Skinner sat in his parked car, watching the lights of the car behind him grow larger, then veer off as the other vehicle pulled into the visitors parking stall next to his own. He noticed his hands clenching and unclenching on the steering wheel, and he pulled them away with a visible effort, then spent a moment or two willing them not to shake. While on the subject, he mentally chastised his stomach for letting those butterflies in, gave a quick silent pep talk to his upper lip and his spine, then sent darkest thoughts of all to his dick, reminding himself that there was a time and a place.

A knock on the window made him jump. He got out of the car quickly and faced Mulder, who was grinning a little sickly at him. He felt his own apprehensions fading when he realized that Mulder was even more nervous. He thought about how badly he wanted this to happen, and how badly Mulder must want it too, but it was going to have to feel right, and be right, and if Mulder was unsure now, or having second thoughts…

“Mulder, are you sure?”

“Sir, right now I’m not sure about too much of anything; except how much I want to do this.” He reached for Skinner’s hand, held it firmly now that they weren’t in public, and Skinner squeezed back gratefully and led him towards the elevator.

“Unfortunately, I don’t think I have the slightest idea what ‘this’ is,” Mulder added as they waited for the elevator.

Skinner laughed softly. “I’m with you, Mulder. I don’t think there’s a chapter covering this situation in the OPR handbook.”

The elevator doors opened and they stepped in. Skinner pulled his hand from Mulder’s and stabbed the seventeenth floor button with a little more vehemence than the situation required. 

When the door closed, Mulder shuddered and groped for Skinner’s hand. It was there, and they rode up to Skinner’s floor in mostly comfortable silence.

Skinner didn’t release Mulder’s hand until they were at his apartment door, and then he found himself fumbling with his house keys, finally getting the door open and muttering about the faulty locking mechanism. He hastily found lights, dropped the contents of his pockets on the table by the door, and then turned to Mulder with an offer to take his coat. He felt suspiciously like a high school boy on a date with the prettiest girl in school, and for just a moment he was reminded of Sharon, and how it was between them at the start.

But as Mulder shrugged out of his trench coat, then removed his suit coat as well, Skinner was forcibly reminded that this wasn’t Sharon, wasn’t a high school cheerleader, wasn’t even a dead hooker who practiced safe sex. This was Fox Mulder, a man he’d known for years, a man he’d admired for just about as long, and a man he’d secretly lusted over since day one. A man…

“I’ll hang these up. Have a seat. There’s the couch, or chairs. Would you like a drink?”

“Walter, you’re babbling.” 

Skinner opened his mouth to growl something at Mulder’s almost insolent tone, then caught the younger man’s eye, and realized that none of this was going to be easy. Mulder’s stance in the doorway was controlled and comfortable, but Skinner could see how tightly he was holding himself, could spot a giveaway tick in his cheek, and a conspicuous hunch to his shoulders. He suspected that if Mulder didn’t have his lips pressed into a thin line that was trying to be a smile but failing pretty badly, he would be babbling a little himself. As before, Mulder’s discomfort, as well hidden as it was, lent some comfort to him, and he was able to smile at Mulder’s words and turn to the closet with their jackets, saying,

“What would you like to eat, Mulder?”

A muttered reply that he didn’t quite catch, but he let it be, and busied himself with the coats as Mulder made his way into the living room.

Mulder looked around the spacious room, mildly amused to think of himself as an invited guest, and not a surprise visitor in the dead of night. His roving eyes found the couch, the stereo and television, the VCR and DVD players, both state of the art, and the bookshelves. All screamed out for his attention, but he paused at none of them. He gave the bar a longer look, but kept moving until he was standing in front of the balcony door. He looked out on the dark space and swore he could almost see Alex Krycek handcuffed there.

He felt Skinner’s presence behind him, but didn’t turn as something alien and frankly sexual lit a fire in the pit of his stomach. Pulling his gaze back from the balcony, he could just make out his and Skinner’s reflections in the glass door. He watched with almost no objectivity as Skinner brought his hands up to rest on his shoulders, and a shaky sigh issued from his mouth.

