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“Sandburg!” Fox Mulder called out and waved a hand at the short, curly haired man walking into the bar. The man returned the wave with a smile and Mulder was impressed when the wave ended gracefully with a reach around to take the hand of the tall well-built man behind him. The man was a good six inches taller than Blair Sandburg and probably could have taken him apart with his bare hands, but he appeared to be content enough to just let Sandburg drag him along towards the bar where Mulder was sitting. Sandburg relinquished his hold on the man with him just long enough to throw a hug around Mulder, who returned the embrace, if a little less enthusiastically. “Sorry we’re late, man, but traffic was a real bitch,” Sandburg started talking immediately. “It’s like I was telling Jim before; construction needs to be done at night…” Mulder tuned out the words and instead noticed how much Sandburg talked with his hands, gesturing emphatically, but still managing to keep touching his partner at the same time; whether it was for comfort, or for emphasis, Mulder couldn’t have said. Likewise, the other man, Jim Ellison, seemed unaware of his hands touching the smaller man with him almost compulsively—his shoulder, his back, his hair…the personal space between the two men was in a perpetual state of overlap that Mulder admired. Or maybe envied. “James. Blair.” Walter Skinner walked up from the opposite direction, greeted his friends, and then handed Mulder one of the two full bottles of beer he was holding. Mulder took a moment to enjoy the contrast between the cold beer bottle and Walter’s warm fingers, and he smiled at his partner in gratitude. Skinner didn’t relinquish his hold right away, holding Mulder’s hand just too long enough for Mulder’s smile to become a little confused. The dark eyed, slightly dimpled smile Skinner gave him was such that Mulder realized that for this one moment, right here and now, nobody on earth existed for Walter Skinner but himself. Then the moment passed. Mulder shivered a little, not cold at all, and raised the bottle to his lips, while Skinner turned back to their friends. “Hey, Uncle Walt!” Sandburg interrupted his own chatter, which hadn’t dried up at all at Skinner’s arrival, and launched himself at Skinner, his hug for the older man just as effusive as the one he’d given Mulder, so much so that he nearly spilled Skinner’s beer all over him. Mulder considered how Skinner’s white t-shirt and black denim pants would look wet, and had to turn away, whispering, “Scully’s mom, Frohike naked, Diana Fowley…” and drink more beer. “Whoa, there, Junior, watch it!” Skinner gave Blair an easy smile and a brief pat, and when Mulder found himself under control again, he noticed Ellison’s attention to his partner was a shade more focused—a little greener—than it had been when Blair had hugged him. Jim noticed Mulder noticing, and they exchanged embarrassed grins. “Walter.” Jim maneuvered himself between Skinner and Sandburg. Far more reserved than his partner, he still clapped a friendly hand on Walter’s shoulder, and Mulder again found himself wondering about the tactile nature of their friends. No small part of him wished that Skinner was a little more demonstrative, that he didn’t have his own personal space so well defended, that they could find a way to be more touchy-feely— --and then he remembered the heart-stopping moment when Skinner had stared at him over his beer bottle a moment ago, and he thought maybe they were doing all right. “Hey Chief, why don’t you grab us a couple of drinks?” Jim reached for his wallet, but Blair waved him off easily, grinned and told Mulder “I can’t wait to get you on that dance floor,” and then pushed past Jim and headed for the bar. Ellison watched him until he was next in line and placing an order, then turned and blushed at the two knowing grins aimed at him. “Hey, Pot! Kettle! Knock it off!” he protested, and Skinner knew, maybe even more than Mulder, that he wasn’t about to get into that argument with Jim Ellison. On more than one occasion, Scully had teased him unmercifully about his obsessive ‘Fox watching’. Only threatening to tickle her until she peed had kept her from pointing it out to Mulder. Jim interrupted his thoughts. “So, old man, what’s it gonna be? ‘Trip the light fantastic’ with the kids here—“ “Hey!” Mulder protested. “Or,” Jim continued, “You can meet me at the pool table and prepare to lose your shirt.” Mulder laughed at that and gave Skinner a playful leer. “Oh, I like the sound of that!” “Sound of what?” Blair had made his way back to where they