Walter Skinner looked up from his paper briefly as Fox Mulder slouched his way into the kitchen, wearing Walter’s housecoat belted loosely around his waist.  Something that had began its salutation career as ‘good morning’ became a grunt as it passed through Mulder’s throat and out of his mouth, but Skinner knew not to take it personally—Mulder just wasn’t a morning person.

So he just returned the non-verbal greeting and tucked his head back behind the sports section, knowing that he’d only raise his blood pressure if he actually watched Mulder drink his orange juice right from the carton. Sometimes it was just best not to know.

After returning the mostly empty carton to the fridge, Mulder made his way to the coffee maker, still mostly asleep. He found his favorite mug—the one with the FBI homosexual threat statement on it—sitting next to the coffee pot. He gave Skinner a look that was mostly grateful but a little annoyed, too, filled his cup and wandered over to the table. He sat down across from Skinner and was handed the Lifestyles section of the paper without comment.

Another suspicious glance, ignored, was followed by a muttered “Thanks.”

Mulder laid the paper out on the table, sipped his coffee and burned his mouth.

Skinner set down his portion of the printed news, took his empty cup to the sink and turned a toothy ‘I love mornings!’ smile on his lover.  Mulder refused to acknowledge what his peripheral vision was noting, even though he could feel his own lips wanting to curl up in response.

Skinner crossed the room in three long strides, dropped a kiss on to the top of Mulder’s head, and then ruffled his hair. Without meaning too, Skinner let his fingers slide over the top of Mulder’s skull until he passed over the small scar at his temple.

Mulder squirmed under his hand. “Don’t fuss,” he said.

Skinner let his hand drop down to a terry cloth padded shoulder, squeezed a moment and replied, “You like it when I fuss.”

Mulder started to say that Skinner didn’t always know what he liked, then catalogued the last ten minutes of robe, mug, paper, and petting, and changed his mind.

“Maybe…” he admitted. “…some.”

Skinner finger combed Mulder’s thick hair again, and this time the younger man acquiesced with a sigh.

“I guess I know more about you than you thought,” Skinner said, releasing Mulder, not surprised at the other man’s disappointed frown.  He backed away, and then turned to the cupboards in search of his travel mug.

“If you’re looking for your keys, Walter, they’re in your coat pocket,” Mulder offered. He tested his coffee again; found it cool enough to drink, but a little bitter. Had a stray thought about sweetening it, and then decided it would be too much effort.

“Not even close, Mulder.” He held up his stainless steel cup. “Mug; more coffee.” He poured coffee, added sugar, and then tossed a smile to his lover to show he was only teasing. “Oh, and my keys are on the table by the door.” Took one more walk around the kitchen, again returning to the table to enjoy the warm silken texture of Mulder in the morning.

Mulder tipped his head back under Skinner’s hand and closed his eyes.

“Better save the profiling for the serial killers, hon,” Skinner whispered, and pressed a kiss to Mulder’s temple.

“That’s ‘Dr. Hon’ to you, mister,” Mulder protested. Opening his eyes, he continued. “Besides, I’m still on leave for another day, and still half asleep. If I was awake, I’d be able to tell you everything you wanted, from your suit to your supper.”

“Oh?” Skinner flashed a grin. “Is that a challenge?”

Skinner saw a gleam in Mulder’s eyes, and thought for one brief moment about calling in sick and dragging his lover back to bed by his hair.  He shook off the urge with a silent promise to make it up to himself tonight, and sat down next to Mulder. He stole a sip of the other man’s coffee, grimaced at its bitterness, and added sugar. Mulder watched him do this with a mixture of dismay and pleasure. Skinner took another, longer swallow, smacked his lips, and was barely prevented from declaring “Now that’s great coffee!” by Mulder’s hand covering his lips.

“See? I do know you.” Mulder’s smile turned into an almost-laugh and a shiver when Skinner licked at his fingers to free his mouth.  When Mulder pulled away, Skinner stood and retrieved his own mug of coffee, then walked out of the kitchen.  Mulder jumped up and trailed after him, hitching at the robe, which was threatening to fall open any second now.

At the door, Skinner set his mug next to his keys on the conveniently placed gun-table, turned, and held out his arms, sensing it might be something that Mulder would want.

It was.