Skinner kept his hands still for a moment, then rubbed softly, then stopped again, as if gauging the response. When none was forthcoming, he squeezed a little harder, and got another sigh for his efforts.

“You seem tense,” he whispered.

“I am tense.”

“I am, too.”

Mulder turned to face Skinner, and the older man kept his grip on his shoulders, almost inviting an embrace. Mulder kept his hands balled into fists and jammed into his pants pockets.

“Then maybe this isn’t such a good idea,” he said. “I mean, if you’re uncomfortable with me being here, and—“

“That’s not it,” Skinner cut him off. “You should know that if I didn’t want you here, I wouldn’t have asked you.”

Mulder knew that to be true. Skinner was a lot of things, but he definitely didn’t have that extra politeness gene in him that allowed him to give up his home to guests just because it was a nice thing to do. Again, Mulder was reminded of the fact that he had been here before, barging his way in without asking, and Skinner had allowed it. That told him as much as he needed to know about whether or not he was welcome here.

Skinner kept his hands moving softly over Mulder’s shoulders, trying to convey the sincerity of his words into the younger man through touch. Mulder didn’t return the gesture, but he was making no attempt to move away, and Skinner viewed this with some hope. He thought again of high school dates of the past, and decided that maybe the old ways were the best ways, sometimes, and that one of them was going to have to take charge of the situation, or it was going to end badly.

“Could we have this conversation sitting down?” he asked quietly.

A sharp nod, and Skinner stepped back, allowing Mulder to re-cross the room to the large couch.

Mulder didn’t sit so much as fall onto the couch. He gave the firm leather an appraising glance as if weighing its merits against his own furniture. Then he looked up at Skinner, glanced pointedly to his left, and back up at the other man.

His gaze held all the weight of a barked command, and Skinner found himself moving forward almost against his will. He sat down gingerly next to Mulder and gave him a level stare.

“Better.” It wasn’t a question, but Mulder gave a brief nod of agreement anyway.

“Now what?” he asked.

Skinner took a deep breath. “As I see it, we have several options here,” he said, sitting forward and reaching into a small drawer on the side of the coffee table.

Mulder only had time to formulate a dozen or so ‘options’, at least half of which involved Skinner sans shirt, and then the man was fanning several take out menus in front of him.

“Pizza, Chinese, chicken…” he said.

“Oh.”

Skinner almost laughed at Mulder’s crestfallen expression, and his confidence increased. He handed the menus to Mulder, then got up and strode purposefully over to a handsome walnut armoire next to the television stand.  He pulled open the doors to reveal an impressive collection of VHS tapes and DVDs.

Mulder looked up from the Italian menu he was scanning and gave a little yelp of surprise and pleasure when he saw all the choices.

“Dinner.” Skinner pointed at the menus. “And a movie.” He made an expansive sweeping gesture over the shelves of movies.

“I think I suddenly feel less tense,” replied Mulder, and the smile on his face seemed to light up the whole room.

***

Skinner frowned down at the mostly full plate sitting in Fox Mulder’s lap, and then brought his attention up to the man’s face.

Mulder was completely captivated by the movie on TV, and seemed to have forgotten the food on his plate. He was silently mouthing the dialogue as it ran on the screen, and seemed nearly spellbound.

Skinner cleared his throat. Mulder didn’t notice.

“Mulder,” he tried. No response.

“Mulder.” Louder.

Mulder turned, startled, then embarrassed.

“Sorry, I get absorbed. I can’t believe you own this movie…Walter.”

Skinner felt absurdly pleased at hearing Mulder use his given name.

“I think it was a gift,” he replied. “What I can’t believe is that you’ve seen this—how many times now?”

“Forty. This’ll make forty one.” He looked a little embarrassed again. “Sometime I’ll explain my analytical theory on this movie and crime-solving.”

Skinner could only shudder, imagining what that theory would be, while a small part of him looked forward to it.

“You’re not eating,” he said, changing the subject. He looked down at his nearly empty plate by comparison. “Don’t you like it?”

“Oh, no. It’s good. Really.” Mulder offered a cheesy grin, then popped a meatball into his mouth to show Skinner just how good it was. 

“But…?” Skinner didn’t miss the effort it took for Mulder to swallow the food.

