“This one time, in band camp—“

The television screen went blank with a pop and a static crackle.  An equally distressed squawk of protest came from the man watching said television.

“Mulder…” The word was spoken in a silky smooth growl, and both the television and Mulder were silenced by the sound.

Skinner shook his head and finished his drink, then sat back on the couch with a sigh.

“Next time you buy supper, and I’ll rent the videos.”

Mulder mock pouted briefly. “Langly said it was a classic,” he muttered.

“Richard recommended this? Well, that certainly explains a lot. Any movie that gets two thumbs up from someone who calls himself Lord Manhammer…” Skinner rolled his eyes.

Mulder gave Skinner a quick confused frown. Something had happened between the role-playing Gunman and his lover; what it might have been he didn’t know, but now Langly was Richard, and Skinner was Walter, and Frohike seemed to have attached himself to Langly at the hip. It was all very bewildering, but—

‘It’s an X-File for another time,’ he thought. That decided, he turned back to the man beside him on the couch and tried again to argue his point.

“Langly might be trying to compensate for something, it’s true, but he’s usually right on the money when it comes to maximizing video rental potential.”

“Apparently this tragic cinematic ode to teenage sexual antics was the exception to that rule,” Skinner replied dryly.

“It wasn’t that bad…what we saw of it.” Mulder touched Skinner’s arm briefly, trying to invest his words with more sincerity through physical contact. He chose not to remember that this tactic had never worked in the past, although some of the unexpected results had made losing whatever argument they had been engaged in perfectly acceptable.

“If you’re fourteen, I suppose.” Skinner pushed Mulder’s hand away, but gently, not wanting the younger man to think that he was opposed to his advances, for that was certainly not the case.

“Well, it looked good to me. Funny, even.”

“Mmmm.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means that I don’t want this evening to digress into a conversation about band camp, your maturity level, or the X-File you no doubt have committed to memory regarding pre-pubescent girls and musical instruments, just because I can think of something I’d rather see than yet another tired coming-of-age teen flick.”

“Teen flick? Listen to you, mister hip-vocabulary. Where did you pick up something like “teen flick”? Have you been watching 77 Sunset Strip reruns again?”

Mulder proceeded to launch into a full-blown lecture on societal conditions in view of modern cinema that was as full of bullshit as it was of ten-cent words, and Skinner fell in love with him all over again. 

So taken was Mulder with the sound of his own pontificating that he completely failed to notice Skinner moving around the room, dimming lights, locking doors and generally setting a mood. But the words abruptly died in his mouth as Skinner fussed with the stereo, and the first few notes of “The Way You Look Tonight” played.

He felt a sudden rush of heat that started at his toes, played teasingly around his groin, and then took up permanent residence in his cheeks. Shaking off a stray thought of Pavlov and his conditioned dogs, he gave Skinner a smile that made his eyes sparkle.

“So it’s a Tony Bennett kind of night, is it, Mr. Skinner?”

Skinner matched his smile with a lecherous yet oddly shy one of his own, and simply stood across from him, waiting.

“Know any good band camp stories, Walt?” As he spoke, Mulder patted the seat next to him, and Skinner came forward, dropping down on the couch next to his lover.

“I don’t think so,” he muttered quietly.

“I’ll bet you do. Why don’t you whisper them in my ear.” Mulder cocked his head to one side, looking like the gay man’s version of the RCA dog, and Skinner leaned in. He ignored the ear that Mulder had turned to him, and instead reached around to brush over the far side of his face with one hand, then let his fingers trail deliberately over Mulder’s throat and around to the side of his head. 

The feather-light touch of Skinner’s fingers on his earlobe made Mulder shiver, then squirm as they traced the shell of his outer ear, tickling soft.

Twisting his head away from that arousing yet tormenting touch brought his other ear kissing-close to Skinner’s mouth, and hot breath drew a groan from him. When he felt the tip of Walter’s tongue there, he twisted again, which of course brought him back to Skinner’s hand.

“That’s just cheating, Walter,” he whined, all the while turning his head back and forth, eyes closed and mouth open, deep breaths gusting out of him, almost sighs, not quite moans. 

