"The Necessity Of Now"

Title: The Necessity Of Now

Author: xof

Email: xof1013@gmail.com

Fandom: The X-Files

Pairing: Mulder/Skinner

Rating: Nc-17/Adult

Genre: Post Episode, First Time

Disclaimer: Don’t own ‘em, pout. Fox and Chris Carter do…lol.

Summary: Follow up to “Zero Sum” – What happens after Mulder saves Skinner by rigging the evidence? Their dynamic changes, for the better. Sans clothing, of course.

Author Note: Many thanks to Alexis for being my final beta. Huggles, Lady. And to Xanthe, for the inspiration and the encouragement to finish the story once I’d begun. I’m so very thankful you enjoyed it…lol.

The Necessity Of Now

By xof

(October 9, 2005)

- - - -

He hadn’t meant to follow. Hadn’t meant to spy. But it was late and he was tired.

Tired, and much too curious for his own good.

The thought caused Mulder to smile, though it was only a small one and was quickly gone. Had he been a girl, there would have been no better name to have given him other than Pandora. But fate had played its hand, and he’d entered life a boy – left by his parents to suffer through the burden of a name like Fox. Still and all, curiosity was well partnered in his nature by the quickness of his mind, leaving him at even odds with the name he’d been given.

So it was with a curious quick, albeit weary mind that he found himself shadowing a man through the much-deserted halls of the Federal Bureau of Investigation’s home office on a very late Friday. Well past midnight on yet another night that he’d spent in his office working rather than facing the solitude of an evening at home. Where the solitude and darkness would weigh him down until he felt like he was drowning in helplessness, unable to do much of anything in the face of Scully’s cancer despite trying again and again – every solution tried or avenue ventured leading to yet another dead end.

And more questions than answers.

Not the least of which was tonight’s mystery of why he’d chosen to do what he now found himself doing. Which was following his boss, one AD Walter Skinner, through the Hoover building when he could have just as easily have taken the road more traveled and left to go home. But no; he’d found himself drawn to follow him as soon as Skinner had emerged from his office and passed down the corridor with his head down, lost in thought. The man being oblivious that he’d had anyone else close by, judging from the uncharacteristic slump in his shoulders as he’d left his office.

It had only taken one glance and the slow chase was on – the first sight he’d had of the AD in the week that had passed since Mulder had left him standing in shocked silence outside the ballistics lab only minutes after it had been determined the gun, stolen from Skinner’s apartment and used by the Consortium in an attempt to frame him for murder, was now untraceable thanks to Mulder’s nefarious filing skills. Mulder had managed to miss Skinner the few times he’d tried to make contact – meetings that interfered or appointments that were delayed and rescheduled.

Each occurrence leaving the bitter aftertaste of avoidance in Mulder’s mouth….

So he’d decided to wait it out; to see what would come. And what had come was Skinner just a few feet away on a late night at the office; the calling card Mulder had needed to take the next step. And the next, on a journey that would soon change their dynamic irrevocably.

Several minutes and not a few floors later, Mulder saw Skinner turning a corner that led him to his destination. Knowing what lay beyond the door through which his boss had entered, Mulder hesitated. The indoor shooting range. “Ironic,” Mulder mused before taking a breath. It probably wasn’t the best ground upon which to talk, considering their last meeting. But he didn’t want to wait, especially if waiting meant more of the same . . . distance. Silence. He felt compelled to end it, to have it over – even if he wasn’t sure what he wanted to say. Besides, if not now then when would he get the next chance? If this was to be the place, then so be it. It wasn’t like there would be anyone around given the hour.

One more moment for courage and his decision made, Mulder pulled out his keycard and entered – the door shutting quietly in his wake.

- - - - - - -

If the muted sound of gunfire heard through his protective earphones hadn’t led him, then the faint flash seen in the distance and smell of gunpowder would have been clues enough as Mulder neared the last alley down the lane. And sure enough, coming to a stop – there he was. Skinner with gun drawn, sighting forward as he fired again and again and again. Mulder stayed back, watching. Silently bearing witness to a man who seemed possessed.