were standing, or in Mulder’s case, sitting. In one hand, he held a pint glass of pale ale, which he handed to Jim with a smile. In the other hand— “God, Sandburg!” Ellison exclaimed over Mulder’s bark of laughter. “You are such a girl-drink drunk!” Blair tried to look put out as he shifted aside the fruit adorning the top of the dark red cocktail he was holding and sipped manfully at the straw. “This is a traditional Spanish drink, Jim, and not girly at all. Favored by bull fighters and other butch types, the name sangria refers to the color of the wine used--"sangre" in Spanish means blood—“ “Uh, oh, Professor Sandburg has joined the party. Come on, Walter, let’s get out while we still can.” Walter started to follow Jim to the back of the room, where the pool tables were, but he paused a moment to give Mulder a long look, another one of those ‘I’m here with you and nobody else exists’ looks that eased pains that Mulder knew he could never shed entirely. It was a look that said ‘Trust me.’ A look that said ‘I will never leave you.’ Despite having to shift himself a little on the barstool under the intense scrutiny, the same look that was having such an agitating effect on his libido was also soothing any insecurities he might be having, and he smiled easily. “Go; win me a prize.” “I’ll wipe the table with him,” Skinner replied, using a leftover Assistant Director growl. He touched Mulder’s cheek briefly, and then trailed after Jim. Sandburg was still talking. “Its humble roots date back to pre-Hemingway Spain, and it first made its way to America during New York’s 1964 World’s Fair. In between times, a ton of the stuff was downed by hombres named Juan in Segovia—I can’t believe Jim said I was a girl-drink drunk!” Mulder laughed. XXX Skinner knew he was being watched as he lined up a fairly complicated double bank shot, and a small part of him preened, while most of him thought it odd that anyone would be interested in a balding, myopic desk-jockey bending over a pool table. More likely they’d caught everyone’s attention when Ellison had removed his oatmeal turtleneck sweater, claiming he needed the freedom of movement that just a gray muscle shirt afforded him. Sandburg stopped by the table on his way back from another trip to the bar, fresh drinks in hand. He managed to contain himself just long enough to set the drinks down, and then launched himself into Jim’s arms, felt him up with absolutely no discretion, told him he loved him, and was gone again a moment later. Skinner made his next shot, and the one after that, and looked around for Mulder. When he didn’t see him around, he gave a mental shrug and studied the table briefly, found an easy corner shot, and gave Ellison a sunny, confident, ‘you’re buying’ grin. And completely missed the shot when Mulder strolled over casually and placed a hand on the small of his back. “Damn,” he muttered. Mulder looked contrite. “Sorry.” Ellison grinned and began stalking around the table, assessing his options now that it was finally his turn. “That was sloppy, Walter.” ‘Sloppy,’ thought Skinner, moving away from the table with Mulder. ‘With Mulder. Yeah, I’d like to be getting sloppy right now. We could—could—‘ Mulder smiled cautiously at Skinner, who was looking at him in a way that suddenly made him feel like he was a porterhouse steak and Skinner was a lion. “I—I just thought I’d see if you needed another beer,” he said. Skinner knew if they were more like their friends, he’d simply sweep Mulder into his arms, if Mulder didn't beat him to it. And a part of him yearned for it, wanted that freedom, that confidence to—to— It wasn’t likely to happen. He knew that. And couldn’t bring himself to feel bad about it. Although Mulder in jeans and a long sleeved tight blue t-shirt was something he could fill a million fantasies with, he just wasn’t the kind of guy who went overboard on public displays of affection. His love for Mulder was fierce and at times felt all-consuming, and he would do anything for the man, but— And then there was Mulder himself. Beautiful. Willful. More damaged than he’d ever admit, not even to himself. How long had it taken the two of them to get here? He with his insecurities, his denials, his by the book bullshit. And Mulder, who might as well have had an electrified fence around him, so strong were his defenses. No way was Fox ever letting anyone in close enough to hurt him. But they’d done it, and for all the crap they’d been through to get to this place, Skinner never regretted a moment of it. And if neither of them were ready to make out on the pool table just yet, well, maybe that just made the moments