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Itchy Fingers

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Skinner walked into his bedroom and stopped, staring at his lover.

"Oh, darling, you know you shouldn't walk in unannounced. You'll catch a girl with her hair down and never respect her again." Mulder pouted a bit to emphasize the simpering tone of voice, then reached back up to the center of his chest, hands hovering over the clasp.

"Don't," rasped Skinner, raising one hand out as if to stop him.

"Walter?" He tilted his head, blinked a few times. It occurred to him to wonder why his lover was home early from the Bureau. He had indulged himself in one of his few remaining secret vices because he'd been fairly certain his lover would not be there to greet him when he returned from an astonishingly easy X File in Texas.

"Turn around." Skinner was half hard already. It was spring, and all of the women in the Hoover building seemed to have abandoned turtle necks and sweaters for the lightest of blouses. They were translucent, and he had seen bra straps from the moment he walked into his office and Kim ran over his agenda with him until he walked into the parking garage with Agent Clara Morton, who was also sneaking out early for the day.

His hands had ached for the satisfying snap! from his elementary school days. Today's headaches had had nothing to do with Mulder's impossible expense reports, and everything to do with the fact that indulging his desires would have landed the FBI in a big sexual harassment suit. But Mulder now presented the perfect opportunity to give into this odd and juvenile fantasy.

"Walter?" Mulder repeated, complying with his lover's demand.

"Hush, little girl," was the softly crooned response. He closed the distance between them and ran a hand over his lover's bare right arm. It was long, thin but muscled, and had just enough hair for texture. The other hand ran over the small of Mulder's back, just avoiding the tantalizing expanse of white lace, an enticing, forbidden inch which ran across the golden expanse of Mulder's back.

"Sir?" he asked, still unsure of what was happening. His breath had quickened, and his voice was breathier and higher pitched than he had intended. He was cuffed on the head, gently, but the suddenness of the blow sent him stumbling leftward.

"I told you to be quiet, little girl." Skinner's voice was husky now. Too gentle and distracted to be called a growl, but not too far off. He righted Mulder and pressed his front to his lover's back; he could feel the heat of it through his white dress shirt. He ran a hand over the wonderfully flat stomach, and followed the soft trail of hair down to the waistband of a pair of chocolate brown suit pants. He sank down on his knees, and unbuttoned the pants. He fumbled a little, unable to see what he was doing.

The soft caresses across the cock made Mulder wriggle a little. He drew in a breath, then flushed red as his underwear was revealed. A pair of cotton, white lady's panties strained over his erection. His lover remained unmoving for several minutes. He could feel the warm breath just over the elastic, hear the slow, unhurried movement of air through his lover's lungs. His erection subsided.

Suddenly Skinner stood up. He reached one, then two fingers underneath the clean white strap. He pulled on it, then suddenly released.

"Ow, damn it! You snapped my bra!"

"I know." Skinner smiled a wolfish grin that Mulder couldn't see, turned around, and left the room.