Mulder fit himself into Skinner’s arms like the last piece of the puzzle.  He hugged the older man tightly, and felt him reciprocate. Then Skinner touched the side of his face, got his attention, and smiled warmly. “Okay, monster boy, here’s your challenge: I’ll be home by seven. If you can have exactly what I want for supper ready by then, I’ll humbly bow to your superior profiling skills.”

“And if I can’t…”

Skinner kissed him on the cheek and whispered, “I’m sure I’ll think of something…”

When he was gone, Mulder stood at the door for a moment more, his mind already processing details, sifting through facts, making plans, finding the truth…

***

“Sir, if there’s nothing else, I’m going to go now.” Kim said, just her head poking through the doorway to the inner office. Before Skinner could reply, his stomach did it for him, growling in a loud and embarrassing way that made Kim giggle. Skinner smiled warmly at her, and nodded a dismissal. He thought he could still hear her laughing as she disappeared from view. His stomach made another angry complaint, and he checked his watch.

Definitely home time, he thought, standing and stretching briefly before reaching for his briefcase. He shoved the files he had been reading into it, thinking he’d try to get some of them done tonight, after supper…

Supper. Now there was a thought. His mind immediately conjured up the largest cheesiest, greasiest all dressed pizza he could imagine, then followed it with a vision of a weeks worth of heartburn, and he laughed ruefully. He found his jacket and slapped off the lights, wondering if he was the only person in the world who censored his own fantasies, even when they were just about food.

‘Where was that censor this afternoon?’ he thought as he took the stairs down to the parkade. Even without the specifics, he could feel a flush creeping into his face, and parts south made their presence known in a tingly, unformed way.  He tried to push away the memory of Mulder’s early afternoon phone call, but the gates to this particular memory had been opened, and he felt almost powerless to stop the flood of images.

What had started as a thoughtful ‘I miss you’ kind of phone call from his lover had quickly degenerated into a call of the ‘first three minutes free’ and ‘press one for brunette’ type. He should have hung up when Mulder asked him what he was wearing. He knew better. But he’d taken the bait, and only when he had heard his lover actually cry out his name in apparent orgasmic ecstasy did he slam the receiver down. There followed many minutes of heavy breathing and muttered curses, and he was barely able to tamp down the overwhelming desire to just whip his piece out right there in the office and shoot all over the financial files spread out on the desk.

Driving home now, he was torn between amusement at his lover’s actions, and a nearly pathological desire to return the tease, to torment Mulder in the same way he had been tortured. No one had ever told him how long an unrelieved afternoon phone-sex erection could last.

Traffic was heavy on the freeway, and he had plenty of time to let his mind wander, so that by the time he got home, his thoughts had melded into a litany of sex and supper and supper and sex, and the pepperoni and the Mulder were interchangeable.

Double checking the locks was habit, as was taking the first set of stairs to the lobby before using the elevator—one flight made him feel as though he were doing something efficient for his body, but he recognized that sixteen more would be a little much, even in his younger days.  The pressure in the lift did nothing to dim the vocalizations of his stomach, and he entered the apartment appetite first.

No lights. No smell of cooking. No welcoming Fox Mulder wearing nothing but a ‘kiss the cook’ apron.  He dropped his briefcase with a dispirited thud, and threw off his coat, calling out his lover’s name as he did so. No answer.

Utterly disappointed, Skinner entered the dark kitchen, threw on the overhead light, and found nothing resembling supper. He glanced at the stove, where nothing was cooking, and then at the table, where nothing was served. He made an annoyed sound, took a moment to curse his lover and another to worry about him, and then looked back at the table. Sitting on the smooth wood surface were two items, neither one edible: Mulder’s cell phone, and a take out menu for Triple 8 Pizza.

“Mulder?” he wondered aloud. No reply, but he heard some movement from upstairs, and he froze. When the sound repeated, he walked slowly out to the living room. He could hear Mulder calling his name from somewhere in the general vicinity of the bedroom.

A slow grin bloomed on his face, making him no more or less handsome, but softening his features. He took the stairs two at a time, with a sudden burst of energy that just might have gotten him up the apartment stairs, had it happened in the car park.

The bathroom light was on, as was the small lamp on the bedside table. The television on top of the bureau was pumping out news in blue light and soft sounds. The room was dim but not dark, and Skinner found that he could see just fine.

“You’re late,” Mulder complained.

Skinner started to laugh, quietly at first, then, the more he looked, the less he was able to contain the tiny snorts and giggles that he was quietly chuffing into his fist, and he gave in to the urge to laugh loudly.

