Home-->Mom, Don't Go Here
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The Voice
“Make a promise, take a vow
When the party was over, it was just the two of them…which is, of course, how this had all started. They were pleased at the success of their housewarming, not just at the reactions they had received about the house, but at the reactions to their relationship as well. Scully had been a given, of course, happy for Mulder in a way that only best friends can be, but the ease with which people as diverse as the Gunmen, Scully’s mother, and Kim Cooke had accepted them being together…Mulder simply declared it an X-File, and Skinner had to agree with him. Mulder sat cross-legged on the floor. Skinner sat across from him in the same position. Between them stood a bottle of sparkling wine, two glasses, and two lit votive candles, providing the only illumination in the room. Mulder thought it was romantic, and Skinner was just pleased that the dim light hid the remnants of the party from view. “You pour,” Mulder said, a slight tremor in his voice. “No, you.” “All right.” Mulder easily popped the cork on the bottle, and carefully poured two even glassfuls. He handed one to Skinner, who held his hand just a moment longer than was necessary before taking the glass from him. Mulder set the bottle down and picked up his own glass. “To our new home?” Skinner queried, raising his glass slightly. “No. I think, in honour of this occasion, we need to toast in a more traditional way; something heavy, and fraught with meaning.” Skinner could see the teasing glint in Mulder’s eyes, and he gave him a smile in return. “Here’s to your hole…” he began, and was pleased to see that even candlelight couldn’t hide the blush suddenly staining Mulder’s cheeks. He paused briefly, enjoying the other man’s discomfort, then let him off the hook. “Family,” he finished. “Very clever, Walter,” Mulder’s words held laughter in them. “Very classy, too.” “We were never much interested in toasting royalty in Vietnam. And that was one of the classier ones I ever heard over beer cans.” Skinner shook off the memory, not wanting anything to spoil the moment. “How about…” Mulder began. Skinner gave him his attention. “To men and horses…” Skinner flinched slightly, knowing there was a punchline coming. “May we always be able to mount them.” Mulder kept his voice deadpan, and Skinner matched his tone. “Well, that was certainly much classier. I always knew you were a closet thespian.” The warm glow in his dark brown eyes cut the sarcasm of the words, and Mulder’s mock look of hurt quickly faded. “To you.” Mulder’s voice nearly failed him, and the words came out in a trembling voice husky with emotion. Skinner knew playtime was over, for now. “To you,” he replied, meaning it with every fiber of his being. There was a moment of silence, and then in unison and quite by accident, they said together, “To us.” Mulder laughed and crashed his glass to Skinner’s, then took a large swallow of wine. Skinner followed suit with a much more delicate sip. He marveled briefly at the taste, sweet and sour at the same time, and silently congratulated his partner on picking out a wine that had a sugar rating of less than 6, and a name that, while maybe not as classic as Dom Perignon, was at least a little more respectable than the last bottle Mulder had bought, a sassy welfare bouquet with the dubious name of “Strawberry Angel”-sugar rated 9. He didn’t voice his thoughts aloud, but suspected that Mulder knew what he was thinking nevertheless, and had it confirmed when Mulder spoke. “Asti Spumante…sounds like an old Italian woman with a moustache.” He drained his glass. “I’m just glad you bought something where the paper bag was optional.” He picked up the bottle and waved it in the general direction of Mulder’s empty glass, then poured when Mulder held it out to him. “Trying to get me drunk, Walter?” Mulder teased. “Always worked in high school,” he replied. “If you’ll be captain of the football team, I’ll be your cheerleader.” Mulder smiled over the rim of his glass, teasing Skinner with words and actions. “But I have to warn you, I won’t go all the way, unless you ask me to go steady.” Skinner had to laugh at the picture his mind presented him of Mulder in a kicky blue and gold cheerleader’s skirt and sweater, with matching pom poms. “What if I promised to respect you in the morning?” “That’s what they all say, Walter.” He set his once again empty glass down and reached for the bottle. Skinner beat him to it, and added more wine to his own glass before offering any more to Mulder. “I really like the place,” Mulder’s tone turned suddenly serious, and his eyes darkened. Skinner gazed into them a long time, losing himself in their hazel depths. Affirmations unspoken lay in them, and he tried to convey his own feelings the same way, but