One clip dropped, replaced in an almost virtual slight of hand with another and still the shots rang out – exploding in rapid succession with a force that would have made Mulder’s arms ache for days after but now seemed to leave Skinner un-phased by the kickback. His strong arms were bared to the elbows, the white crisp fabric of his dress shirt pushed up for ease of movement. Muscles taut, tight with the grip he held; his body was tense, harsh and hard as he focused and fired until the second clip was done and the room fell to silence.

A quiet that didn’t last as Skinner pulled his own ear-guards off and with a suddenness that caused Mulder to start, threw them to the floor. Gripping the ledge in front of him, Skinner closed his eyes and bowed his head – gun still held in his other hand, down at his side.

Mulder eased his ear-guards off, placing them down on the nearest surface as he looked cautiously Skinner’s way. Not wanting to startle him, and feeling as if he had intruded on a moment he’d not been meant to see. Until with one word, he was the one left surprised.

“Mulder,” Skinner rasped out – his eyes still closed. When there was no response, he raised his head and looked the agent’s way only for a moment before turning back. Slapping the target recall, he didn’t move as it made its way towards them. Only breaking the tension that threatened to suffocate them both as he said tiredly, “You’re about as light on your feet as a donkey on ice.”

Mouth dry, and mind a mess with no coherent lead-in coming – Mulder cleared his throat and chose to deflect some of his own anxiety in an attempt to ease the way, “Are you calling me an ass, sir?”

The laugh that came was choked and full of pain, with little humor found as Skinner shook his head and released the target recall – staring at the paper, or what was left. The face; it was a void. Decimated and undone by the force of his weapon and the skill of his aim. Every single inch was removed without a single stray shot evidenced from the neck down. Causing Mulder to wonder whose image Skinner was trying to destroy, his own or another’s….

Until the answer came with the whisper of a man feeling at a loss - justice beyond reach, revenge too costly to cull.

“I could have done it; I wanted to.” Knuckles white as he laid his gun down and clenched his fist, Skinner dropped his eyes to stare at the weapon with almost a look of dread on his face. “He was right there, in front of me. Framed in smoke like the devil himself. So amused, and full of conceit. And I….” Skinner stopped, swallowed past the dryness of his own throat and managed to add, “I fired; three shots into the wall behind him. I’d have killed him, Mulder. Just a little pull to the right and it would have been; he would have been…. But I didn’t, I couldn’t.”

“I’m glad,” Mulder’s voice stopped Skinner’s words as the agent walked closer until only a little space remained between them in the small enclosure. At Skinner’s questioning glance, he added, “That it wasn’t you. Even in death – if you had, it would have been too much like him winning.” Eyes holding Skinner’s own, Mulder quietly said, “It was one of the reasons I did it. For all my doubts in the face of the evidence, I knew.”

At what cost, freedom? At what cost, the truth? It was always a struggle to know one’s limits, but now – in the face of what had almost occurred – in the wake of what could have been taken and lost – Mulder knew that losing Skinner would have cost too dear. Would have hit too close for him to reason….

“Why?” Skinner’s voice came, rough but quiet with emotion – the strain for control evident as the word passed between them.

It was said with an emphasis one would have associated with childhood, emphatic but soft. Like innocence lost, when for a man of Skinner’s experience - there had been little to nothing left still to lose. As if to say a more universal why – why her, why this, why any of us? But truly meaning instead, why did you do it? Why did you save me?

“Because I want to believe,” was Mulder’s answer. And he found that he did. He believed in Skinner, because in the face of what the man had suffered, lost and fallen victim to in the wake of trying to help both him and Scully in their cause – to do anything less than believe would be….

Unconscionable. Evidence in the sand of a line crossed that would take Mulder closer then he was willing to go to becoming just like the men who had caused this to begin with.

“I don’t know what to believe. Not about myself. Not anymore….”