“I love this movie.”

Skinner stood up. “I’ll make coffee,” he said. Mulder’s eyes went back to the movie, and Skinner rolled his eyes and left the room.

He was back minutes later with two steaming mugs in his hands. The credits were rolling on the screen, and Mulder had abandoned his dinner in favor of a pillow, which he was holding in his lap and kneading compulsively. He looked almost too grateful when Skinner handed him one of the cups, and Skinner suspected that Mulder was having a hard time trying to figure out what to do with his hands. Well, he thought he knew what Mulder could do with them, but he didn’t want to push. And yet, somehow he knew that Mulder wanted it too. As he sat down again beside the younger man, he wondered about the impasse they seemed to be at, and how they were going to get around it. Having Mulder in his home, sitting next to him, tie loosened and shirtsleeves rolled up, simply sitting and enjoying a movie, all these things had made him more determined than ever. He silently took back all the regrets he’d had about the flowers, and suddenly wished he could hand over another bouquet to Mulder, this time with a card and more intent.

“Was there anything else you wanted to see?” he asked, picking up the remote for the DVD and ejecting the disc.

“Yes.” A pause. “And then we could watch another movie.” 

The delivery was completely deadpan, and it took Skinner a moment to realize Mulder had made a sexual innuendo of sorts.  It made him laugh, and Mulder’s eyes got wide.

“What?” He didn’t like the way Mulder was looking at him, like maybe he’d suddenly turned into one of those Riticulans he was always going on about.

“You-you laughed,” Mulder replied. “I don’t believe that’s a sound I can easily equate with Walter Skinner.” The look on his face, wary but pleased, made Skinner laugh again.

Mulder tried hard to reconcile his history with his supervisor with the vision of this man before him, and couldn’t do it. Assistant Director Skinner, he of the surly growl, threatened suspensions and deadly chokeholds couldn’t possibly be the same man sitting here beside him, looking relaxed, smiling and laughing. And if his demeanor and the great cup of coffee he’d just given to Mulder wasn’t an indication that he was in fact an alien impostor, then the fact that he owned nearly as many science fiction films as Mulder did was proof indeed. Of course, there was always the distinct possibility that this wasn’t happening at all. That he was just dreaming it all, much the way Scully insisted he had dreamed the whole Queen Anne business. Maybe he was still floating his way through the Atlantic with a belly full of water and a head full of hallucinations. And if that were the case, and one more look at the grinning man sitting back on the couch sipping coffee and loosening his tie seemed to confirm it, then he knew that he didn’t have to justify anything. This was not his former boss, this was some dream he was having, and he’d had enough Skinner dreams in the last while to know exactly where this one was headed. All he had to do was…

Mulder reached over and placed his hand on Skinner’s thigh.

Skinner’s eyes darkened, the laugh died on his lips.  He stared at Mulder, then down at Mulder’s hand, and fought the overwhelming urge to jump up and shout “it’s about bloody time!” Instead he gave the younger man a sobering gaze, put his own hand over Mulder’s, and said,

“Is this really what you want to do?”

Mulder simply nodded and squeezed Skinner’s leg, relishing the feel of hard muscle under wool.

“Then there’s something you have to understand.” Skinner sounded suspiciously like he was in the office, and Mulder frowned at the tone of voice, already feeling like he’d done something wrong. But when he went to pull his hand away, Skinner held it tight.

“Mulder…Fox…I like you. I respect you, as an agent, and as a person. Hell, I could even fall in love with you.”

Mulder felt himself blush at the unexpected praise.

“And you need to know that, because, if anything is to happen tonight—and I won’t kid you, I’m hoping it will—but if we proceed from here, well, suffice to say, I’m not a trick, and I won’t be just a fuck for anyone. Not even you.” Skinner added weight to his words using a withering stare, but Mulder thought he could read something vulnerable beneath the gruff speech. 

Mulder opened his mouth, not sure what was going to come out, but hoping like hell it would be appropriate. 

“Well, you didn’t ask me for my credit card number, so I don’t think you’re a trick, and, frankly, sir, I can’t imagine you being ‘just a fuck’ for anyone.”