Fox Mulder was lying in the center of the bed. The duvet had been tossed on the floor, and he was on top of the sheets. Completely naked. Except for the pizza box resting squarely on his chest. A couple of napkins sat on top of the box.

Mulder’s arms were above his head. At first, Skinner thought that his lover was merely striking a suggestive pose, stretching his lean body out to show it off to full advantage. A moment later, though, he recognized his own standard FBI issue equipment, and the laughter bubbling out of him turned into a quiet sigh of wonder. Then another, quieter laugh as he pictured Mulder’s To Do List: Order Pizza; Get Naked; Handcuff Self to Bed.

When he felt he had the last of the snickering under control, Skinner took in the whole scene again, from the television screen light sculpting the muscles in Mulder’s long legs to the glint of steel on brass as Mulder twisted his wrists a little, making the metal jingle.Skinner let himself appreciate everything from balls to pizza and back again, and then, with a graceful fluidity that Mulder sometimes forgot his lover was capable of, he lowered himself in a lovely full court bow worthy of a knight from long ago.

“You get your bow, Mulder,” he said as he climbed back to his feet. “This is exactly what I wanted for supper. To the last detail.”

“So there you have it, Walter, a brilliant profiler in action,” Mulder replied with another little jingle of the cuffs. “The key’s on the dresser over there-“ He gestured with his chin. “Undo these, and we can eat.”

Skinner moved closer to the bed with a smile, and Mulder continued talking. 

“You should have realized who you were dealing with, Walter. I know what you want. I mean, didn’t we talk about this just this afternoon? Not pizza specifically, but—“

Skinner sat down on the bed, his grin growing along with his appetite.

“Uh, hey, big guy, the keys are over—um—keys, uh—Walt--?” Mulder’s eyes widened as Skinner lifted the pizza box from his chest, and his words stuttered to a halt.

Skinner set the pizza box aside and leaned in, pressing his face to Mulder’s chest, which was warm and damp from the hot pizza. He sniffed the combination of pepperoni, mushroom and Mulder appreciatively, and tickled Mulder’s skin with his nose, making the younger man laugh nervously.

“Hey, Walter,” he tried, “This wasn’t exactly what I had in mind—“

Skinner bit him. Not hard enough to hurt, but he startled, and another nervous chuckle slipped out.

“Hey, the pizza’s for eating, Walter, not-not-nuh—“

Skinner was finding Mulder’s steam heated skin more than just a little palatable, and he started licking every inch of the man’s chest that the pizza box had made contact with. A few experimental pokes with the tip of his tongue caused Mulder to giggle, and when he tugged on a nipple with his teeth, the young man groaned, and the handcuffs rattled.

“Oh, oh yeah…” Mulder arched his back, pressing himself to Skinner, who was humming busily as he licked and nibbled and snacked on his lover.

“Say, Walter, while you’re down that way…”

Skinner abruptly sat up.

“I’m hungry!” he said brightly. “I hope you got everything on this.” He took the pizza box in hand and scooted up the bed until he was sitting next to Mulder. He put the box back down on his lover, ignored the surprised “Hey! Wait a minute!” and the dark look that followed it, and opened the lid.

“All dressed. Excellent choice, Mulder.” Skinner reached for a piece of pizza.

“Ha ha, you’re funny, Walt. Now get the key!” Mulder twisted around, jangling his restraints, and Walter put one large hand down on his torso, just above his groin. Almost all of Mulder froze at the touch.  Skinner grinned nastily.

“Just remember, master profiler, this was your idea.” He rubbed small circles into Mulder’s warm skin, and saw his lover’s cock stiffen in response. He continued stroking and petting while he took a big bite of his pizza. When Mulder began squirming in earnest and threatening to topple the pizza box, Skinner pressed harder, and gave him a stern look, followed by an understanding smile.

“Steady, Mulder. You’ll get your share.”

“I bet,” was the muttered reply. Skinner ignored him in favor of the television, but he kept moving his hand over the warm body next to him as he ate and watched, and he could hear Mulder’s breathing quicken as his arousal grew. Skinner smiled around his pizza. 

When he finished the slice, he took long moments to lick any trace of sauce from his hand, sucking each finger and dragging his tongue across his palm several times. He didn’t have to look over at Mulder to know the effect he was having. The cuffs were jangling quietly but insistently, and waves of heat were coming off his lover now that had nothing to do with the rapidly cooling pizza box. When he felt the head of Mulder’s cock poking stiffly at his hand, he decided that he was still hungry.