“Don’t. Don’t doubt the sense of conviction that brought you here.” Mulder took up the distance that remained, coming to stand before him – almost against him with his hand raised to touch Skinner’s arm – in comfort and with a vehemence that rang though in his determined reply. “You have to trust in it because it’s one of the most important things that makes you not one of them.”

Skinner flinched at Mulder’s words even as he stood firm under the other’s touch. His jaw clenched as he tried to speak around his own guilt, “Trust no one, isn’t that what you say?”

“Almost every time, yes.” Mulder agreed softly, but then added with a new sense of reflection that sounded in his voice like the gentle rasp of shifting sand, his tone intimate and new. “But with exceptions.” The words were a risk, as was the closeness and the whisper in which they were conveyed - a gift, laying open yet another turn of possibility between them.

An offer for more, rarely hoped for and yet still there for Skinner to see. To accept, or deny.

It was then, in the aftermath of offering . . . more, that Mulder found himself caught. Caught and held by the look on Skinner’s face, and by the searching of the man’s eyes – shining dark and bright, the both together - as the realization came. As the hunger found there took away the hesitance of convention, leaving them both open and more vulnerable than either had thought he would have dared be to the man before him.

“Mulder.” It took a moment for the name to resonate into the younger man’s consciousness; so locked in the moment was he that he almost missed the word, but then it sounded in his head again with a rough tone mixed with surprise and a gruffness that only came through in the wake of surfaced longing.

Braver now, but still aware of their surroundings enough to be circumspect, Mulder tightened his hold on Skinner’s arm – feeling the heat of the other man’s body through the fabric under his hand. The warmth found there, and in the other man’s eyes, were enough to give him courage to answer. “Skinner, I…”

But just as quickly, his boss interrupted with a small shake of his head and the push of his body closer against Mulder’s own as he said, “Walter,” in a low voice that hit Mulder like a stroke below the belt. Just the one word, permission given for a deeper intimacy, had him hard and feeling head rushed.

A glance to the side, then back and Mulder was left asking the only question he didn’t already know the answer to – since yes was now, amazingly, a given. “Where?”

Jaw clenched, Skinner closed his eyes and released a breath – to calm himself or to wade through the need until he could stop them before they’d started, Mulder couldn’t tell. He only knew that the wait of only a moment’s time seemed more than he had the nerve to endure. On the edge of saying something, anything – the chance was taken from him as Skinner opened his eyes and said, “I know where,” before moving back, taking his gun in hand and walking away, leaving Mulder to follow.

- - - - - - -

Where turned out to be like nowhere else that Mulder could have guessed. A house, outside the DC limits - this side of obscure. One fronted by soaring trees that hid it from view, and allowed the owner a well-choreographed veil of privacy from any passers-by.

“It belongs to a friend,” Skinner had said when asked. One of the few things that had been said since they’d left the building together in Skinner’s car. Both men riding the tension that blanketed the air between them, they’d left words and questioning behind – each wanting too much to reason past their current need. Both setting unspoken doubts aside to follow where instinct led them.

The friend it turned out was an architect, currently working on a project in Japan. Which explained the ‘touch of the Orient’ feel of the home, and why it was standing empty – and available for them to use.

Mulder drew a breath before asking softly, “Won’t he mind us being here?”

Skinner closed the door, locking it and rearming the alarm system as he answered, “No, *she* wouldn’t. It’s not something Teri would mind.” He pocketed the keys, and shrugged off his coat before turning back to Mulder. His eyes looked darker than their natural brown in the soft half light of the entrance way; their power holding Mulder in place as Skinner stepped closer. And then closer still as his agent remained rooted to the spot; the two of them suddenly back to where they’d begun with just a look.

Eyes closing as Skinner pressed against him, crowding him back against the wall – Mulder almost didn’t hear his next words over the rapid beating of his own pulse, lost as he’d been in the heat of the larger man’s body against his own.

“Shoes, Mulder.”

The man’s voice in his ear sent a shot of sensation down his spine as he asked, “Shoes?”

“Take’em off, by the door.”

