One Dark and Stormy Night by Goblin McGee
Title: One Dark and Stormy Night
Author: Goblin McGee
Disclaimer: They belong to CC, I'm just taking them out for a joy ride.
Category: Humour. Written for category 2 (weather story) of the Slashing Mulder anniversary contest.
Summary: Skinner wakes to find it's raining cats and dogs and Foxes.
Archive: Ditb, Slashing Mulder, others too probably if you ask
One Dark and Stormy Night
Inside the room the sound of deep, steady snoring competed for volume with the rolling of thunder and the fierce pounding of rain against the window. A slight rattling followed by a creaking complaint of door hinges was lost amidst the battle of noise.
A tall, lean figure entered, locking the door behind him. He approached the bed to gaze down at the sleeper.
Rhythmic rumbles continued to emerge from the depths of the sleeper's strong chest. He laid a hand on the shoulder area of the blanketed form of the slumbering giant and shook him.
"*Ahem*, *ahem*. Sir?"
The snoring broke off with a snort.
"What the...?" Dimly making out the outline of an unknown person bending over him in the darkness, Skinner fumbled for his gun.
"It's all right, sir. It's just me."
A flash of lightning illuminated the room for an instant, confirming the evidence of Walter's ears. Fox Mulder was standing over him.
// Mulder. I should have guessed. Damn it, haven't you been disturbing my sleep enough? //
The big man reached over to pick up his glasses and turn on the bedside light. The lamp threw a soft glow over the interior of the room. It possessed the characteristics common to such mid-range hotels: cleanliness, spare serviceability and a tasteful pastel decor. The enormous king-sized bed that dominated the room was its one extravagance. It had obviously been commanded to accommodate the great bulk of its occupant.
Skinner rubbed his bleary eyes, trying to get his mind in enough order to deal with disaster and mayhem. Personal fantasies aside, only an issue of grave importance could bring the agent to his room at this late hour of the night. And in any serious issue involving Mulder you could pretty much depend on encountering Byzantine plots, mind-bending revelations and life or death struggles with homicidal space aliens and bureau accountants. When he felt sufficiently awake, he donned his glasses and looked up to confront his subordinate. Then he spent a few moments trying to persuade his brain to work again.
The lamplight brought out the burnished gold in Mulder's hazel eyes and the russet tints in his thick mop of chestnut hair. He was clad only in faded jeans, his slim torso exposed and feet bare. The gentle play of light and shadow softened his features, making him appear ridiculously young.
// Think angry accusations. OPR hearings. Disgrace. Suck it up, Marine. //
The AD cleared his throat and inquired gruffly, "What is it, Mulder?"
"I thought I should check on you."
"You know, see if you were all right. It's one hell of a storm out there."
Another bolt of lightning splayed itself across the angry, heaving black clouds outside as though to underscore the truth of Mulder's words.
Skinner stared at the agent, trying to fathom what he was saying.
"Yes, it is," the big man responded slowly. "But I don't understand what lead you to suspect I might be in danger."
"It was the inevitable conclusion to draw from the facts, sir. Intense storms strike a chord of primal fear in the human heart. A fear that could well be said to form part of what Jung would call the collective unconscious, the well of shared instinctual knowledge accumulated through our psychic evolution that provides us all with a common symbolic language which guides how we process stimuli. It is a powerful emotional response that has found expression throughout the ages. Elements of the storm have been featured in numerous conceptions of the earthly manifestations of the wrath of particularly fearsome gods, such as Thor hurling his hammer to produce thunder and Zeus casting bolts of lightning on his enemies. A similar connection can be observed between the prophetic wailing of the Irish Bean Sidhe and Scottish Bean Nighe that heralds a coming death and the mournful cry of the high wind. Anti-storm sentiments are also found in nursery rhymes, the Western folk culture underpinning of early socialization, as seen in the popular 'Rain, Rain, go away'. It's notable that the words of 'It's raining, it's pouring' associate storm weather with the occurrence of grievous bodily injury. Coincidence? Unlikely."
Walter massaged his forehead in bemusement. "Agent, how did you get in here?"
"I picked the lock - it was a matter of urgency."
"To see if I was scared of the rain?"
"Instinct can be suppressed but not erased, sir. Your mental well-being was in jeopardy. After all you've done for us over the years, I could hardly abandon you to a night of psychological torture." Mulder sat down on the edge of the bed. The younger man was radiant with sincerity, wide eyes earnest and full of concern. "I thought I could help you relax and rest easy."