He turned to Mulder and gave him a leer.

“I think I should let you make supper every night,” he said.

“Walter, I think you need to—oh—I mean, I want you to—ahh—oh, man—come on, Walter, please--!” As soon as Mulder had begun speaking, Skinner had trailed his hand down to brush over his straining erection, then gripped it lightly and given it a couple of experimental strokes. He wasn’t disappointed. Mulder’s hips came up off the bed, and he jerked hard on the handcuffs, trying desperately to release himself, dislodge the pizza and reach his lover—he was completely unsuccessful.

Skinner released him and reached for another slice of pizza.

“Hungry?” he inquired innocently.

“Not any more…bastard…” Mulder was breathing rapidly now, his need for his lover’s touch wiping out anything else that might have been in his mind, including the hectoring voice of reason that reminded him that this had been all his idea…

“I am.” As the slice pulled free from the rest of the pie, several bits of topping fell off the crust, into and around the box, and Mulder twitched in surprise.

“Sorry about that,” said Skinner. Again the pizza box was set aside, and just before Skinner’s mouth came down on his neck, where a stray mushroom had fallen, Mulder saw that there was more on Skinner’s mind than just pizza as well. Then he closed his eyes as warm lips enclosed his throat, and a questing tongue poked at him with a touch like a butterfly’s feelers. Shivers raced up and down his spine, and he groaned loudly, his hips moving of their own accord. When he felt Skinner’s hand on him again, he pumped greedily. Skinner allowed it for a moment, then wrapped his fist around the base, cutting off the blood flow and causing it to grow larger still, while Mulder made mewling noises of frustration.

Suddenly Skinner wasn’t hungry anymore. For pizza.

With a new sense of urgency, he swept away the pizza box with his free hand, his face still buried in his lover’s neck, and neither man was aware of the wet thump as their supper hit the rug.

Skinner got up from the bed, leaving Mulder gasping and groaning, his skin flushed and sweating, his cock jutting out red and angry at being teased for too long. With that view for inspiration, it didn’t take the man long to pull off his clothes, and find his way back onto the bed. He spooned up next to Mulder, who was twisting and turning, managing only to make himself more frustrated, and whispered, “and now, dessert!”

If Mulder had a reply for this, it was swallowed up as Skinner took his mouth roughly, biting and pulling at his lips, then thrusting his tongue in deep, tasting everything from teeth to tonsils, then pulling back to nip at rapidly swelling lips before repeating the procedure.

He plunged one hand into Mulder’s hair, relishing the damp satin sensation as he finger-combed it roughly, then just held on, still plundering his lover’s mouth. He pulled himself halfway on top of Mulder, the fingers of his other hand digging deeply into Mulder’s hip, twisting his body towards him, and suddenly hard cock met hard cock, and Skinner’s gasp echoed in Mulder’s mouth and came back panting and loud.

Skinner could feel himself growing perilously close to the edge, and he slid away from Mulder, who whimpered at the loss. His eyes opened, and Skinner was hard-pressed not to lose himself in their wide hazel depths. He gave Mulder a lopsided grin and licked away a bead of moisture from the other man’s chin. The handcuffs were rattling continuously as Mulder’s body moved instinctively, hips bumping back and forth, chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath, head turning back and forth as he sought out a lover he couldn’t reach. Skinner had a moment of concern for the man’s wrists, and he sat up to take a closer look.

Mulder’s hands were clenched into fists, and the flesh around his wrists was red and sore looking. Skinner tickled at Mulder’s closed hands with a fingertip until they opened, and he took his lover’s hands in his own, entwining their fingers as he inspected his wrists.

There didn’t appear to be any major damage, and so he let go Mulder’s hands and worked his way back to his face, paused for another deep and lingering kiss, then whispered in his lover’s ear: “Don’t pull so hard.”

“Don’t make me,” Mulder shot back.

It felt like a challenge, and Skinner responded by gently tugging on the other man’s scrotum. Mulder’s breath hitched, and he swore softly, but held his place, not moving his arms. Skinner tickled the skin in and around his cock, got more whimpering, and that, combined with the need he felt raging within himself, combined to make him at last relent a little.

“Be right back,” he promised with a kiss.

“I’ll just wait here,” replied in a voice shaking with desire.