Skinner smiled. “We’re back to ‘sir’, now, are we?”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. Tell me what happens next.”

“I think—I think you kiss me.”

“I think so, too.” Skinner turned his body towards Mulder, still holding the younger man’s hand pressed firmly to his leg. He brought his other hand up to cup the back of Mulder’s skull, and he felt a shudder work through Mulder’s body when his fingers slid through the hair on the back of his head. He moved closer, keeping his eyes open as he did so, wanting to see the expression on the other man’s face, read the emotional weather there as he tipped Mulder’s head back and lightly covered his mouth with his own.

The kiss was warm, soft and careful at first. An almost gentle battle ensued over dominance, with neither man able to take it, nor able to give it away. Mulder startled when Skinner’s tongue licked at his lips, wordlessly demanding entrance. When Skinner felt the younger man’s muscles tense up, he held back. He didn’t make any further demand, simply pressed light kisses to Mulder’s lips, cheeks and chin while he waited to see what Mulder wanted to do.

Mulder had felt his body respond immediately, both to Skinner’s mouth on his as well as to the older man’s initiative. But when Skinner had tried to deepen the kiss, he hesitated, suddenly unsure. It had been a long time since he’d been intimate with anyone (That 1939 Scully kiss didn’t count), even longer since that anyone had been a man.

He wanted this, wanted more, wanted Skinner badly, so badly, but his foolish pride didn’t want the other man to think he was inexperienced, that he didn’t know what he was doing.  He scoured his memory frantically, trying to find an experience that he could liken this to, something that he could draw from, and came up infuriatingly blank. He suddenly realized that Skinner had backed off a little, and part of him was dimly grateful, while the other, wiser part of him simply opened his mouth with a small sound of need.

He tightened his grip on Skinner’s leg when he felt the other man’s tongue flicker over his own.

Skinner leaned into the kiss, one hand still wrapped in the spun silk of Mulder’s short hair. He could feel Mulder’s fingers under his other hand compulsively kneading his thigh, and he instinctively tried to move the younger man’s hand closer to his groin as he felt his arousal growing.

Mulder pulled away with an audible gasp when he felt the heat between Skinner’s legs.

Skinner gave Mulder a startled but concerned glance when the younger man scooted back on the couch, putting distance between them. Mulder brushed a hand over his mouth and regarded Skinner warily.

“What is it, Mulder?” Skinner struggled to keep his focus on Mulder’s eyes, noticing for maybe the first time the way their colour changed. From hazel to green and back again as some internal war took place. He locked eyes with the younger man and struggled to contain his arousal.

“I—“

Before he could complete the thought, Skinner asked:

“Did I do something wrong?”

“No! God, no. It’s not you, Walter, it’s me.”  Mulder’s eyes wavered almost desperately between Skinner’s crotch and his eyes, then between the man and the television, which was currently spouting static.

Skinner decided he wasn’t going to leave it at that, even if Mulder’s words had mollified him a bit.

“What do you mean?” he demanded, a crooked grin blooming on his face. “I thought you were doing just fine.”

Mulder flushed dully and dropped his gaze.

“I—that is, I---if you must know, it’s been a long time since sex was a game for two or more players in my house,” he whispered.

“I hear you, Mulder.” Skinner placed two fingers under Mulder’s chin, lifting his face up and capturing those eyes with his own.  “But I won’t tell you that I brought you here just for dinner and a movie. I’d be lying to both of us.” His dark eyes held all of Mulder’s attention. “In case you weren’t paying attention, my dance card hasn’t exactly been full for a while, either.” He got a half-smile for that, one side of Mulder’s mouth quirking up in a way that made Skinner want to kiss the down-turned side. “I want to remedy that,” he continued. “And I want to do it with you.”

“I know. I want that, too,” Mulder replied, still whispering. “I just very much want this to be right. Do you know what I mean?”

Skinner nodded, and had an idea.

“Listen, why don’t you try showing me what you think would be ‘right’,” he said, sitting back on the couch and resting his hands lightly on his thighs, legs just slightly apart. “Show me,” he said again. “Take your time. My agenda is free for the rest of the night.” A smile, and he turned his hands palm side up.