they did have that much sweeter; that much more intense. Like now. Skinner breached Mulder’s personal space just enough to squeeze his shoulder and brush his hair back from his forehead. “Thanks, but Ellison here is going to be buying the next round, I guarantee it.” “Dream on, Walt.” Sandburg blew in like a tornado, grabbed Mulder’s arm and exclaimed, “Come on, Fox, Yada’s going to play that dumb Bree Sharp song you like so much.” Mulder laughed and started to let himself be dragged away. Then he dug in his heels a moment and caught Skinner’s eye. The smiles they exchanged were the hot fudge on ice cream. Mulder licked his lips; Skinner took off his glasses. No one else heard them, but each man took the ‘I love you’ and put it away in his heart. Then Ellison was cursing in some colourful South American language as he missed the eight ball, and Sandburg was hauling Mulder out to the dance floor. XXX Skinner leaned over the table and easily sunk the eight ball. He turned back to Jim with a smile. “Pay up, Ellison,” he crowed. “I believe that puts you behind by about three beers.” “Show off.” But he was smiling when he said it. “Best 4 out of 7?” “You up for another one?” “You think you’re up for it, old man?” Jim teased. “Don’t get smart with me, boy,” Skinner growled and playfully cuffed the side of Jim’s head. “I’m definitely not the smart one in the family,” Jim replied, his eyes straying to the dance floor, seeking his partner. Walter Skinner didn’t have enhanced senses, but he was a man in love; he turned to look the same way and easily picked Mulder out of the throng. “Are you guys playing, or what?” Skinner only realized he’d been staring out at the dance floor for too long when a young, shorthaired woman snapped him back to himself. She pointed at the pool table then held her hand out for the pool cue he was surprised to find himself still holding. “Jim?” He saw that the other man was still staring out at the dance floor and he thought he might even be drooling a little. “Go on; we’re through.” He handed the cue to the woman, and then turned to Jim and punched him lightly on the arm. “You can owe me.” It took a moment for the other man to recognize him, and as he slowly came back to himself, Walter realized that he might have just been privy to one of those ‘zone outs’ that Mulder told him Blair always talked about. But since Mulder also pulled his own ‘zone’ card whenever he was ignoring request to do laundry, or take out the garbage, Walter was skeptical. “Oh, okay. We’re good.” Jim gave his head a shake. “Tell you what; we’ll grab one more, and then, I don’t know about you, but I’m thinking tracking down a wayward partner might not be out of line.” “I hear that.” Skinner agreed with a smile. Minutes later, beer in hand, Skinner was watching Mulder on the dance floor again, standing closer now, just to enjoy the view. ‘God, he’s awful,’ he thought, with a little laugh. Mulder wasn’t tone deaf, and the last time Skinner had checked, he could still count pretty well. No, that wasn’t the issue. Skinner suspected the more than occasional missteps and awkward changes in movement were clearly not the mark of a man who couldn’t find the beat. This was a man who was open to every experience; a man who was not just thumping his feet to a bass rhythm. This man was not just dancing badly; not just dancing. He was hearing all the music, top and bottom. He was watching the dozens of people around him, focusing on some of them, and probably writing criminal profiles on at least one or two of them. Not to mention most likely memorizing the lyrics of the song he was dancing to, and figuring out what he was going to have for lunch tomorrow. He was terrible, and Skinner couldn’t stop watching, couldn’t stop wanting. Every wrong step fed his need for Mulder, every time his long arms moved in complete counterpoint to his legs, Skinner desired him more. His heart sped up watching Mulder try an experimental bump and grind that looked almost painful, and he thought, ‘I’m in love with the worst dancer in the world.’ “Why don’t you and I get together and take on the world and be together forever!” Mulder could almost hear Sandburg singing over the music. “Don’t give up your day job!” he yelled at the man dancing with him. Blair leaned in to hear him, Mulder leaned in to repeat himself and they almost knocked each other over. Quick reflexes kept Mulder on his feet, but Sandburg was laughing at their clumsiness and that, coupled with one too many cocktails, was going to put him on his ass in a second. Mulder swore to himself he’d ask him if he was all right before he started laughing. Jim Ellison caught his partner just before he hit the floor and pulled him into his arms. Mulder took a moment to think about how he would feel if someone with shoulders like that were to catch him before he could fall… Ellison didn’t dance badly. He didn’t even pretend to dance at all. He took a moment to play with Sandburg’s hair, figure out how drunk his partner was, and then looked up at Fox and shouted over the music. “Tell Walter to catch me later this week for a rematch!” Mulder nodded, which threw his timing out again, and as he recovered, he nearly knocked the baseball cap off of the woman dancing next to him. He pretended not to be looking for Skinner as he spun gracelessly, and then found himself laughing as Ellison manhandled his dancing partner off the floor. Blair managed to wrestle one arm out from under Jim to give Mulder a friendly goodbye wave. Mulder returned it, lost his place in the music, and turned his body to try and make the move look a little more natural. Which brought him face to chest with Walter Skinner. He stumbled back in surprise, his mind already babbling at him that the end must be well and truly nigh for Skinner to be on the dance floor at all. Just when he realized that he wasn’t hallucinating, he also discovered that his slip was about to turn into a fall, and he braced himself, already blushing in clumsy embarrassment. And never touched the floor. Had he actually been jealous of Sandburg? Did he actually covet his neighbour’s husband’s shoulders? What had he been thinking? Skinner easily held him while he found his footing, and then pulled him close with the same arm that had kept him upright. The other hand splayed across his chest, warm and wide as Skinner fitted them neatly together, chest to chest, hip to hip, almost nose to nose, although Skinner would always be just a little taller. “Hey, dancing boy,” Skinner growled the words into Mulder’s ear, then nudged them further in with his tongue; Mulder shivered, had one more brief thought of Sandburg and Ellison, and knew without a doubt how lucky—much luckier in fact—he was. “Hey yourself.” Skinner was a solid dancer, if not an amazing one, and Mulder found that he could keep nearly perfect rhythm simply by pressing his hips firmly to Skinner’s and letting the bigger man lead; granted, though, the gentle friction of standing groin to groin, coupled with another thorough tongue wash of his ear was pretty much distracting him from the music…and the room…and breathing… He cupped Skinner’s ass and pulled their bodies closer, liking the way Skinner’s hand got trapped between them, feeling it like a brand on his chest. “You’re bad,” he told Skinner, scarcely able to believe that he was doing this; that they were doing this... “I am,” Skinner agreed. The hand on the back of Mulder’s neck tightened fractionally. “But not as bad as you dance.” “Hey!” Mulder tried to take offense and push Skinner away, and neither of those things happened as Skinner’s mouth descended on his, effectively cutting off word and thought. He tasted to Mulder like good Scotch and bad beer and his tongue was hot and everywhere, tasting every inch of his mouth, tangling with his own tongue, and Mulder thought he might be in danger of landing on his ass again, so he wrapped his arms tight around Skinner’s trim waist and held on. Skinner could feel the burn of razor stubble, could taste dark ale and something bitter like coffee, could feel Mulder’s eager sounds vibrating on his tongue too low for his ears to pick up over the dance music which continued to throb and beat, although he and Mulder had by now given up all pretense of dancing. He pulled his mouth off of Mulder’s with a wet smack and grinned at the swollen lips and foggy eyes—slightly dazed was a good look for him, and he thought there might be something to this ‘public displays of affection’ stuff after all. “Come on, pal, let’s take this dance party home.” “You don’t have to ask me twice,” Mulder replied, still holding tight to Skinner with one arm while he let the other one slip down Skinner’s body briefly, sneakily cupping his hand over his swelling crotch before letting his arm fall lax at his side so that they could walk out of the bar side by side, rather than having Skinner push him out backwards. “Cos I’m no pushover,” he muttered to the picture in his head of Skinner dancing him ass first out the door. Skinner heard him. “Tell me that tomorrow, when you’re sitting on a hip,” he said, then kissed away the resulting pout and led him off the dance floor. XXX “That’s it, buddy, just let it out.” Jim held Blair’s hair back with one hand and rubbed soothing circles