Clearing his throat, Mulder opened his eyes and looked at Skinner – their faces a breath away from; their mouths about to…. Giving his head a shake, he managed to murmur, “Let me guess; that *is* something Teri would mind.”

Skinner’s answer came in a warm pass of air over Mulder’s face, “In a word, yes.”

Eyes focused now on Skinner’s mouth, again he shook his head – saying, demanding the one thing he wanted most in that moment. “Two words, come here.” Barely said, the sound ended as lips met their match – Skinner taking Mulder by the back of the neck and pulling him in the last necessary inch before he took his agent’s breath away with a kiss.

A claiming, wet and hungry – hot and knowing. The kiss lasted until they had to part for air, both unbalanced by how right it had felt and how much they wanted to do it again.

Reaching up for more, Mulder was surprised when the other man stepped back.

Voice thick, Skinner said, “Upstairs.”

- - - - - - -

Devoid of shoes, in shirtsleeves and socks, they climbed the stairs to the second level – Mulder first, Skinner just a step behind. His presence looming at Mulder’s back, unconsciously acting both as barrier and shield against any impulse to flee that may have survived in the turmoil of anticipation that raged through the agent’s gut. Their only contact was the press of Skinner’s hand at the small of his back; the touch un-insistent, acting instead as a guiding comfort. One of which Mulder found himself craving more as they cleared the landing.

“Wow,” Mulder whispered. Welcome to the lion’s den. Or loft, he thought as he looked at the vast space that opened out before them. The second level consisted of one room, divided as bedroom on the right and personal study on the left. And the walls; the walls were mostly made of glass. Tinted, allowing one to see out but no one to see in. The effect was stunning, like standing in a tree house looking out at the leaves glowing in the moonlight.

Stopping by the bed, Skinner replied, “It’s one of the reasons I enjoy house-sitting; I end up spending more weekends here than at mine when she and her partner are away.”

Spending them alone. Mulder didn’t have to ask; it was there for him to see in Skinner’s eyes. In the line of his body, the expression on his face. Adding to the need between them, on both sides because it was the same for Mulder. But tonight was different. Would be different. Alone, no longer.

For a few hours, or for more…. He couldn’t say. And he knew it was dangerous to think. “Fuck it,” he muttered to himself as he crossed to the other man and did what he wanted to do; no more stops and starts. And doubts be damned.

Tall and strong, hard bodied and powerfully built, Skinner held under the brunt of Mulder's reaching arms - holding him just as quick in turn. Again passing all sense of reason, he took the younger man to him and claimed his mouth with a hunger that burned.

Feeling the fingers locked in his hair, Mulder gave in to the other's control for as long as he could stand to before pulling back to breathe; Skinner's name escaping with a low rasp. "Walter." It was the first time he'd said it, and he liked the sound - the feel of it on his tongue. Lips moist, he smiled. Smiled as he took Skinner's glasses off, and laid them on a bookshelf close by. "Again," he whispered, moving in even as he was pulled forward - their kiss endless. Their breath mingled.

Traveling hands became more insistent with each passing minute as Mulder did all he could to remove Skinner’s clothing. He didn’t care about his own; it was the haven and heaven of the other man’s body he needed to find. To feel, to know.

Giving the white shirt a shove off Skinner’s shoulders after he’d unbuttoned it and thrown the tie to the floor, Mulder dropped his head to explore each inch of the skin laid bare – mapping the man’s chest with his lips and teeth as his boss struggled to free his hands from the sleeves and cuffs; each tug chorused by a curse. Aroused beyond the ability to be amused, Mulder buried his face in the mat of hair that covered the man’s torso and reached down blindly to help in the process by unbuckling his belt and pulling it with a jerk from around Skinner’s waist.

Mouth drawn down with a teasing press of tongue and teeth, Mulder blindly unzipped and pulled on the remainder of Skinner’s clothing – following their descent until he was himself kneeling beside the bed with eyes locked on the delights he’d uncovered. Walter Skinner was a man to admire, and now Mulder knew he was also a man to *be* admired as well. The line of his body, the muscles playing under his skin – they were testament to a man who wasn’t a stranger to hard work. And marked as he was with the faint scars of war and the struggle to serve and survive, Mulder found him astounding.

