, he's good with his fists. Very good actually. I'm sure he'll hold his own. And he really does like working out down there. Besides - I enjoy running my hands and my mouth over the fruits of his labor. Yup. I really get off on running my tongue all over his hard body. So, why would I object to his belting some guy in the chops to stay in shape. Nope. No complaints here.

"Sounds like a plan," I yawn.

He barks a gruff chuckle.

"G'night...lover," he mumbles shyly.

"Night, slugger. Sweet dreams."

-THE END-