He had to get Mulder out of there. Sharing bed space with his half-naked, entirely crazed subordinate would hardly be conducive to a restful night. It had been hard enough as it was trying to get through this week-long conference with the dangerously attractive agent rooming right across the hall. The number of cold showers he had taken since arriving was completely ludicrous given the miserable weather they'd been having. Fox Mulder's bright hazel eyes and taut, round ass were going to drive him to an early death from pneumonia.
// Well, you knew it wouldn't be easy. //
Their presence at the Bureau's annual Exploring Skills in Leadership and Management Conference was part of his private campaign to convince Mulder to adopt some sensible, regulation practices in conducting his investigations. There had to be some way to end Mulder's habit of merrily charging off into the jaws of death without a spare thought for safe procedure or for any concerned parties who might be left pacing the floors, downing scotch and worrying through long, lonely nights.
Although it was officially an optional attendance event, as an AD Walter was expected to make an appearance at least every second year. Mulder, the head of a department comprised of two people, barely met the qualifications for admission. The younger man had never come before and wouldn't have this time either were it not for being given a choice between this or a month transcribing surveillance tapes after a little matter of ditching his partner and losing his bureau vehicle, cell phone, weapon and quite nearly his life in a Louisiana bayou while on the trail of a 'frog man' of local legend. The frog man, if indeed there was such a creature, remained at large.
Walter had Kim book them both rooms for the conference and kept a close watch on Mulder after getting his reluctant agreement to attend. He'd learned his lesson from the escape the agent had managed to pull off on the way to the partnership seminar he had tried to send him to.
All had gone according to plan, with the slight hiccup of a room change. Knowing the AD was readying to cut short desertion attempts, Kim had reserved them connected rooms. On examination the lock on the connecting door had proven to be broken. That situation would have been too much for even Walter's famous self-control. He had arranged for Mulder to switch with Agent Mearson across the hall, on the excuse that his snoring might worsen Mulder's known insomnia. Rooming next to dour Milo Mearson, known as 'Mole' Mearson to his staff in the Financial Department for his remarkable resemblance to the little animal, was very safe. Or at least it had been until Mulder stationed himself on the AD's bed looking like Mr. October.
"I think it would be best if - "
"I'm sure I don't have to remind *you* that refusing support and knowledgeable advice is hardly in the spirit of the conference."
"How would you know?" the older man scowled.
Walter had been prompted to launch an investigation of his own when he noticed that the only time he actually saw the agent once they were dropped off at the conference together each day by taxi was during the luncheons serving free food. He had been displeased to discover that Mulder had been using his formidable charm to persuade other attendees into playing truant with him to shoot hoops at the YMCA around the corner from the conference center.
"I can be very intuitive." Perfectly formed lips curved into a smile.
"Yes, well, perhaps in the morning - "
"You know, I have to thank you for taking me to that lecture today," Mulder interrupted, serious once more. "At first I didn't want to go, but I ended up learning a lot. It was really...inspiring."
"The lecture?" Walter had personally escorted the younger man to the "Effective Inter-Office Communication: Maintaining Open Pathways" presentation. He couldn't remember much of the talk. His attention had centered squarely upon the spot where Mulder's silk trousered knee came to rest against his leg as they sat beside each other.
"Yeah, it got my thinking that maybe I've spent so long concentrating on the big picture of global conspiracy that I've been neglecting to take notice of the people around me except as instruments or impediments to large-scale goals - a question of not seeing the trees for the forest, you could say. I believe our speaker, Dr. Bronstein, described it as 'reducing people to functional objects'. That part about understanding your workmates, their wants and needs, made sense to a profiler like myself. So I started applying it.
It occurred to me that you're an ex-military man, used to maintaining an image of invulnerability demanded by your position of power and authority in the FBI. I understood then that it might be difficult for you to admit to having weaknesses or desires, especially to another man.
Then I remembered what the guy said about how difficult and frustrating work like ours calls for colleagues to come together to create a fulfilling environment for themselves. And that other part about taking initiative in your social relations. Reaching out to meet the needs of the people around you. Considering that advice, I thought it best to take action."
Walter was becoming alarmed at the unwholesome images his agent's innocent words were provoking. "Clearly your concern was misplaced. I was asleep. I'd say I was safe from mental trauma from a storm I didn't even know was going on."
"I couldn't be sure of that. Even during sleep the ears still take in sounds and the brain processes them. Who knew what unseen suffering your psyche might be enduring?"
