THEN:

"We have to talk, Walter."

The quiet voice coming from his darkened apartment startled Walter Skinner so much that he had his gun out of it's holster and pointing at nothing before he recognized Mulder's voice.

"Jesus, Mulder, you scared the hell out of me!" he tried for a growl but it came out more shaky than surly as he slapped on the lights to reveal his lover-

*Ex-lover* his mind reminded him maliciously

-sitting on the couch.

Walter reholstered his gun.

"What do you want, Fox?" he demanded in an angry tone even as he drank in the sight of Fox Mulder in jeans and a t-shirt like a man in the desert discovering a glass of ice water.

"I want you."  Stated baldly, in a flat, uninflected voice.

"Go home, Mulder."

"No." Now sounding just a little petulant.

Walter sighed.

"We're not doing this," he said, trying to let go of anger and finding only weary resignation in its place.

"You said you loved me."

Skinner didn't miss the catch in Mulder's voice, and it took all his will power to stay standing at the end of the room and not run to embrace the other man.

Mulder scrutinized Walter intently, noticed muscles twitching in the strong jaw, and large fists clenching and unclenching, and he fought to remain impassive at the display.

"I said what I had to." Each word was spat out like poison, like acid, and both men burned at Walter's statement. 

"No, I-I refuse to believe that."

"Believe or don't believe, Fox, but we are done here." He put finger and thumb over temples suddenly throbbing, tried to rub away the pain. "It's late. I'm tired. You're leaving."

"No. Not until you talk to me." Skinner's last comment had broadsided Mulder-he hadn't expected this to be easy, but the outright bitchiness had caught him off-guard, if only momentarily.  However, he rallied quickly-this was too important to him.

Abruptly Walter strode past him to the bar.  He poured himself a scotch, neat, splashing the liquor violently into the glass and slamming the bottle down. He stared at the drink for a long moment, then set it down just as hard.

"I have nothing to say to you, Mulder," he declared in a tone that no one would argue with.  Of course, Mulder was the exception, and Walter really didn't expect anything less, although it made him even angrier here, in his own home, than it ever did at the office. Stray thoughts of chokeholds past flashed through his mind.

"I think you do." Mulder sounded irritated, not quite angry, but well on his way.

Walter beat him to it. "Agent Mulder, get the hell out of my house!" 

Mulder jumped to his feet, eyes blazing fiercely, and Walter was again forced to recognize the simple beauty of the man across the room from him, and that recognition both weakened and strengthened his resolve to end this, now, before it was too late-for both of them. Mulder's words cut off his train of thought like ice water had been thrown on him. 

"Oh, knock it off Walter! Let me remind you of something: You've had your dick up my ass for the last year, in case you hadn't noticed, and I've had mine up yours, so I highly doubt that your butcher-than-thou bullying techniques are going to work on me now the way they work on everyone else. Save that crap for the fucking steno pool!"

They glared at each other wordlessly, neither man moving, neither one of them feeling capable of moving. A wire of tension seemed strung between the two of them, pulling tighter and tighter until Walter thought his heart might actually be ripped from his chest.

Then, with a noisy sigh, Mulder collapsed on the couch again, and in a ragged voice, whispered, "Walter, get your ass over here."

Walter thought about refusing, knowing close proximity would be the worst sort of mistake at this point, and only realized that he wasn't able to refuse when he was already half-way across the room.

"Ah, hell." His sigh was equal parts frustration and resignation as he sat down in the easy chair next to the couch.  They exchanged another wordless glance, found a truce in it somehow, and Walter suddenly raised an eyebrow and a wry grin turned up the corners of his mouth, although his eyes were still dark.

"Butcher-than-thou?" 

"Poetic license." Mulder's tone was mild.  He stood and wandered over to the bar, poured himself a brandy, and retrieved Walter's scotch for him. He handed Skinner his glass, then slipped gracefully to the floor to sit beside Walter's chair. 

Mulder swirled the liquor in his glass, contemplated it seriously, but didn't drink. Without looking up, he said,

"Do you want to tell me what happened last week? Or do you want to yell at me some more first? I'm open to either at this point, as long as you don't ask me to leave again." A pause. "Because I won't."