wasn’t sure if he had succeeded, so he spoke then, a throaty whisper that trapped layers of emotion over the words: “I do too.” ****** An unknown time later, the wine was gone, the candles burned out, and Mulder and Skinner were laughing over something that neither one could remember. Mulder lay stretched out on the floor, while Skinner sat with one leg bent under him, back resting against the black leather couch. Sobering suddenly, Skinner took a minute just to enjoy the view of a moonlit Mulder, still laughing and rolling on the floor, bathed in ephemeral glow, looking for all the world like one of the aliens he was constantly seeking. “Come here.” Skinner’s voice was low, but Mulder responded immediately, a last giggle fading as he sat up and peered through the not quite darkness at his lover. A moment later he was kneeling before the other man, smiling as Skinner pulled him gently into his arms, pressing his lips to his hair, his forehead, his nose (making him laugh again), and his mouth. Mulder’s mouth opened and he relished the possessive thrust of the other man’s tongue as Skinner kissed him thoroughly and lavishly, leaving him breathless when he finally pulled away. Still holding the younger man in his strong embrace, Skinner stood, bringing Mulder up with him. Only then did he realize the effects so much wine in so short amount of time had had on him, and he staggered and fell back onto the couch, pulling Mulder down on top of him. Both men found this to be the height of hilarity, and they laughed together for several minutes. Skinner felt his heart leap at the joyous sounds coming from his lover, knowing the other man’s penchance for guilt, remorse and sadness, and happy to see that he could keep Mulder’s personal demons at bay, if only for a while. Mulder would feel himself coming under some kind of control, and then he would feel Skinner’s chest convulsing with laughter beneath him, and he’d be off again, almost hysterical. He knew he was a little bit drunk, but he knew that wasn’t the heart of it-he was also, god forbid, incredibly happy. Finally with one last snort which threatened to send Skinner into another laughing fit, Mulder settled himself, resting his weight more evenly on Skinner’s body, fitting them together like parts of a puzzle, chest to chest, eye to eye. Skinner put his arms around Mulder’s shoulders, and Mulder put both hands on the nape of Skinner’s neck. “Is this still part of the high-school scenario, Walter?” Mulder asked, his voice teasing. “I don’t think so,” Skinner replied, his voice rough. “So you’re not going to tell me that if I really loved you…” Mulder let the words trail away suggestively. “That line never worked in high school.” “It could work now.” It didn’t sound like Mulder was joking now. Skinner kissed his lover’s cheek before asking, “You really love me?” He tried to keep his tone light, but thought he must have failed when Mulder didn’t reply for a long time. Skinner didn’t want Mulder to think he was pushing, so in the silence that followed he busied himself with running his hands through the other man’s silken hair, down his neck and across his shoulders. He kept his gaze averted, but could feel Mulder’s eyes on him. “I love you, Walter.” The words were spoken so quietly that Skinner at first couldn’t believe he’d heard Mulder correctly. He’d wanted to hear them for so long now. He’d never doubted the depth of feeling that his lover had for him, but Mulder had never said the words out loud. And now... “Oh, Fox.” There was nothing else to do but to kiss him, again and again, making him laugh, making him breathless, making him want more. “I love you, too.” ****** The scene was nearly the same. The wine, the candles and Skinner all sat on the floor. The bottle was empty, the candles nearly down to wick and puddle, and Skinner was slumped against the couch. He shook his head to clear away the memory. Why had he thought of that night anyway? “Because you’re drunk,” he startled himself when the words came out loud. The rest of the thought formed in his mind only; and you always get sappy and sentimental when you’re drunk He looked around the dark room, picturing Mulder here, remembering… He’ll be good as new, soon, and then he’ll be back home. He tried a deep breath, to see if that would make him believe it. Skinner had gone to the hospital today, relieved and overjoyed that Mulder had come out of the coma. Now he was awash with despair, remembering the confusion that had coloured Mulder’s eyes green. He hadn’t known who Skinner was. Hadn’t remembered him. At all… Skinner buried his face in his hands and wept.
How did Fox wind up in a coma? How long have the boys been together?
Did the Gunmen really party with Scully's mom? You decide-this is a vignette,
not a soap opera *L*
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