"I was fine," he asserted firmly, planning on how best to get this unstable, absurdly sexy temptation out of his room.
"That's the tragedy of it. Against all my intentions I've put you at further risk, since now you're aware of the storm," Mulder shook his head in mournful regret. "You'll have to let me remedy the situation."
The younger man stood up and undid his fly. He stripped off his jeans, carelessly revealing black silk boxers and a pair of long, well-toned legs.
"Whatever you're planning to do is completely unnecessary, Agent," the AD spluttered, trying to quell feelings of desperate panic and arousal.
"Oh, I'm afraid it is necessary, actually. The only effective means of counter acting a primal fear is with a primal comfort -in this case, physical contact." The pale, lithe form slipped into the bed beside his boss. Skinner shot to the edge of the mattress. "I can't offer you the comfort of my body if you're all the way over there, sir."
Mulder pulled on his arm to draw him back to the center. Walter wasn't strong enough to resist. He put a hand on the AD's chest and gently pushed him down on his back. The hand rested there over the big man's heart. Taking one of Walter's large hands he laid it over his own.
"Can't you feel the pulse of our cavemen ancestors? Huddled together in caves, watching the outside world turn upside down outside and taking refuge in the security each other's warmth."
Walter snatched his hand away and tried calm his breathing.
"I'm not a caveman."
"Nope, just hairy like one," Mulder commented, casually combing his long fingers through the dense mat of hair on Walter's chest. The touch sent a bolt of pure lust to the AD's groin. He quickly raised his knees, feet flat on the bed, to try to hide his growing erection, cursing himself for not putting his shorts back on after jerking off earlier.
"There is absolutely no need for this."
"You can't deny that I'm better qualified to assess this variety of threat."
"The ridiculous kind you mean?"
"Mental health matters."
"Believe me, I don't doubt your experience *there*, but I'm prepared to take the risk on this one."
Mulder frowned in disapproval. "I'm disappointed you could even suggest such a thing after all those lectures you've given me about observing proper safety measures. What kind of a payback would it be if I allowed you to carry on with that kind of attitude?"
"Is that what this is about?" Walter asked, his face darkening. "Some kind of payback for dragging you to conference?"
The agent gave him wounded puppy dog eyes. "What do you mean? I'm here to help a friend."
"Thank you for your concern, but I'm certain I'm up to the task of coping with a little bad weather." Actually, he was up for a few other tasks as well.
"Storms invoke a sense of chaos. That can be a real problem if you're someone who likes to feel in control. It's OK to let it go. There's nothing to worry about, you know."
He felt the soft caress of smooth skin and silk as it moved against his own flesh. The agent snuggled up to him and wrapped his arms around Walter's muscular torso.
"What are you doing now, for God's sake?"
"Physical comfort works best if you maximize the shared surface area."
Walter tried to think of anything but the sensation of having a nude Mulder holding him. A nude Mulder. Where had the boxers gone?? He automatically felt down to confirm and found himself grasping a bare, sweetly curving globe of flesh. His hand drew back as though scalded.
"Now you're getting the idea," Mulder commented with approval.
It was one thing to expect a man to restrain from throwing Mulder down on the floor to pump him full of cock when he was parading around in well cut Armani and pouting with reckless disregard to the blood pressure of others. It was something else entirely to expect him to maintain that restraint with the agent buck naked and pressed against his side. This was inhuman. He longed for the solid barrier of his stately oak desk, piled high with official files and documents to serve as useful reminders of duty. He longed for stern photographs of Janet Reno to adorn the walls. He longed for Mulder to climb right on top of him and slide that tight, pert ass down to the root of his aching dick.
He brutally severed that chain of thought.
"The only problem is that once you're asleep you might not be able to tell I'm here. A little movement should help prevent that." Clever fingers pet his head soothingly, then lowered to run themselves down his arms and up over his chest. "Now you can get some rest, sir."
Walter knew he'd have to put an end to this...soon. Didn't he deserve some sort of reward for the kind of sacrifice he would be making, though? Just a few short minutes to gather material for a lifetime of dreams. As he soaked up the attention, all the big man's cares began to float away on a cloud of bliss.
"Isn't that better?" Roving fingers lingered at Walter's nipples. The AD gave an incoherent groan of pleasure. "All set for a comfortable night, not thinking about the storm at all. Close proximity and movement are definitely key. It seems to me that we aren't making the wisest use of our resources, though. Can't have that - what would Dr. Bronstein say? Hmm...if you lowered your legs to stretch out flat we could examine the effect of producing full body friction. Yes, that's probably our most strategic option."
