***
“Thank God that’s over!” Mulder exclaimed, falling on the bed with a dramatic sigh.

Skinner moved to the dresser, began methodically emptying his pockets.

“It wasn’t that bad, was it?” Change, keys one of Mulder’s cufflinks from the right one; handkerchief, Zippo and a condom from the left.

“Have I ever told you what a great ass you have?” Mulder replied.

“I think you did once.” Skinner caught his lover’s eye in the mirror, grinned impishly, “but I still didn’t sign off on that 302.”

Mulder stuck his tongue out at him.

“Was it really that awful, Fox?” Skinner’s eyes darkened from chocolate to coal, and Mulder gave him a reassuring smile.

“Well, you know, not ‘awful’ per se; I mean, Scully and the Gunmen, Kim and her husband—what was his name again? Anyway, they’re all good people, but maybe there is such a thing as ‘too much of a good thing.’ He wasn’t explaining himself very well, and he knew it, but Skinner seemed to understand.

“Nah.” The older man turned and moved towards the bed, loosening the bow tie on his black tuxedo—a traditionally cut suit saved from total severity by a puff of teal in the breast pocket. “I mean, you’re a good thing, and I can’t get too much of you.”

“Christ, Walt, you really should be writing trashy romance novels.” But he looked pleased even as he complained. “Like tonight, for example,” he added. “How over-the-top was that?”

He was referring to supper at La Bodega, where, in front of a few close friends, he, Fox Mulder, had finally said yes to the offer that Walter Skinner had made all those months ago, and let Skinner slip the gold ring onto his finger, and then done the same for him.  No church for either man, both of them having left conventional religion early, or in Mulder’s case, studied but never bought into it. Although tonight, Mulder could have sworn he could feel something like spirituality in the room, a higher power giving a nod to the two men as they exchanged a few words that told those gathered there all that was in their hearts.

Skinner’s pledge had been eloquent but not effusive, loving but not cheaply sentimental. In fact, he’d chosen a song lyric, from an old seventies ballad that Mulder had confessed to loving one night over one too many beers. Mulder had made him swear never to mention this romantic quirk to anyone, and Skinner had respected his request, but when he had sat down to try and decide how best to tell Mulder how he felt, and what this commitment meant to him, the song came back to him. And it seemed perfect somehow.

“When the moon disappears forever, and the sun shines electric blue. When the mountains and trees tumble into the seas to rest there for eternity; no matter what you do, I will still love you.”

Scully had handed Mulder a tissue for his suddenly wet eyes without comment.

Mulder had accepted the ring, placed his matching one on Skinner’s finger, and intoned solemnly, but with just a hint of mischief in his eyes.

“Walter Sergei Skinner, I promise never to let mutants eat your liver, covert government agencies put you in five point restraints, or aliens abduct you and drill holes in your teeth.”

That had pretty much said it all, as far as Skinner was concerned, and while the others had smothered their chuckles with their napkins, Skinner had wiped his eyes, and then kissed his lover gently on the mouth.

“No worse than you, Mulder,” Skinner said now, “I know I wasn’t the only one misting up when you mentioned the Riticulans.”

“Smart ass,” Mulder threw his own tie at him.  Skinner batted it away easily, and then flopped down on the bed next to Mulder with a groan.

“I’m getting too old for this,” he complained.

“What ‘this’, Walter?” Mulder pushed himself up on one arm, used his free hand to pull off Skinner’s glasses. “Do you mean ‘this’ as in lying here in bed with your crazy albeit brilliant special agent and lover, or do you mean ‘this’ as in ‘making an honest woman of Mulder with a public display of commitment in an Italian restaurant’?”

“Yeah, that other one.” Skinner snuggled in closer to Mulder, began playing with the buttons on his shirt. Mulder slapped his hands away, slid off the bed.

“I’m hungry,” he declared, not failing to notice how the light flashed off the ring on his left hand.

Skinner rolled back over onto his back.

“Hey, not my fault you didn’t eat your penne.”

“I wasn’t hungry then.”

“Oh, I see. So what you’re saying is that my tiramisu just vanished off the plate all by itself. Huh. Must be an X-File.” Skinner tried to look serious, failed spectacularly.

“I am not going to even dignify that remark with a response,” came the arch reply. At the door, however, Mulder turned and grinned saucily, “Although it was one damned tasty X-File.”

Skinner’s laughter followed him down the stairs.

When he came back to the room carrying a pint of cherry almond ice cream and two spoons, Skinner had stripped down to boxers and socks, and was fussing with the television remote. He glanced over at Mulder, smiled.

“Mmm, my favorite. How did you know?”

“It’s one of the perks of commitment with me, Walter. I remember these things.” He handed the ice cream to Skinner, and wandered off into the bathroom, still talking. “And if my memory serves me correctly, and I see no reason why it wouldn’t…”

Skinner briefly gloried in the warm sound of Mulder on a rant.

“…And in the end, I think I wound up wearing more of that Ben and Jerry’s than I ate.” He came out of the other room dressed in plaid pajama pants, hopped up on the bed next to his lover and relieved him of the ice cream.

“Well, my memory might not be what yours is, but I don’t recall any complaints at the time.”

“My mother told me never to talk with my mouth full.” He grinned and handed Skinner a spoon.

*Walter, what are you doing?

*Hey, I ate all my vegetables tonight like a good boy, now I’m entitled to dessert.

*I’m not arguing, but—

*Shh…

*Walter, I’m looking here, and I’m seeing cherries, almonds, cream, sugar, polysorbate 80, and even a little Yellow Dye #7, but I’m not seeing Mulder anywhere on this list of ingredients.