into his back with the other while the younger man emptied his stomach’s contents into the toilet. “Gotta watch those Sangrias, Chief. They’re a manly drink.” “Oohhhh….” XXX “Oh God! Walter!” Mulder wasn’t complaining about waltzing now. The minute they were through the door, Skinner was all over him, mouth on mouth, all sloppy licks and bites, dragging his mouth away only long enough to pull Mulder’s shirt over his head, throwing it aside and then pushing him hard against the wall. Mulder gasped into his lover’s mouth as the rough material of Skinner’s ribbed t-shirt dragged across his bare chest. Nipples hardened instantly and Mulder wrapped his arms around Skinner, pulling him closer to increase the sensation. Skinner had one big hand on Mulder’s neck, holding him firmly in place as he ravished his mouth. The other hand was busy tugging at the buttons and zip on Mulder’s jeans, feeling the hard heat pressed against the material and growing more frenzied as the need to be skin-to-skin increased. Mulder was gasping and groaning into his mouth, breathy little noises that scorched his tongue and caused his dick to jump in his pants. At last the zipper was down and Skinner hauled Mulder out of the cloth confines of jeans and boxers and stroked up and down the hard shaft in a rough manner that he knew Mulder loved. “Oh, jeez, Walter—“ Mulder ripped his mouth away to gasp out the words with such vehemence that his head banged against the wall; he didn’t seem to notice, though; all his thought processes were currently fixated on thrusting into his lover’s talented hand. When Skinner paused to swipe his thumb over the moist head of his cock, a harsh groan tumbled out of him as his hips pistoned frantically. “Whoa! S-slow down!” he exclaimed, then completely contradicted himself by leaning in for another long kiss while he struggled with the button-fly of Skinner’s pants. Skinner pressed himself into Mulder’s questing hands, took just a moment to pull back and admire the heavy lidded eyes and swollen red lips, and then he was pulling Mulder away from the wall, turning him, kissing him, catching him when he stumbled over pants, ignoring both protests and pleas as he waltzed his partner down the short hallway and into the bedroom. XXX “Here, Chief, drink this; you’ll feel better.” Jim handed Blair a mug of chamomile tea and the younger man sat up a little on the bed to take it, wrapping both hands around the cup, looking a little green when he sniffed tentatively at the brew. Jim slid into the bed beside him, and an extended arm was all the invitation Blair needed to cuddle. Sipping a little tea, he said, “You know, Fox was pretty drunk, too.” “Oh, yeah?” “He matched me drink for drink,” Blair affirmed. Snuggling in closer, he sighed gratefully as Jim held him a little tighter. “I wonder if Walter is taking care of him…” “I’ll bet he is,” Jim replied, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of his partner’s head. XXX Skinner pressed Mulder down on the mattress, tore his pants and boxers off with several impatient tugs and grunts, then followed him down, spreading Mulder’s legs to line up his still clothed erection with Mulder’s naked cock. An experimental thrust of his hips and Mulder bucked and cried out and then his hands were back on Skinner’s clothes, scrabbling at them frantically enough to tear buttons from cloth. “Come on, come on, now, now…” he was muttering breathlessly. Skinner caught his hands and pushed them back and up over Mulder’s head, held them there while he devoured his mouth again, then neatly shimmied out of his shirt by sliding down Mulder’s body, ending with his shirt bunched up on Mulder’s heaving chest and his face between Mulder’s legs. He blew softly across his balls and then licked him from base to crown and Mulder nearly came off the bed. He’d pretty much abandoned the English language at this point and Skinner paused to enjoy a little Mulderbabble while he finished undressing himself, kicking his own pants off and sighing in relief, then in renewed desire as cool air washed over his throbbing erection. Completely naked and thoroughly happy about it, Skinner pushed his way between Mulder’s legs again, enjoyed nudging his balls with his cock just to make him gasp, and then he reached around Mulder’s waist to pull him close while his mouth took up a brisk licking, biting march across his chest. Mulder jerked and moaned and clutched at his head and shoulders and Skinner kept teasing, kept using every skill at his disposal, knowing that Mulder was close to losing control—no—close to giving up control—to him. And only him. The thought of Mulder’s