Walter's eyes popped open and he attempted to push Mulder away from him. The delectable agent clung on like a cuddly, extremely tenacious koala.
// Stop this right now while it's still possible. Remember your responsibilities. Besides, he doesn't know what he's doing. He can't. It's some kind of swamp madness, or the Consortium drugging his water again. // Anything was more credible than Mulder, who seemed perpetually blind and indifferent to the hungry stares that followed him everywhere, had conceived a mad passion for his older, bald, paper-pushing boss.
"You're going to have to leave immediately. This is inappropriate."
"Just give it a chance. It'll serve a dual purpose, too, because it is awfully cold tonight, isn't it?"
Cold? What was cold? It was feeling very warm to Walter.
"Are my lips turning blue?" Mulder pulled himself up onto Walter's chest to be face to face with the other man.
"Erm, no." Actually they were a very enticing shade of dusky rose. Full, and slightly parted, as if inviting entry.
"That's funny, since I'm feeling such a chill. You can't guard too closely against frostbite, sir. Maybe if you..."
Walters heart thumped wildly in his chest as that lovely, lush mouth closed in on his.
A sudden rapping at the adjoining door intruded on the sanctity of the moment and the fulfillment of the promise of those lips.
"AD Skinner?" a nasal voice inquired. The door began to open.
Mulder immediately ducked under the blanket. The AD tented it between his knees to try to make Mulder's presence less noticeable. Too late he realized what that would reveal the man under the covers. There went his last chance at convincing the agent of his indifference. Hopefully it was too dark down there for Mulder to see anything. And hopefully he'd avoid getting his eyes poked out.
Agent Mearson's squinting, bespectacled person came into view holding a white vending machine cup. His ordinarily lank fall of gray hair had been slicked down with so much gel that the individual comb marks were visible.
"Yes?" He drew himself up a bit, and tried to appear his normal, confident self. Like someone who was not occupied in profound contemplation of the amazing feel unruly paranormal specialists could have lying curled up between your legs.
"Agent Mulder appears to be missing from his room. Considering the weather, I thought we should begin a search. He may have went out on one of his dangerous little *excursions*." His tone was heavy with disapproval. "I tried ringing his cell phone and it was clearly still inside the room, so he may be unable to make contact."
"What did you need Agent Mulder for?" Walter asked, stalling for time as he scrambled to think of a way out of this. He was surprised to see a blush stain the Mole's pallid cheeks.
His own were probably reddening too. Mulder was squirming about a bit under the covers.
"I was concerned about the boy all alone in this storm. You know, after the talk today. Um, addressing the human being in your co-workers with the humanness in yourself and that. I remembered you mentioning that Fox has sleeping problems and it's obvious he has an emotional, passionate nature." Skinner didn't like the way the spindly man's thin lips lingered over the word 'passionate'. And where did that weasel get off calling him Fox? "I thought he might be in need of some warm cocoa and reassurance in this gale."
Walter was glowering, about to leave the presumptuous pipsqueak shaking in his boots, when he was distracted by a puff of warm breath against his inner thigh. // Christ, why couldn't he have stayed still? // He tried to casually sneak his hands down to conceal his titanic erection and keep it from bursting into Mulder's face.
Success! Walter's hands were under the blanket and he almost...almost choked on his own tongue when another pair of hands got there before his. Nimble fingers caressed his hard cock. One of the phantom hands dipped down to cradle and roll his balls.
The AD closed his eyes and let out a low moan.
"Sir? Are you all right?"
// Repeat: I am a responsible professional in the Federal Bureau of Investigation. Ignore the man behind the curtain. //
"Yes, yes of course," his voice came out several octaves above normal. A delicate, damp probe had joined the wandering fingers. It swept the underside of his dick and dallied on the crown, swirling about and gently prodding the slit. // Oh, Jesus. // He coughed frantically to cover his shock, and attempted to collect his scattered neurons. "Your concern is entirely unwarranted, Agent. Mulder is a grown man and an excellent, ahh, incredibly talented agent."
Mearson looked disgruntled and a bit embarrassed. "Yes sir, of course. The fact remains that he is missing, though."
// Oh, God. Stop, I'm going to die. Stop. //
As if in response to his unspoken plea, the tongue left off its attentions, abandoning his anxious, weeping cock. Walter had an instant to register mixed relief and regret, before his throbbing member was drawn into hot velvet wetness. A soft suction began, and slowly built in strength. He discovered that his hands had tangled themselves in the agent's silky hair.