"Well, then, I won't ask you to." Walter drained his glass in three quick swallows, winced as mellow heat branded his throat and settled into his already queasy stomach, and sluffed off his coat and suit jacket, then sitting back on them and for once not worrying about wrinkles.

"Mulder…" he didn't know where to go from there, but Fox put no pressure on him to speak. Instead, he very calmly, very slowly and very deliberately slid across the carpet until he had insinuated himself between Walter's legs. 

"Mulder," he tried again, swallowed nothing, drew a deep breath. He studied the slim muscular back presented to him, and muttered, "I'm not a young man."

Mulder snorted into his brandy, drowned the need to laugh with a quick sip, and nodded minutely, knowing that Walter would feel it where his shoulders were brushing the other man's thighs, and know that he wanted him to continue. And after an uncomfortable pause, he did.

"I don't know where this came from. I never expected it." At the slump he felt in Mulder's body, he hastily added. "I'm not saying I regret it-god, no! I just-I-we-it's not…"he let the jumble of words fade away, and tried to re-order his thoughts into something cohesive. His tone was quieter the next time he spoke. "Maybe I should have seen this coming. A man my age and all-"

"Are you saying I'm the equivalent of a sports car and a toupee, Walter?" Fox interrupted. "Christ, I don't know whether to be offended, or flattered." He shook his head then tipped it back, trying to make eye contact. Walter looked away, focussing on one of the paintings on the wall.

"The point is, Fox, I don't know if I'm ready to be-well, to be what we are, I guess…"

Mulder stood, drained his glass, retrieved the brandy bottle from the bar and came back to fall down in front of Skinner again, this time with his long legs tucked neatly under him, facing Walter and resting his head on his knee. He slopped brandy into the snifter and set the bottle on the coffee table.

"Walter." He captured the older man's eyes with his own, gave him a demanding look. "No one is asking you to twirl a baton in this year's gay pride parade."

Silence greeted this remark. Then:

"But-"

Mulder touched his hand and cut off his protest. "That is what you were thinking, isn't it? That just because I mentioned a gay nightclub, all of a sudden we should be marching in parades, having a commitment ceremony performed by some lesbian rabbi, and doing interviews for the Advocate on what it's like to be the reincarnated souls of Speed and Junior?" 

Walter didn't speak, but the tic was back in his jaw, and he turned his head to one side, avoiding Mulder's gaze. It was all the answer he needed, and he continued, softer of voice now, squeezing Walter's hand and getting his squeezed in return.

"And because you thought I wanted these things, and you thought that you couldn't offer them, you decided that I should find someone who would." Tone faintly accusatory, and Walter flushed dully, knowing he was right.  He hadn't stopped to consider Mulder's feelings in the matter, just taken one comment and turned it into some sort of neurotic guilt trip for himself.

As if reading his mind, Mulder continued, saying, "I'm not saying these things to make you feel guilty, Walter. I'm telling you this because I want you to know that it doesn't matter what we do. It doesn't matter if you wake up tomorrow and decide you're as gay as Christmas and want to alert the media. Nor does it matter to me if you never decide to analyze yourself or our relationship." A watery sigh, and Walter finally looked back at him, saw shiny eyes, and a shy smile that looked a little tired, a little sad.

"I don't want a parade, Walter. I only want you."

"Oh, Fox…" He thought he might start crying himself in a moment, realizing all that he had so carelessly given up, or tried to give up, then realizing that he was being given another chance. He thought that maybe they should talk more, about each other's expectations, and experiences, and where the relationship was headed. Surprisingly enough, he thought for just a fraction of a second about the potential lesbian rabbi, and then he decided that actions would always speak louder than words for him, and he reached down and scooped Mulder up in his arms, only dimly aware of the other man's muffled exclamation of surprise as he crushed him to his chest in a heartfelt embrace. Mulder's snifter went flying, good brandy stained the carpet, and neither man could have cared less.

"Walter-" Whatever it was that Mulder wanted to say was going to have to wait as Walter covered his mouth with his own, kissing him thoroughly with all manner of lip/tongue/tooth variations that left the younger man reeling and light headed, and left both of them gasping for air.

