Home-->Mom, Don't Go Here
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I Wanna Come Over
WARNING: I posted this warning
on egroups earlier, but it bears repeating. All writers please be
advised that listening to any song by Matchbox 20 (most especially "Bent"),
can be dangerous to your story. No matter what type of story you
are writing, Rob Thomas' lyrics will immediately turn your smutty little
PWP sex story into an angsty H/C piece, and there is nothing you can do
about it! You have been warned!
“I wanna come over
“Skinner.” “We’re back.” “Good. How did it go?” “Can I come over?” The tired question told Walter Skinner nearly everything he needed to know about the latest case his two wunderkind agents had been on. He shoved an errant thought of evil paperwork to the back of his mind. “Do you need a ride?” “Scully’s driving. I’ll get her to drop me off.” “All right.” “Walter…thanks.” The phone went dead in his ear. He glanced at his watch, did a quick calculation, and went upstairs to the bedroom. Humming tunelessly, he stripped the bed and remade it with fresh sheets. He added a flannel blanket to the bed before covering the entire thing with a thick navy duvet. Turning to the bureau, he opened the drawer that Mulder had adopted as his own, and rummaged through several pairs of boxer shorts, a few mismatched socks, and various and sundry sex toys until he found plaid pajama pants, which he tossed on the bed, along with a grey t-shirt and thick wool work socks. He checked his watch again, then headed for the bathroom. --------------- He was seated on the couch, feet propped up on the coffee table, remote in hand, channel surfing lazily when he heard the soft knock on the door. He wondered for a moment about a man who had no qualms about breaking into defense department offices guarded by soldiers with standing orders to shoot first and ask questions later, but who would never walk into the one place he was most welcome without knocking first. “It’s open,” he called out as he got to his feet. He met his lover at the door, and for a moment they just looked at one another. Then Walter opened his arms and pulled Fox into a tight embrace. “I’m glad you’re here.” “I’m glad to be here.” Fox pulled away reluctantly, dropping kit and suitbag to the floor with a muffled “thud”. Walter still held him, now at arm’s length, and his concerned gaze fell on the disheveled, dirty hair, the dark circles under wide green/gold eyes, and the two butterfly stitches holding together a nasty cut on one cheek. He pulled him in for another hug, muttering, “You look like hell.” “Flattery’ll get you nowhere, Walter.” “I know.” Again Fox pulled back, offering a tired smile. Walter took it and added it to the small but ever-growing collection of Muldersmiles in his memory, then gave his lover a kiss on his unhurt cheek. “Go upstairs,” he whispered. “I’m tired.” “I know you are. Go upstairs.” Mulder gave him a sharp look, which he chose to ignore by turning the younger man towards the stairs and giving him a gentle shove. “I’ll be right up.” “I’ll still be tired.” “I heard you the first time.” Fox took the stairs slowly, and Walter watched with concern. No matter what either one of them thought, neither one of them was going to see twenty again. He wondered briefly if he would ever be able to convince his lover to take a nice, quiet, safe desk job. Then, remembering the thrill with which Fox had greeted his occasional wiretap punishment jobs, Walter tossed away the thought, shaking his head at the insanity that would be trying to reign in Fox Mulder. He took the stairs two at a time, and followed the trail of clothing to the bathroom, where he had run a terribly hot bathtub full of water just long enough ago that it was comfortably warm now. The main vanity lights were off, but the low watt warming lights above the tub were on, making the room dim, but not dark. Fox was sitting hunched forward in the middle of the large clawfoot tub, arms wrapped tightly around his legs, head down, eyes closed. “Hey.” Walter announced his presence in the room. “Hey,” was the quiet response. “Want me to wash your back?” “Sure.” Walter knelt by the side of the tub and pulled a conveniently located loofah mitt over one hand. He squeezed some bath gel onto the mitt, dipped it into the hot water, and then stroked a soapy trail up Mulder’s spine. He did it again with increased pressure, and his lover groaned. “Too hard?” he asked. “No. Feels good.” Walter soaped and massaged the younger man’s whole back from neck to tailbone, and Fox wriggled his shoulders appreciatively. He spent long moments concentrating on Mulder’s neck and shoulders, and slowly Fox stretched out his arms and legs as his muscles relaxed. Walter dragged the rough mitt down Mulder’s side, then up again and over one arm. He worked on those muscles, too, rubbing out knots in biceps and triceps, first one arm, then the other. Working his way from the side of the tub to the back, he grasped Fox gently by his shoulders and pulled him away from the center of the tub, so that his back was snug against the end of the tub. He grabbed a towel from the pile sitting next to him and draped it over the edge of the tub, so that when Fox leaned his head back, his neck was softly supported. Fox opened his eyes for a moment and gave his lover a lopsided grin. “You had this planned.” Closed his eyes again before getting the answer. “Guilty.” Walter turned his attention to Mulder’s chest and stomach next, using the same rough, soapy motion he had used to undo the tension from the other man’s back. Mulder shivered as he scratched the mitt over his nipples, down, and around his navel. Walter bent down and kissed him. “I’m still tired,” Fox reminded him, not opening his eyes. “Then let me do the work.” Walter rinsed off Mulder’s chest, then petted and stroked his nipples again. A small