Skinner quickly found condoms and lube, kicked aside his pants as they nearly tripped him, and rejoined his lover on the bed. He slowly turned Mulder so that his back was snug against Skinner’s front, and they were lying on their sides. He kissed the side of his lover’s face, then leaned forward and Mulder tipped his head back until the tendons of his neck stood out in sharp relief, and their mouths glued themselves back together, this time with Mulder’s tongue doing the exploratory work while Skinner sucked on him hungrily and warmed lube in his hand.

A small desperate sound reverberated in Mulder’s throat and pushed its way into Skinner’s mouth when he felt the first blunt finger enter him. It was joined moments later by a second, then a third. Skinner held himself still then, waiting for Mulder to adjust, to accept. Only when he tasted satisfaction on his lover’s lips, and felt Mulder pushing back onto his hand did he stretch and wriggle and move his fingers. 

A continuous litany of groans and whispery cries filled his mouth as he slid his fingers back and forth inside of Mulder, and his grip on the man intensified.

When he was satisfied with the results, he removed his hand, and his lips turned up when he heard more whimpering. He pulled gently away from Mulder’s voracious mouth and took only a moment to sheath himself properly.

When Mulder felt Skinner spoon up behind him again, he spread his legs eagerly, and cried out when Skinner fastened his teeth onto the back of his neck, and his cock began penetrating him. His lover was holding his hips in a bruising grip that felt as wonderful as it did restrictive, and he fought briefly to free himself to thrust back and envelope the man completely. Skinner wasn’t about to allow it. He set his own pace, ignoring the wordless begging noises, and by the time he was fully buried in his lover’s hot body, Mulder was nearly delirious with need. He was chafing at the cuffs again, but seemed not to be feeling any pain from it, and the sound of them rattling against the bed frame, coupled with the stretching they gave to Mulder’s body, had Skinner thrusting quickly in and out of the man before he was even quite aware he was doing it.

One last sharp bite to the base of Mulder’s skull, and then Skinner was content to simply trace random patterns on the other man’s neck and shoulders with his tongue, his taste buds cramping deliciously at the salty sweat tang of Mulder’s skin. Neither man was speaking. The slap of their bodies coming together, the staccato sighs and groans as air was forced out of them and sucked back in desperately, the ringing of steel on steel and the whisper of skin on linen, latex on skin—all these spoke more eloquently of their connection than any words could have.

Without warning, Skinner slowed the pace of his thrusting. Then, for long moments he froze completely, his cock pulled most of the way out of his lover. A moment after that he was resuming with a slow and gentle in-and-out motion. He was desperate for completion, nearly over stimulated by the way Mulder’s body took him, but he wanted them to cum together, and he was waiting now, waiting for certain sounds, recognizable movements that would indicate that Mulder was about to tip over.  It didn’t take long.

Mulder thrust his ass back as hard as he could, slamming himself onto Skinner’s cock, making him groan.

“Please,” Mulder grated out. “I want—want—“

“I do, too.” No more needed to be said, or could be said for that matter. Skinner suddenly started bucking wildly, thrusting and spasming, and Mulder slammed back just as hard until they were both cumming, the completion nearly painful from the waiting, and perhaps all the sweeter for it as well.

For several minutes afterward they lay connected, wordless and drowsing, reveling in the rosy glow of intimacy now as they had in the raw animal passion they had just experienced.

Finally, Skinner slipped out of his lover, carefully removed the condom, and tossed it over the side of the bed, a part of him knowing it was probably resting on the pizza box now, and he grinned as a half formed extra topping joke slipped through his mind.

Mulder groaned out a complaint as Skinner moved away from him, then moaned a little louder when the man returned and removed the handcuffs. Blood rushed into his hands and upper arms, and weighed them down so they fell lax at his sides. With extraordinary tenderness, Skinner turned him onto his back, found one of the unused napkins, and swiped at the cum that was trying to dry across his belly and chest. Then the napkin joined the rest of the debris on the floor, and Skinner was back in the bed, pulling the duvet over the both of them and slipping both arms around his lover.

Mulder turned towards Skinner and smiled as he saw his own stubble burned, swollen lipped satisfied face reflected there. His eyes slipped closed and he breathed deeply of his lover’s scent. He could feel sleep trying to claim him completely, and he forced his eyes open, saw Skinner was still smiling and awake, and whispered,

“Do you want me to make supper again tomorrow?”