*Sure you do. See-here, where it says ‘eat up with a spoon’

*It does NOT say that—where--? HEY!

*See? I told you.

*Shit Walter, that’s cold!

*So I see. Guess that’s why they call it ICE cream.

*Ha ha, very funny, big guy

*Hey, is that a cherry?

*Okay, seriously, Walter—OH! Ohh…ohhhh…

*That’s the sweet, sweet stuff.

*You know—oh—this is going to—ahh, oh—going to make the—ooh—the sheets sticky!

*I certainly hope so!

*mmm…

“Mmm, this is good.” Mulder held the carton, and he and Skinner took turns dipping their spoons into it, occasionally feeding one another as much as themselves.

“It was good last time, too,” Skinner set his spoon aside, gave Mulder a meaningful glance, which Mulder managed to deliberately ignore for almost a full minute. Then he let Skinner take the ice cream from him, and came easily into his arms when he held them out. They cuddled close for a bit, ignoring the sounds of the television, losing themselves in each other’s eyes. Then Skinner darted in still closer and licked a drip of ice cream off of Mulder’s chin, and Mulder laughed at him. Without warning, their mouths came together ferociously, and they went from simply enjoying one another to attempting to devour one another, with no lag time whatsoever. Long minutes were spent nipping, licking, biting at one another, a spectacular duel of tongues, teeth and lips that finally ended with no clear winner, but definitely no losers.

Skinner reluctantly let Mulder go, saying, “I’ll get the lights.”

Mulder’s response was an inarticulate groan.

Skinner moved quickly from the bed to the door, pausing only long enough to scoop up the television remote. He shut off the TV at the same time as he was slapping at the light switch, and the room was plunged into complete darkness. Then he turned and made his way back to the bed, quicker now for having done this on many occasions, not having to worry anymore about not finding his way.

A spark of sound, and a flare of light, and Skinner stopped dead in his tracks.

Mulder had pulled two tiny votive candles out of the bedside table, set them on the flat piece of amber coloured glass he normally kept spare change and other odds and ends on, and was lighting them with a wooden match.

They weren’t FBI issue flashlights by any stretch, but it was the first time Mulder had invited any light at all during their lovemaking since—since--Skinner was stunned by the act.

Mulder blew out the match and turned on the bed to face Skinner, who was still standing and staring. The flickering candles cast dancing shadows over Mulder’s face, caught the dampness in his eyes and made them sparkle, and he patted the mattress with a smile.

“Come on in, Walter, the water’s fine.”

Skinner swiped at his eyes and crawled back onto the bed.  In moments they were entwined in the middle of the bed, arms and legs curling around one another, hands stroking and stripping, mouths tasting and teasing.

Skinner pulled his mouth off of Mulder’s with a gasp. He pushed his lover’s damp bangs off of his forehead, kissed him gently there, and then locked eyes with him.

“I love you, Fox,’ he whispered.

“‘Til the moon disappears forever, right?” His voice held a teasing lilt, but his eyes were dark and wide, and Skinner could feel him trembling in his grip.

“Even if aliens drilled holes in my teeth.” He tried to lighten the moment, not because he thought what he was feeling was light, not by any means, but he wanted to ease this time for Mulder.

The candlelight jumped and vacillated and Mulder brought his hand up to Skinner’s chest. He looked at the ring on his finger as he splayed his fingers out over his lover’s heart, took a moment to collect himself, and then wrapped his arms around Skinner and fell back dramatically, pulling the older man down on top of him.

“I won’t even bother trying to play blushing virgin tonight, Walter, and we’re not honeymooning in Hawaii, but—“ He pressed his mouth to Skinner’s ear and his hand to Skinner’s crotch, teased both for just a moment, then whispered. “Be gentle with me, big guy.”

“Gentle, rough, or anything in between, Mulder. Whatever you want.”

“I love you, Walter.”

The candles burned, wavered, undulated with golden light. Shadows shifted and crawled over the walls, following the lovers, as their actions became more fluid, more frantic, more fevered. And in the end it was right, and good, and just illuminated enough.

***

I am not going to ruin this. I can’t. In fact, I don’t think he’ll let me. I don’t know what he sees, and I don’t know how he sees it, but he loves me, and I am not going to wait for the other shoe on this one. Somehow this isn’t about the size of my nose, or my colour blindness, or my penchance for pissing off all the wrong people. It’s not about my job, or my clothes or my taste in music. It’s not about the scars…the-the things that he can see, the things I think he can’t. All of that—it’s only about how he sees me, how he loves me, and how I love him. I am not going to question something, for once in my life. ..Oh, the candles…I should blow them out before I fade away here…he’s sleeping already…there, that’s better. Well, not better, darker, maybe…but, hey, it was a start…Cherry almond ice cream and candles—I’ll have to remember that. I’m so going to be sitting on a hip tomorrow. Thank God Scully isn’t coming over until…oh, I should remember to call her and…feels so good to be just lying here with him…what was I thinking? Something about Scully and…ohh… I love you Walter, for what it’s worth, and not only that, but I accept your love for me. Wow, I must be tired, where the hell did that come from? Okay, come on, Mulder, let’s try and shut down the brain for a while, before you think up something crappy. Think about how it feels to be lying here. Think about how he felt inside you, how he feels now, with his arms warm around your shoulders. Think about the sound of his heart beating there in his warm wide chest. If I turn my head I can hear it…steady, unwavering, for me…