sigh issued forth from his lover’s mouth, and Walter kissed him again. Then he leaned forward, planted a small kiss on Mulder’s shoulder, and reached under the water to grip his penis lightly. “What-“ Mulder’s eyes flew open and he began to sit up. Walter pushed him back down. “Shhh…” The sensation was exquisite; rough and gentle, strong and soft, fast and slow. Everything else in Mulder’s mind was forgotten as his perception narrowed to focus on the gloved hand stroking him, softly at first, then with more strength, the rough material of the loofah nearly overwhelming his senses. It seemed to go on forever. Just as he felt himself nearing orgasm, the hand would slow, slow, almost stop, then resume. He whimpered and felt the hand quicken in response. His hips thrust helplessly upwards, and Walter sped up his ministrations. He groaned and Walter squeezed, then loosened his grip. Tight, loose, tight again, almost stopping, never stopping… A last stroke and Mulder came with a shout, back arching, then fell back into the tub, splashing water over the side. “Oh, god, Walter-“ Silenced with a kiss, Mulder tried to get his motor control back. Walter stood and stripped off the mitt. “Don’t forget to wash your hair,” he teased as he turned to the door. Mulder’s shaky voice stopped him and he turned back to his lover. “Walter…thanks.” “Anytime. I’ll be downstairs.” --------------- Walter was back on the couch, watching the news and grumbling at the television when Fox came downstairs a few minutes later, wearing the soft plaid pants and t-shirt that Walter had left out for him. He looked up at his lover’s approach. “Hungry?” “No.” “I ordered Thai.” Mulder responded by snuggling up to Walter on the couch, wriggling against his chest until his lover obligingly put a strong arm around him. Skinner held him tightly and dropped a kiss on his damp hair. They watched the news in silence until the doorbell rang, heralding the arrival of dinner. Mulder sat up and Skinner slipped out from under him easily, pulling his wallet from his back pocket as he went to answer the door. --------------- Fox was lying stretched out across the full length of the couch when Walter returned to the living room with a large grease-spotted bag in one hand and two plates in the other. Not wanting to disturb the younger man, he instead sat on the floor, setting the bag on the coffee table. As he pulled styrofoam cartons, plastic packets of sauce and chopsticks out of the bag, he noticed that the television was no longer spouting gloom and doom about the world today, but was instead spotlighting the angst of some guitar-heavy rock band. “There’s a movie on channel 7” “I like this song.” “You would.” He placed a variety of items on his plate, including small slices of vegetarian fresh rolls, and was not at all surprised when Mulder reached over his shoulder and plucked a piece off of his plate. “I thought you weren’t hungry.” “I’m not.” Fox made no move to fill his own plate, just continued taking bits of Namanhoi chicken and fresh rolls from Walter’s. The older man indulged his lover discreetly, refilling his plate even when he was full, so that both of them ate enough. Walter efficiently cleared away the remains of the meal, washed dishes and brewed tea, and found his lover asleep on the couch when he came back to the living room. He took the remote from Mulder’s hand and shut off the television, then reached down and brushed his fingertips softly across the younger man’s jaw, liking the scratchy feel of unshaven skin on his own. “I’m sleeping.” Fox kept his eyes closed and turned his face under Walter’s hand like a cat. “Why don’t you go on up to bed?” “I don’t walk in my sleep.” “I could carry you.” “I’m awake now.” Fox didn’t resist Walter’s strong arms as he was helped to his feet. He swayed unsteadily for a moment, then gave his lover a hug, and a kiss that ended in a yawn. “Bed.” “Yes, mom.” This comment earned him a frown, then a grin as Walter tried to imagine Teena Mulder giving her son a handjob in the bathtub. Mulder must have thought the same thing, for he laughed quietly, then reluctantly moved away from Walter, leaving the older man to take care of lights and locks as he ascended the stairs. One small lamp on the nightstand was on and Mulder was fussing with the bedclothes when Walter entered the room. “I must be the only person on the planet over the age of five who has a security blanket,” he groused gently as he climbed into bed. “Or needs one.” Walter stripped to his briefs, set his glasses on the dresser, and, as Fox shut out the light, felt his way across the room to slip into bed beside his lover. “I think I’m supposed to resent the implication of that, but I’ll let it slide, just for tonight.” He sighed as Walter pulled the flannel blanket up over his shoulders, then tried for the nth time to actually burrow into his lover’s chest. Walter pulled him into the crook of his arm, found his eyes in the dark, and asked very quietly, “Do you want to talk about it?” “You can read all about it on Monday.” “I know. Doesn’t answer the question, though.” Fox turned away from the other man’s gaze, absently stroked a hand across his chest. “I don’t think so.” “You can.” “I know.” There was a long silence, which Walter ended abruptly by kissing Mulder’s hair and hugging him just a little tighter. “Want to have breakfast at Pavlo’s tomorrow? My treat.” “Pavlo’s is a dive, Walter. A greasy spoon of the highest caliber. I once had my coffee wink at me there. And don’t even get me started on the eggs…” His voice trailed off and the silence was cozy. “I’d love to, Walter…thank you.” “Sleep.” “You, too.” Walter felt the other man’s hand entwine with his and he smiled as he
closed his eyes, satisfied that, while the war might still be going on,
at least this battle had been won.
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