Skinner noticed that for all of Mulder’s maneuvering, he never actually tried to escape, and in fact, when Skinner drew back a little, Mulder tipped his head back towards his mouth.

Skinner kept his distance, put his hands down on his legs and, without looking at Mulder, said, “I’d like you to take off your shirt.”

“Would you?” Mulder teased. Skinner nodded, and Mulder obliged with a shrug, pulling his long sleeved t-shirt over his head and tossing it on the floor. He took a moment to shiver now that his bare skin was exposed, then stretched out his arms and arched his back, a big kitty stretch that Skinner noted out of the corner of his eye with a rush of lust that made him lick his lips and shift as his cock stirred in his pants.

Mulder stroked his hands down his chest, barely pausing at the nipples, rubbed his stomach, then rested his hands on his jean-clad thighs. He and Skinner looked like two men sitting on a bench, waiting for a bus. That is, if that bench was in the Castro, and the bus was going to the nearest motel. Without moving, they turned and grinned at one another, and Skinner licked his lips again.

“What else would you like, Walter?”

“I’d like you to take off your pants.” If either man noticed the tiny tremor in Skinner’s voice, neither of them chose to comment, and this time Mulder shifted his hips as if they were growing hot under his lover’s smoldering gaze. He frowned thoughtfully and let his fingers trace tiny patterns in the denim, like playing a piano that existed only in his mind, only on his flesh.

“You didn’t say the magic word,” he whispered.

“Please?” shot back quickly in the same hushed tone.

Mulder played with the snap on his jeans for a moment, not having to look at Skinner to know that the other man was focused on his crotch. Left the top undone and pulled down the zipper. Heard Skinner’s breath hitch a little, and finally looked up at the man.

He captured Skinner’s dark chocolate gaze with his own, held it by sheer force of will and slid his pants down to his ankles.

“How’s that for ya, Walter?” he asked, his voicing light and teasing, his eyes dark and serious.

“You’re beautiful,” Skinner barely realized he was speaking aloud. His gaze was roaming over his lover with such hunger that Mulder nearly felt it as a physical weight. And when Skinner’s eyes focused on his crotch, his half-erect cock jumped in response with no manual stimulation whatsoever.

Mulder saw that Skinner was shaking from the effort of restraining himself, and this pleased him. He kicked his jeans off of his legs and stretched again, running his hands over his chest once more, this time stopping briefly to pinch his own nipples, making his cock jerk again, and a small moan escaped him, but was drowned out by a loud groan from Skinner, a sound both frustrated and appreciative.

Keeping one hand lightly fingering his chest, Mulder put his other arm behind his head, effectively stretching out his torso, along with all the important bits, and this time Skinner’s groan was more of a growl, a sound that made Mulder immediately think of bears awakened prematurely from hibernation. He couldn’t help but shiver at the sound, even as he frowned slightly and muttered, 

“Caveman.”

“And you love it,” Skinner shot back, still letting nothing but his eyes claim his lover’s body.

“Maybe…”Mulder agreed thoughtfully, “…little bit…” Then he gave Skinner a pointed glance, spread his legs, and looked down between them.

Without hesitation, Skinner moved off of the couch and dropped gracefully to his knees in front of Mulder, resting easily on the floor with both hands on the couch to either side of his lover’s thighs.

Mulder reached out to cup Skinner’s face with both hands, letting his thumbs brush lightly over his ears, provoking a tremor through the larger man’s body, but no comment.

He slid one hand to the back of Skinner’s head, delighting as always in the soft texture of the band of close cropped silver hair he found there. He let his hand rest there for several moments, listening to Skinner’s breathing quicken as he stroked and petted. Then he came back to Skinner’s face, the pads of his fingers rasping over end-of-day stubble. He tipped Skinner’s face up so that their eyes met.

“I want to touch you,” Skinner whispered. Mulder’s hazel eyes darkened momentarily, then twinkled almost mischievously.

“Well, I want to be touched. So it sounds like everyone’s on the same page.” As he spoke, Mulder released Skinner and brought both hands down to his sides. He found his lover’s hands already resting there, and gave them a quick friendly squeeze, then stretched his arms out on the back of the couch.