He reached to touch what his eyes saw, to take the smooth hard length of Skinner in his hand. Only to have his wrist caught and held tight as Skinner guided him closer, his fingers buried once more in Mulder’s hair. Guiding, demanding him to do what they both knew was next. What they both knew was needed; Skinner to have and Mulder to give.

And then he was there, lips parted and made to conform as the silken heat passed through and over his tongue. As he eagerly opened and began to play. The longer he teased and the longer he tasted, the tighter Skinner’s grip in his hair - leaving him to thrill at the effect his actions caused, and at being under the man’s hand.

It had been an age since he’d found himself like this, doing what he was doing with hunger and heat. And he found that he’d missed the thrill it gave him, the fire burning in his gut growing stronger the more he caused Skinner to moan or move under his touch.

Holding tight to Skinner’s driving hips, Mulder pressed closer and opened for more until he was both vessel and sheath – the other man’s curls tickling his noise as he sucked harder, demanded more. It was dirty, wet and raw. Base and beautiful all rolled into one, until Mulder didn’t know where he ended and Skinner began. Until the act and Skinner’s edification were his world.

Staggered ragged breaths, a curse and a shaking touch on the back of his neck had Mulder looking up; up without stopping, up only to see the vision that was Skinner on the edge of letting go. The man’s body was shining, sheened in sweat with jaw clenched and eyes wild. Almost, and then there. Right there, the perfect spot and he was gone. “Fuck,” on his lips and body-jerked, Skinner came. Liquid burning across Mulder’s tongue and down his throat as the other man found his end with a quiet violence that wracked his frame and left him bowed in the aftermath.

Mulder closed his eyes and rested his head against Skinner’s thigh, his hands gently stroking over Skinner’s legs – enjoying the quiet that spread out between them as the seconds ticked by. His body was crying out, yearning to know the same fire and spark – but Mulder remained still. Too caught in the wonder of what he’d done to hear its call.

And then Skinner broke the silence as he drew Mulder’s face up and pressed a kiss to his well-used mouth; the two exchanging the taste of what little remained. Breaking the kiss, Skinner shook his head. “You didn’t even take off your tie.” As if that fact alone had made what they had done more illicit; but also said as if it made the experience more surprising and real to him.

Knowing Skinner’s words were without rancor, Mulder laughed – not in the least chagrinned. He took Skinner’s wrist, pulling the man’s hand to the knot at the base of his throat. “You could fix that.”

Skinner fingered the silk of Mulder’s as-always-atrocious choice of ties for a long moment, silent and watching. His gaze holding on the curve of Mulder’s neck, his mouth and then back to his agent’s face before he stepped away. Voice determined, he said, “I want to see you do it.”

Mulder remained still as Skinner crossed to the study area and poured himself a splash of whiskey before turning back to watch the younger man with an expression of hunger and expectation, completely unselfconscious of his own nudity but appreciative of its effect on Mulder’s equilibrium.

Pulling himself back from his state of staring, Mulder cleared his throat before speaking. “What, you want a show?”

A laugh escaped Skinner as he turned to put down the now empty glass. “Hardly.” He returned, walking in confident strides towards Mulder - knowing the other man was enjoying the view. “No fancy moves; just you taking off your clothes.” He leaned in and added with a hoarseness that sent a shiver down Mulder’s spine, “For me. While I watch.”

It was a challenge, and a request. Not that Mulder’s answer was in doubt; his body was aching for the freedom, the openness to have his reward under the other man’s hands. So it was without a thought for doubting that he gave his tie a pull and began to bare himself to Skinner’s eyes.