"Walter-" Mulder tried again, and again Skinner tried to take the words away, but Fox ducked his head and Walter had to be content to nip at an earlobe, then lick, then blow, making the other man shiver in his arms and forget what he was going to say. Instead, he went to work loosening Walter's tie, fumbling with it for a moment, then getting it stretched enough that he could attack the buttons of his starched white dress shirt, which lay open moments later, and Mulder was running his hands lightly up and down that furred muscular chest, stroking and scratching until Walter found his mouth again and distracted him.

Mulder found himself pulled tight to Walter's chest again, where he could feel the older man's heart beating wildly under him, and he just held himself still, soaking in all the unspoken emotion that Walter was incapable of articulating at this point.

"Walter-" his voice was a breathy whisper, and he thought the third time must be the charm, as Walter didn't interrupt him, or distract him, and he finished his thought, laying his head down close to that heart beat, feeling comforted by it. "I don't care if I'm just a midlife crisis to you."

No reply was forthcoming, although Mulder felt Walter's tiny gasp of surprise under him.  A moment later, though, he was lifted gently to his feet, and Walter stood with him, still holding him tightly. Walter's voice was a low breathy sound in his ear.

"You're so much more than a sports car, Fox," he whispered. "I love you."

Mulder pulled away enough to look into those dark brown eyes, magnified by wirerims that were sitting slightly askew now, read the depth of emotion in them, and offer a genuine and heartfelt smile, that earned him one in return.

"You stupid bastard, I love you, too!" he exclaimed, and then he was the one kissing away Walter's words, silencing him in a slick and effective manner that soon led to a hearty groan and a reluctant pulling away by the other man.

"Oh, god, Fox, I'm-I-slow down a second, or I'm gonna go off right here. Right now."

"What's your point?" the words were muffled against his lips, and Mulder wriggled in his arms, brushing up against the hard evidence of his arousal and he made a sound that would have been a whimper if he'd let it.

Mulder thought they should take this to the bedroom; Walter thought he should lock up the apartment and get Fox upstairs.

They made it as far as the couch.

Walter wound up splayed out on his back, and he just had time to tug his tie off and toss it across the room before Mulder pounced on him, as enthusiastic as a Saint Bernard puppy, and just about as graceful.

Mouths joined, hands moved, arms and legs flailed madly, and clothes flew amid grunts and groans and murmured fervent cries to each man's deity of choice.

Both of them naked now, and Walter held Mulder tightly, kissing his mouth, nose, eyelids, gently devouring every inch of the man's face, while his hands ran up and down the length of his back, stroking smooth hot skin and forcing closer contact, though not a slip of paper could have come between them at this point.

Mulder ground his hips into the body beneath him, and was rewarded with a moan and a hard thrust that nearly knocked him off the couch. He disengaged himself from Walter's tongue, which was damn near giving him an impromptu tonsillectomy, and smiled lecherously at his lover, who was desperately trying to reclaim both his breath and Mulder's mouth.

"I guess this means we've made up."

Walter's reply was a none-too-gentle tug on his hair, forcing another kiss, and a shifting of hips so that their erections slid and slipped along one another. Mulder made a sound low in his throat, like a purr, like a whimper, and reached down to grasp Walter's cock.

"Oh, Christ, Fox, that feels-oh!"

Between the torrent of emotion that had been unleashed in him after a week of denial, and the physical reality of his lover's knowing hands, Walter didn't even have time to tell Mulder how it felt. As always, his actions spoke louder than words, and Mulder felt the other man's approaching orgasm rush through a body drawn tight as a bowstring, then limp as overcooked pasta as he spilled his seed over the hand still working him.

Walter saw stars for a moment, and fought to control his breathing, even as Mulder was coaxing the last vestiges of his orgasm from him. He trembled under the other man's ministrations, hypersensitive physically and emotionally, and it took him a while to realize that Mulder was talking to him. The man was lying across his body, one hand still between Walter's legs, the other around his neck, and he was talking like there was a desk between them.