Skinner gave Mulder one more intense look, searching for permission, got a curt nod and a soft, “Come on, then,” and surged upward. He pressed his large hands to the top of Mulder’s thighs, kneaded briefly, then slid them up rapidly heating flesh to stroke compulsively up and down Mulder’s torso.

As his hands took the high road, and found places to stroke and pinch and scratch and prod, his mouth took a separate route, and he let the tip of his tongue tease across Mulder’s stomach, dipping into his navel briefly and relishing the little giggle that made Mulder’s abdominal muscles quiver.

“I think you can do better than that, Walter,” Mulder murmured, shifting his hips suggestively.

Skinner continued to tease, pressing his kisses lower, but to the left and right of what was now an impressive erection. He nipped at the satiny skin of Mulder’s inner thigh, heard the younger man yelp in surprise, then felt Mulder’s hand on the back of his head.

Skinner froze, his mouth hovering over the other man’s leg. He could feel the heat coming off of his lover like a stoked fire warming his skin, and his own desire rose yet another notch, his cock pressing almost painfully against the front of his pants. He paused for a long moment, then made his decision and bit again at Mulder’s leg.

The hand on his head tightened and pushed him forward and he allowed it and took the head of Mulder’s cock into his mouth.

Mulder groaned out a satisfied “yesss…” and shifted his hips forward, wordlessly demanding more attention. Skinner couldn’t help but smile around his mouthful, and he took more of him in, adding some careful tongue and tooth variations to his sucking that earned him more hungry sounds from the man sitting before him. He slid his lips up to the tip and back down again, just once, tasted salty-sweet appreciation for this move, and then let his lover set the pace. He stilled his movements, kept his grip on him light, and a moment later felt soft pressure from Mulder’s hand. He allowed Mulder to thrust in and out of his mouth with abandon, and moved his lips and tongue helpfully whenever possible.

Mulder felt his body responding as always to Skinner’s attentions, but with the added stimulus of control, he was almost overwhelmed with sensation. He didn’t take the active role often in their couplings, although he could be more aggressive than his lover, but every time he did it was like this—amazing and intense. It was an act of trust between two men for whom trust was almost an anathema; a bitter lesson learned and relearned-trust no one! Both of them had been tested and re-tested, sometimes in ways that had left impressions upon them that could never be erased. But now, to have come to a place in life where both of them could and did trust one another…

With a gasp and a shudder, Mulder jerked Skinner’s mouth off of him, wincing at the loss of heat.

Skinner looked up at him, eyes dark, skin flushed, a small, confused frown playing over his lips.

“Mulder…?”

Mulder’s reply was that gentle yet insistent drag on his head again, and Skinner was more than happy to comply, resisting only a moment before engulfing his lover’s cock to whisper, “Cum for me. Please.”

Walter took him then, as deeply as he could, and held him there, swallowing repeatedly to increase the friction on the sensitive head of the engorged member. 

Without warning, Mulder bucked his hips up with a cry, still holding the back of Walter’s head, effectively trapping him in a place he had no desire to leave, and Walter felt the younger man’s cock throb and pulse as he exploded into him.

Even after Mulder had cum, Walter’s mouth stayed wrapped around him, his sucking and licking easing off as his erection faded, but continuing long enough to have him whimpering from the over-stimulation to his spent cock. Only when he pushed at Skinner, wordlessly leading him away, did the older man consider stopping.

He grinned saucily up at Mulder, leaning back to show off an impressive erection tenting the front of his pants, and with a lick of his lips he held out a hand.

“Bedroom?” Mulder was still breathing hard.

The grin broadened as Skinner rose unsteadily to his feet. 

“Come on, boss man,” he said, “Let’s dance.” A pause and a groan as Mulder came up off the couch to fill his arms. 

“Heads I lead, tails…I lead.”

“There is nothing else for me but to—“

Mulder silenced him with a kiss, reached down to stroke him firmly through his pants, pressed his once more interested cock against his thigh, and finally took a firm grip on one hand and whispered in his ear,

“Let’s go—I’m going to show you what I learned in band camp…”