It wasn’t until he was reaching for his belt buckle that Mulder found his hands were shaking; his shirt, tie and socks a memory, having joined the tangle of fabric that littered the floor at their feet. The buckle was easy enough, but his fingers weren’t, they didn’t…. And then there was Skinner, pulling him close and reaching down between them to finish what Mulder had started. Their eyes locked for as long as was possible before Mulder’s closed and a groan left his lips; Skinner having reached inside to touch him, to take him in hand. “Walter, I…”

“You, yes. Warm, hard.” Skinner passed his mouth over Mulder’s, just a brush of lips together and then he breathed out, “You feel so good, Fox.”

Breath catching, he groaned both in response to Skinner's skillful moving grip and to the sounding of his name. "Not Fox."

A sound left Skinner's lips, amused affection mixed with exasperation as he answered, "Mulder in the office, as you like. But here, like this," he pushed Mulder's pants and underwear to the floor with a quick move that had the man naked before he had a chance to blink. Skinner trailed a caress over the curve of his ass, drawing him in until they touched for the first time, full bodied and flesh-to-flesh. "Here, you'll be Fox when I feel you, and Fox when I fuck you." His voice a growl, he arched against him and said, "And Fox when I know you on the inside."

Beyond argument due to the impact of those words, Mulder caught Skinner's mouth in a kiss and gave in to it all, reveling in the seduction of the man and his own amazed enjoyment of hearing his name reclaimed in a way he never could have imagined.

Savoring it, they played with eager hands and hungry eyes. Each kiss that followed growing more heated, more needful until time lost its allure and left them clinging to the necessity of now.

Legs unsteady, Mulder found himself falling back against the bed as Skinner leaned over him - holding him in place.

"You want me."

Mulder raked his hands through the hair on Skinner's chest, and then encircled his neck - trying to pull him down as he said, "Yes." Only to find his arms bereft as the other man suddenly shifted away.

Skinner gave the nightstand drawer a jerk; the contents knocking against the sides as he searched blindly for the item he wanted. Which he found quickly enough, returning to Mulder as he spread the younger man’s thighs and pressed him bodily down onto the sheets.

Arching up, Mulder panted as he tried to increase the pressure, the friction between them. His hard-on was aching, hot and… “God, I want to come. Want to feel you when I go.” The words a rush through gritted teeth as Skinner circled down against him, moving them together – length-to-length, building the flame until Mulder could only manage to say, “Do it, fuck me.” The words more a plea than the demand they seemed, as he pushed down against the new introduction of Skinner’s hand between his thighs.

Fingers wet, slicked with lube from the stash Skinner had discovered when he’d first come to stay after his friend’s departure – he circled round, playing and pushing at the resistant entrance to Mulder’s body. Entering into him, one finger dipped inside the heat and passed through the restriction of a decade’s un-use. And then another, the pair working him closer and closer to readiness as Mulder gasped and fell into the fire of Skinner’s eyes – feeling himself being taken as he clung to Skinner’s arms; his fingers digging in as he fought to open his body for their ultimate end.

There was a sharpness spreading through Mulder’s body - a pleasure that was pain, a pain that was pleasure – and then the burn settled, becoming warm and true only to be sparked anew with each pass of Skinner’s touch over the place inside that had Mulder calling out for more. For it all….

And then it came; the two of them groaning as Skinner pushed into him with a full hard thrust that was endless, but over too soon – leaving Mulder shaking and shaken. Wrecked and found in the same instant; a man made molten, moaning out for…. “More. Ahh, more. Walter, please.” His voice a tattered thing, Mulder asked for Skinner to move, to do, to fuck – giving him permission to go forward as his body opened for Skinner’s own.

Silencing Mulder’s words with a kiss, Skinner pulled the man’s legs up around his waist as he thrust, and thrust again – the rhythm strong, his breath ragged and loud. Hands clutching, slipping and gripping anywhere, everywhere they could manage, as their bodies were made wet with exertion and need.