"…they say there' s nothing like make-up sex. I have to say, you were pretty quick off the mark, there, Walter-if I was vain I'd think that you missed me. Well, I hope you missed me a little bit, anyway. It's not entirely outside the realm of possibility, is it? I mean, I-"

"Don’t you ever shut up?" The words came out in a husky, panting growl, and Walter shoved upwards, hard, neatly reversing their positions without breaking anything.  Mulder nearly had the wind knocked out of him as two hundred pounds of muscular assistant director pinned him to the couch.

"Oh, oh, okay.  I'll make you a deal, Walter-oh!" A mouth descending on his right nipple distracted him, but he forced himself to focus, sort of. "I-I'll talk less if you-you promise to talk more-oh, ohhh…" There was more to say, but words were lost as Walter slid down his body and took him in his mouth. He was pretty sure he heard Walter make his promise, but he might have just felt the vibration of the words on his cock as Walter swallowed him nearly to the base. And what did it matter anyway? he thought. If Walter actually managed to suck his brains out through his dick, which was apparently his intention, then he'd be too stupid to care if Walter kept his promise-

And then Walter pulled his mouth away, and he cried out in protest. Eyes closed, throat bared, he reached blindly for the other man and had his hands slapped away.

There followed several minutes of light kisses and licks across the head of his sex, making him quiver and whimper and struggle as his lover held him firmly in place.  A thick-fingered hand encircled the base of his cock, and squeezed just hard enough to hold his arousal at its peak without allowing him to tip over the edge. Mulder found himself begging incoherently for release, and thought he might faint if he wasn't allowed to cum soon.

Suddenly the ring of pressure at the root was removed and Walter's hot mouth took his entire length, sucking hard, creating a vortex of demanding, incredible, sensuous pressure.

Mulder uttered a sort of a choked screeching noise that, at any other time, would have had Walter in hysterics, but for now he was totally absorbed in the task at hand, and he opened his throat as best he could as his lover rushed to completion, and he tasted the essence of him on his tongue, and he swallowed reflexively, again and again, relishing the bittersweet taste that seemed to sum up all that was Mulder, and all that the two of them shared.

Mulder's last thought on the subject was "I love you, Walter!" but he didn't know if he'd spoken the words out loud, or just thought them. And then, as he felt his lover's mouth gentling on his softening penis, he slipped away in a haze of physical aftershocks and desperate gulping for air.

He opened his eyes sometime later and gazed woozily around the room, finally focusing on his lover. Walter was sitting up on the couch, still splendidly naked, wearing a smug and utterly self-satisfied look on his face. He grinned down at Mulder, who was still on his back, his arms and legs splayed bonelessly.

"Remind me to try that at the office the next time you go off on a rant."

"Fuck you." But he was smiling too, as, with a Herculean effort, he pulled himself up to a sitting position beside the older man.

They grinned stupidly at one another for a moment, then Walter ruffled Mulder's hair and Mulder said:

"They're right."

"Who's right? About what?" Despite his best intentions, Walter couldn't always catch Mulder's train of thought, even with the boarding pass that he'd been given.

Mulder waved his hand at nothing. "Them, Walter, you know. The 'they' that everyone always talks about. As in "you know what they say…" Well, in this case, they say make up sex is the best. And they're right."

Walter didn't reply, just mussed his hair again, then slid his hand through the soft strands to rest on the back of his neck.

"But, Walter…" Mulder turned to him and stared hard at him with eyes that fairly glowed.

"Yes?"

"I do not want make up sex ever again." He said the words slowly, deliberately, and Walter understood completely.

"Never again, Fox." His voice was solemn and subdued, and he suddenly leaned his body into a loose embrace with his lover, whose arms came up around him instinctively.

"If I promise breakfast and hours of stimulating conversation tomorrow, can we just go to bed?"

Mulder nodded, kissed him gently, and stood, holding out his hand. As they ascended the stairs to the bedroom, he whispered "I love you, Walter."

Got back, "I love you, Fox."

And got in the last word with, "And don't you dare try anything like that at the office."

Walter's rich laughter enveloped them both as they entered the bedroom.