What's in a Name?

     Fox stretched langorously, but didn't open his eyes.  One hand fumbled over the bedside table until he found the bottle of water which was a morning necessity. Only after a deep drink of the slightly tepid liquid did he open his eyes. 

     He heard the hiss and gurgle of the automatic coffee maker in the kitchen, and silently praised his foresight in setting the timer the night before. 

     The sun was fighting valiantly against the drawn blinds of the bedroom window, and Mulder knew it would be another hot day.  As if in agreement, the air conditioner came to life with a whoosh of cool air and immediately settled back to hum in a not entirely unpleasant though mostly unobtrusive way.

     Mulder stretched again and set the bottle back on the nightstand.  Only then did he look over at the man next to him.

  A.D. Walter Skinner was stretched out on his side, one arm curled under a pillow, the other drawn into his chest, the strong fingers of  his hand curled into a fist.  As Mulder observed him, he turned fitfully in his sleep. Tendons flared then receded in his strong neck, and the bedsheets rippled about his hips as his legs crossed themselves, then resettled over him in a frank and sensual way that held Mulder's attention for longer than he would have liked.

     He wrenched his gaze away from the other man's torso with an almost physical effort, and concentrated on his face instead.

     Skinner's fair complexion was smooth and worry-free in slumber, almost angelic, but there lay a hint of menace in the dark stubble rising along his strong jaw and across his chin.

     Unbidding, and half-unexpectedly, Mulder rubbed his fingertips lightly over Skinner's cheek, revelling in the harsh, raspy reality of the beard and the pall of darkness that it cast over his otherwise perfect companion, making him credible, making him real. No half-remembered masturbatory fantasy, this. It had really happened.

     Skinner shifted under his hand and his mouth opened with a deep, contented sigh, lips moistly parted. Mulder found it disturbingly easy to look at that soft mouth and lose himself in it. The hand he had put to the other man's face wandered involuntarily, until his thumb brushed across Skinner's lower lip.

     Walter's eyes opened.

     Large, dark and luminous, they pierced Mulder into motionlessness, his fingers frozen on Skinner's mouth, his eyes locked on the older man's gaze. 

     The events of the previous night flickered like an old newsreel through Skinner's mind; the tenderness, the passion, but mostly the sharp pang of jealousy when, at the moment of climax, Fox had called out that name; that foreign name that told him he'd captured the other man's body, but not his soul.

     Mulder saw his lover's eyes darken and smolder alarmingly, but he still didn't move, couldn't seem to move.

     "I didn't mean to wake you." His voice was a husky whisper.

     "Yes, you did," Skinner replied just as softly. His hand uncurled from his chest, the powerful fingers laying claim to Mulder as he gently brushed them across his chest.  His teeth nipped into the fleshy part of Mulder's thumb where it still lay against his lower lip, and the younger man jerked away with a small cry. 

     "Yes, you did," he said again, slipping across the bed closer to his lover, his mouth finding his neck as the motion of his hand on Mulder's chest increased.  Fox gasped as Skinner's thumb gently rolled across first one hardening nipple, and then the other. 

     "Yes...I...did..." 

     Mulder turned his head to permit Walter better access; lips, tongue and teeth explored his throat, lighting on his ear as quickly and delicately as a moth, then pausing to taste the pulse below his chin. 

     Unobtrusively, Skinner entwined his legs with Mulder's, felt his heat, his growing hardness, and matched it with his own. 

     He pinched a nipple painfully, then swallowed the ensuing whimper with his lips on Mulder's. He bit gently, then more forcibly at the other man's mouth, forced entry past lips and teeth until he could slip his tongue into him and taste him fully. Their tongues dueled inside Mulder's mouth, and he moaned as Skinner held him by his hair, locking him in place for what seemed an eternity. 

     Skinner withdrew from his lover's mouth, not entirely unpleased to see Mulder's lips were red and swollen.  He let his own mouth trace over the other's chin and cheeks. Mulder tried to turn his head, his mouth seeking Walter's, but his hold on his hair was strong-he reclaimed the younger man's mouth in his own time. 

     The hand on his chest had remained active throughout, stroking the lean muscles of his lover's chest and stomach, teasing his nipples and navel, never ceasing it's relentless motion. 

     Slowly, Skinner urged himself on top of Mulder, pinning him with his demanding weight. 

     Alternating gentle caresses with sudden sharp pinches and scratches, Skinner conducted a lengthy orchestra of whispery sighs and cries at his personal whim. He could feel the heart of the man beneath him jackhammering at a rabbit's pace. 

     "Please..." 

     Abruptly, Skinner abandoned Mulder's face and let his mouth roam downwards, his hot kisses searing a fiery trail down the other man's neck to his chest; using both hand and mouth to continue this erotic torture session.

     Mulder's back arched under him, but he would not be thrown.  In contrast, Mulder's hips writhed to claim him. He evaded this, too, though it took more and more effort as his excitement rose to meet that of the younger man's. But he restrained himself and continued to tease the hot young body beneath his, with lips and fingers, teeth and tongue, until Mulder was beyond all reason, all conscious thought lost to the burning primitive need within him.  And when at last Skinner thrust his manhood on to him, into him, it was his name Mulder cried out, called out, begged for-his name. 

     When it was over, Fox was sobbing.
 

Hosts of kudos, snaps and thanks to Jvantheterrible for this beautiful pic!!!