Mulder was left mindless as Skinner manhandled and moved above him, against him, within him – giving him everything he could have wanted in such a moment; taking back all that Mulder had to give. Until, until – oh fuck, until he was coming. Coming hard, the spasm slashing through him as he spurted over Skinner’s stroking hand and hard abs; left insensate until he awakened from bliss blindness to the sound of Skinner’s harsh growl, and the pleading cry of his name. “Fox,” his call as he too came and came, and then half collapsed against him – the two of them a tangle of limbs and arms.

Too tired to move, they stayed there as time passed. Their breath slowed, evened out and they drifted off – half in a daze, then in a doze. No words spoken aside from the odd murmur or sigh. Until Mulder’s penchant for erratic sleeping habits reared its head, leaving him awake with the coming of the dawn. Awake and watching, absorbing the experience of being in bed with Skinner – half covered by the man’s large frame as he took in the relaxed features of his face in sleep.

Giving into impulse, Mulder shifted his arm out from under Skinner’s and soothed a touch over the other man’s brow, then up over his scalp – tracing the curve of his head with a smile.

Enjoying himself too much to notice Skinner’s waking, Mulder was startled when the rumble of his early morning voice broke the air. “One mention of knob polishing or chrome-domes, and I’ll tan your ass.”

Mulder snorted, “Is that supposed to be dissuasive?”

A dry laugh, “Sorry, forgot my audience.” Skinner shifted his head around, eying the clock blearily as he grumbled, “Shit, it’s not even seven.” Nestling his head back down amongst the haphazardly arrayed pillows, he closed his eyes and stretched a little before speaking again. “Can’t sleep?”

“Not since I was twelve.” The words left him before he’d had a chance to think, coming softly, sadly from his lips as they caused Skinner to look at him in the half light of the room; quietly saying he understood and knew what it was like – far too well. Wanting to get closer, Mulder rolled onto his side, wincing a little as he did – his body not used to their earlier play after too long an absence. “Ahh, I’m gonna feel that in the morning,” he mused as he rubbed his face against the warm curve of Skinner’s throat, sighing as the larger man pulled him in close.

“It’s already morning, Fox.” Amused, Skinner ran his hand down the line of Mulder’s back as the other just nodded his head, but didn’t answer – too content to reply. Stroking his touch up, then down, up and then down again, Skinner whispered, “Sleep some more, I’ve got you.”

“Hmm…” Mind shutting down and his thoughts kept at bay, Mulder slipped into sleep without a try.

- - - - - - -

When next he opened his eyes, it was to the sound of Skinner moving around the room. Blinking against the light of day, Mulder turned his head away from the windows to find the other man picking up their clothing from the night before.

Skin wet, towel wrapped around his waist and unmindful of being watched – Skinner was as enticing in sunlight as he’d been by the moon. Mulder gave a silent groan, shaking his head as the thought came. Finding that a) he was still as turned on as he’d been by the man before they’d touched – hell, now more so; and b) he had it bad to be rhapsodizing in his head about his boss.

“Take a breath, Fox. You look like you’re about to turn blue.” Attention drawn away from the distraction of his thoughts by the shifting of the bed, Mulder found Skinner lying on his side – the towel a hairsbreadth from coming loose.

Smiling. The man was smiling, seemingly completely at ease with where they were, and what they’d done.

Releasing a shaky laugh, Mulder groaned and made to bury his head in his pillow. “Only my balls, sir.” His attempt then impeded as Skinner made quick work of jerking it out from under his head, giving the pillow a toss to the floor as he flipped Mulder over onto his back and straddled his hips – the towel a memory, lost in the shuffle.

Caged in, Mulder gasped as the man moved against him – their cocks brushing as the other man rose up, then circled down as he carried his weight on his arm. Looking up in surprise, Mulder was held by the heat in Skinner’s eyes and he shivered as Skinner loomed above him, pressing a kiss to his lips as he was told, “Walter, remember.”

Mulder nodded, leaning up for another taste as he repeated, “Walter.”

It was a moment that laid waste to doubt as they continued to kiss, continued to touch until there was no immediacy to know what the future would bring. No need to ask what now, when what was – was enough.

When his now was “Fox,” in his ear and Walter in his arms.

Finis