complete trust in him was the most potent aphrodisiac that Skinner could ask for, and he suddenly twisted and fell back, thankful that his knees had been tucked under him so that his bed-gymnastics merely reversed their positions, and didn’t actually snap his spine like an old pretzel. Mulder opened his eyes at the dizzying sensation of movement, surprised to find himself on top of Skinner, pressed chest-to-chest and groin-to-groin. “Wha--?” he managed, and then Skinner’s hands were on his ass, and Skinner’s cock was sliding and clashing with his and Skinner’s mouth—that incredible mouth—was stealing his breath, his reason. He could feel fingers, moving, tracking, aiming and then a solitary digit, dipping into the cleft between his cheeks and he yelped and bit his own lip and Skinner froze. “Mulder?” his voice was hoarse, his lips and cheeks as red and razor burned as Mulder’s were. “Fox? Are we good?” Mulder turned his head and slid out of Skinner’s arms, and Skinner’s heart suddenly lurched with disappointment; concern; fear— “Yeah”, Mulder told him, slipping back on top of his partner, holding up party supplies with a half-shy, half-lecherous grin. “We’re definitely good.” Skinner let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding and took the condom and lube from Mulder. A quick shifting of legs and they were aligned again, hard cocks, flat stomachs, strong chests. Mulder squirmed a little while Skinner warmed lube on his fingers, and then sighed appreciatively as said fingers made their way inside him. Whatever overwhelming lust had caused torn clothes and lost buttons earlier gave way to something no less intense, but with none of the frantic fumbling. With sure and skillful movements, Skinner opened Mulder while their hips bumped gently together. Mulder slid his hands up and down Skinner’s sides while he burrowed his head under Skinner’s chin and lapped at the skin there like a cat at a bowl of cream. Skinner felt Mulder’s gasp first as a vibration on his Adam’s apple. Seconds later he felt the whole body in his arms shudder and his hands stopped their sweeping gestures to clutch at him with surprising strength. Skinner laughed and pressed deep inside Mulder again, repeating the movement and driving Mulder to nip at his throat and mutter, “oh, jeez, yeah, oh, man, right, yeah, there, there, oh God!” Followed by his head jerking up and an almost shouted “No!” of frustration as Skinner pulled his hand away. “Shhh…” Skinner soothed with soft kisses as he rearranged his pliant lover so that he was almost sitting up. “Steady, son, I’ll take care of you.” XXX “Jim, you still awake?” Blair stirred a little and Jim’s arms tightened around him. “Mmm, sure; you still drunk?” “Smart ass.” But said with such affection that it lost all of its heat and became something almost pet-namey and sweet. “That’s me,” Jim sighed into Blair’s neck, nestling his face into the long curly hair and thinking he could easily stay like this for a day or two…thousand. “I was just thinking,” Blair said, his voice soft. “Mmm…” “About Fox and Walter…” “What about them?” Jim nuzzled a little and his nose picked up the metallic tang of Blair’s earrings. Instinctively, he brushed a hand over Blair’s left nipple to find the third ring and the smaller man shivered in his arms. “No fair, Jim; you’re trying to distract me.” “Is it working?” “I’m still talking, aren’t I?” Blair let Jim pet him a little more, let him almost fall asleep, then said brightly, “I have a theory.” “Does this theory include anything about sleeping anthropologists?” Blair turned in Jim’s embrace, wriggled until Jim’s arms were tight around him again and kissed the tip of Jim’s nose. “Do you want to hear this or not?” “Depends. One: do I have a choice? And two: do we get to sleep when you’re done?” Blair pouted briefly, until Jim stroked his arms and legs and kissed his cheek. Mollified, he said, “Fox and Walter…” Jim let himself be jealous for a moment, remembering Blair hugging Walter…dancing with Mulder… Then let it go and closed his eyes. “Okay, Darwin, let’s hear this theory of yours.” “I think Walter is…” XXX “Good—God yeah—that’s—that’s—oh!” Skinner let Mulder set the pace even when every bit of him was screaming for completion. Instead he fought the urge to thrust mindlessly into the tight heat of his lover’s body, gritted his teeth and just held on to Mulder’s hips as the other man eased himself down, down, down, inch by achingly slow inch, until he was seated fully and Skinner raised his knees to help support him. Mulder was panting now, eyes almost shut, bracing himself on Skinner’s knees, hands pressed into