Mulder stared at him for a long moment, understood what Skinner was offering and why, and felt something loosen up in his heart, while at the same time his muscles tightened with anticipation.  He moved back along the couch, closer to Skinner, who remained motionless, with just a soft smile playing around his lips.

Mulder reached past the older man and shut off the lamp next to the couch. The room was not plunged into total darkness, but was dimmer now, just lit by the television screen and lights that were still on in the hall and the kitchen. A shaky sigh issued from Mulder’s mouth, and he sat back again, letting his eyes adjust and watching Skinner for his reaction. The man remained mute and motionless.

Moving slowly, Mulder brought his hands up to Skinner’s face, and the older man closed his eyes as his glasses were carefully removed and placed on the coffee table. He kept them closed as he felt the warm skin of Mulder’s palm cup the side of his face, and he leaned into the touch as Mulder stroked his cheek.

Mulder’s other hand was slowly finishing the job that Skinner had started on his tie, and after a moment it lay unknotted across Skinner’s chest. He touched the buttons on the white cotton shirt lightly, almost reverently and felt Skinner take a deep breath. Still moving slowly and without words, Mulder slid his right hand down Skinner’s throat, paused at his Adam’s apple as he felt him swallow, then let his hands meet one another on the shirt buttons. He looked down at his hands, saw that they were shaking a little, and willed them to stop. Then he glanced up at Skinner, saw that he was still smiling, eyes still closed, and that helped. He tackled the buttons slowly, pausing every time his fingers wanted to fumble, finding himself blushing as he did so and glad for the darkness. 

He revealed Skinner’s chest slowly and almost reverently, and when the shirt lay open to the waistband of his trousers, Mulder closed his own eyes and pressed his palms, then the side of his face to that wide expanse of flesh, relishing the feel of crisp hairs against his cheek, strong muscle under his palms. He felt his pants growing tight, then tighter still as he moved close enough to Skinner that their legs brushed against one another.

He startled at the feel of Skinner’s hands on his back but didn’t move, and relaxed almost immediately as those big hands slid softly up and down his body. He mimicked their movements on Skinner’s chest, and was delighted to feel the man’s nipples harden as his fingers brushed over them. He did it again and felt something rumble deep in Skinner’s chest. 

Feeling more comfortable as Skinner allowed him to set the pace, he enjoyed several minutes of this, letting Skinner massage the tension out of his back and shoulders, and mapping the country of Skinner’s upper body with his own hands.

When he felt Skinner sigh again and shift under his head, he looked up and saw that the man’s eyes were open and staring frankly at him.

“Wanna try that kissing thing again?” He could hear the rough need underlying the humour in Skinner’s voice, felt guilty for teasing only long enough to recognize his own growing desire, and then gave the man a sharp hug. When he felt Skinner’s arms tighten around him, he knew this was going to be all right; it was going to work no matter how he felt he had to play it. Skinner wasn’t going to force anything on him that he didn’t want, and that, coupled with the knowledge that the man would also go along with anything that he did want, strengthened his arousal, and he pressed himself on Skinner more forcefully, dragging himself up so they were face to face. Skinner’s hands never left his body, but one of them was back in his hair again, making him shiver.

When he pressed his lips to Skinner’s the older man obligingly opened his mouth just enough for Mulder to lick and nibble at his lower lip, then slip his tongue just inside, feeling another jolt of need rush through his body as Skinner’s tongue wrapped around his briefly, then retreated. Mulder felt obligated to chase after it, and soon both men were gently trying their best to devour one another.

Skinner felt the hard evidence of Mulder’s arousal pressing up against his thigh and he tried to turn his body to force more contact between them, but Mulder was holding him firmly with two strong hands on either side of his face, and distracting him with deep kisses. Finally with a tremendous groan and a wet smack he pulled away from the younger man, was delighted to see him breathing hard, eyes shiny and lips swollen, and he grinned.

“Just like riding a bike, Mulder. You never forget how,” he growled, but in that good way.

Mulder smiled, swooped in for another kiss, then moved to nibble at an earlobe, and he whispered in Skinner’s ear. “Hey, Walter, you got a bed in this place?”