"He, ah, he told me earlier this evening that he would be swallowing, uhh, swallowing a sleeping pill because of the storm predicted. I'm sure he's just in too d-deep to c-come, oh oh come to the door."
"Oh well, I suppose that explains it then." The AD was clearly having a hard time focusing on the conversation. Mearson guessed that Mulder wasn't the only one who had resorted to medication tonight.
"Sorry for disturbing you, sir." The bony man peered down at the steaming cocoa forlornly through his thick glasses and sighed before turning around and heading back into his room reflecting that Decker from Records looked a sensitive soul who could probably do with some support on a night like this.
When the door closed shut Mulder's head popped out. He was flushed and adorably rumpled. Walter gaze followed the flicks of his pink tongue as it licked his swollen lips clean with lusty relish.
"That was a risky situation you had us in," Walter whispered, keeping his voice low to keep the man in the other room from overhearing.
"What was the risk? Mearson asking to be next?" the agent laughed quietly, his eyes sparkling with mischief.
"You are so reckless." Walter ran a finger down his cheek.
"Sometimes it's worth being reckless." Seeing Walter's dark, contemplative stare, Mulder sobered and assured him, "It's OK. No obligations. I'll go back to my room if you want me to. You know, to let you think things over or whatever." The younger man was suddenly *truly* naked for the first time that night, pure vulnerability unsuccessfully trying to hide behind a mask of flippancy. "I'll be fine. If I get lonely I can always go claim that cocoa."
Walter looked down at that sweet face braced for rejection and considered the value of his career and the wisdom of making rushed decisions. He arrived at the only sensible conclusion.
He pulled his agent up for a deep kiss, tasting his own essence. "Stay. You don't need his cocoa. I'll give you everything you need."
Mulder's face lit up beautifully. "In that case, forget the cocoa." He slid his hands over Walter's scalp and delved his tongue back into his mouth.
When they finally broke apart the older man asked, "Do you know what this means?"
"Um, the start of something beautiful?"
"Hopefully. But first it'll have to mean that you are going to the 'Delegation Is Not Saying Die' talk with me tomorrow and letting Scully in on it before you race off to chase suspects named Moonshine Pete through the swamp in Italian loafers."
"Isn't it unethical of you to use our personal relationship to coerce me into making job related promises?"
"Yes. Now what's your decision?"
"Damn, you're so sexy when you commit extortion. All right, I'll do my best. Now let's get back to the hot sex quick so I remember why I'm making all these hasty vows."
"We'll have to stay very quiet or Mearson will hear us."
"We better move to my room then." Mulder climbed off the bed and pulled on his jeans, giving Walter a beautiful view of his creamy, succulent butt. Then he returned and laid a proprietary hand on the AD's cock. "I'm only quiet when my mouth is full, and I have other plans for this. Luckily, I had the foresight to purchase some essential storm provisions, so we'll be ready for anything."
"If Bronstein only knew the havoc he accidentally unleashed," the AD chuckled.
"Oh, I don't think he would mind - he had his hand on my ass during half of the Fostering Good Will wine and cheese," Mulder smirked.
"What?" Walter growled.
"Go easy on the guy - he's a pioneer ushering in a grand new era in law enforcement."
"Uh huh. Mulder, just how many pathways are you planning to keep open?"
"Hmm...my target objective is two. Mine's definitely going to be as well traveled as you can manage, and I'd like to open yours too if I get the chance. Has my oral demonstration convinced you on the proposal, or will we be requiring visual aids?"
The AD ran his hands over Mulder's lean body, bringing them down to cup his butt cheeks. "Visuals would be highly appreciated, Agent, but on the basis of an initial examination of the subject I'd say that's a very attainable objective."
"Mmm...good thing I packed that pie chart in my suitcase." Mulder drew back. "Now that we've established our mutual needs, let's go start constructing a fulfilling environment. Since we'll be going by the machine anyway, how about you pick me up one of those cocoas after all? You still look a little tense to me, and I know several applications of warm chocolate that are guaranteed to put a person into a state of complete relaxation...eventually."
Skinner's swallowed heavily. "In that case, I'll buy you two."
As they went to leave, the window shook loudly from the force of the furious wind and driving rain. Walter pulled his gaze away from his lover long enough to spared it a glance.
"Jesus, is it ever coming down out there."
Mulder beamed a seraphic smile. "Yeah, isn't it great? Nothing like a storm to clear the air."
Archived: April 21, 2001