the mattress on either side of him. For a long moment he held himself still but for the trembling of his muscles, letting himself adjust, letting himself feel Skinner completely inside him, filling him, body and soul. Skinner groaned and shifted, unable to contain himself, and just that fractional movement was enough to nudge Mulder’s prostate; he cried out his lover’s name as ice and fire raced through his body. He jerked his hips, slid up and then down and Skinner gasped and thrust again, knowing it couldn’t last. The snug embrace of his partner’s body was too good, too right, drawing out emotions on the verge of exploding just as intensely as his physical needs. He bucked up harder, still holding back a little given Mulder’s precarious position, biting at his own lips and sucking in breath and expelling it in harsh little pants. He needn’t have worried; Mulder was bearing down with as much need as Skinner was jerking up; the connection between them bordered on pain, blurred towards overwhelming. Skinner felt Mulder crash down on him again and again and thought of stags rutting and the echoing crash of their antlers. He redoubled his grip on Mulder and pinned him in place, battering him ruthlessly as his own hips pistoned rapidly; he could hear Mulder crying out his name again and again. And as he felt the warmth and dampness of his lover’s orgasm and the clenching of the muscles around him, he felt his own climax being torn out of him and he indulged in a little un-Walterish babble of his own: “Oh, God, Fox, oh Fox, God! I love you…love you Fox…love…” Mulder collapsed on Skinner’s chest, feeling his lover’s spent cock still twitching deep inside him. XXX “You think Walter Skinner is a Sentinel?” Jim didn’t sound tired now. “Yeah.” “No way, Chief. I’d know. You know that.” “I know. And I don’t mean he’s a Sentinel in the enhanced senses way. Although he’s pretty touchy feely for an old marine—“ Jim stopped him with a thorough, heart-stopping kiss and did a quick but just as thorough hands-on tour of all things Blair, leaving the younger man breathless. Briefly. “Okay, let me finish here,” Blair gulped air, but seemed inclined to press the issue. “Are you sure this isn’t just the Sangrias talking, Chief?” “Man, you are not going to let me live that down, are you?” Another kiss, then a stern look that Blair couldn’t see in the dark. “Not if you don’t go to sleep—or more importantly, let me go to sleep. So, Professor, you have exactly two minutes to give me your Walter Skinner Sentinel theory, and then you close those baby blues and shut down the brain, or it’s all couches and sock-gags.” “S-sock gags?” Jim touched his lower lip briefly. “One minute, thirty seconds, Chief.” “Okay, it goes like this: you’re the Sentinel, I’m the Guide. Sure, I help you out, but no one’s calling me ‘Blessed Protector’.” “Mmmm…’ “So even though Walter might not be able to hear an ant fart from ten miles away—“ Jim chuckled sleepily at that. “He’s still the guy that takes care of the Guide…he’s Mulder’s Blessed Protector.” “That’s a nice thought, Chief.” “Thanks.” “Sleep.” XXX “Oh, jeez, Walter, that was--hell, I don’t know what that was, but—God!” Mulder dragged himself off of the bed before they could become glued together in the not so poetic way. Skinner kept his eyes closed, listened to his lover murmuring something or other in the bathroom; it was a low, soothing sound. Water ran and stopped; the toilet flushed; water ran again, and the floor creaked a little as Mulder crossed the room and then the bed dipped as Mulder sat down next to him and he felt a warm washcloth swiping over his chest and stomach, then stroking lower over his spent cock and balls, making him shiver and groan. Another rocking motion of the bed, followed by a wet thump and he knew Mulder had managed to throw the cloth to the far wall, even if he didn’t hit the hamper. And then all thoughts of washcloths and bathroom doors faded as he found his arms full of Mulder and the comforter was tugged up to his waist. “Guh,” Mulder managed, nuzzling Skinner’s neck and wrapping his arms around him; legs too. Spent, both physically and emotionally, words were pretty much beyond him, but he hoped that Skinner could feel what he felt; hoped he could tell by a touch and a kiss just what tonight, all of tonight, had meant to him. “God, I love you too,” Skinner replied, softly. “So much.” He held Mulder tight and let sleep claim him, feeling Mulder’s soft kisses, thinking about the dancing they had just done, and the dancing at the club, and knowing which one he liked best… The end
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