Mr. Skinner Takes a Bath

TITLE: Mr. Skinner Takes a Bath

NAME: Mik

CATEGORY: SRA

RATING: NC-17. M/SK. This story contains slash i.e. m/m sex. So, if you don't like that type of thing - STOP NOW! Forewarned is forearmed. Proceed with caution.

SUMMARY: Skinner has some down time.

FEEDBACK: Feedback? Well, yes, if you insist...Flames? Send 'em to my brother, he's having a barbecue.

TIMESPAN/SPOILER WARNING: No thanks, against my religion.

KEYWORDS: story slash angst Skinner Mulder NC-17

DISCLAIMER: Fox Mulder, Walter Skinner, Dana Scully and all other X-Files characters belong to Chris Carter, Ten-Thirteen Productions and 20th Century FOX Broadcasting. No copyright infringement is intended and no profit is being made from their use. I'd rather say that they really are mine, but I've been advised to deny everything.

If you like this, there's more at http://members.theglobe.com/Mikdok

If you didn't like it, come see me, anyway. Pet the dog.

Mr. Skinner Takes a Bath

by Mik

Long day. Hard day. Just one in a long, hard row of long, hard days. My briefcase feels as if I’m bringing bricks home, probably the ones the upstairs brass shit over Mulder’s latest escapade. Mulder...there’s a name

I could go a month without hearing. I wish I could just fling this briefcase through the window like a discus. I won’t. People below could be hurt by the flying debris. It would be expensive to replace the glass. I like this briefcase. I have work to get done. I wish, however, sometimes I didn’t think through the consequences before I acted. Just once I’d like to let go and do what I FEEL like doing.

Well, maybe I’ll just skip dinner and take a nap or...a bath. That sounds good. A long hot bath. Sharon used to do that when she needed to unwind. Hmm. I’ll give that a try. I could take that roll out I need to go over and--

No. No work. Nothing to remind me of what I’m trying to forget. Nothing where Mulder’s name will surface. Mulder! Why does that man get under my skin? If anything can go wrong, Mulder will be there making sure it does. I’m amazed that partner of his has only shot him once. My stomach’s eating me alive. I’m going to have an ulcer before I’m fifty. Thanks to--no, no more about him. For the next forty-five minutes, Spooky Mulder does not exist.

Feels good to be out of this tie. Look at you, Walter, do you ever change? Anyone who saw me these days would think I was born in a white shirt and conservative tie. Hard to believe I used to be the maverick who wore paisley shirts and psychedelic ties. Ugh...leisure suit flashback.

I’ll hang the suit up later. It won’t kill me to leave my underwear on the floor for an hour, will it? You know, Walter...you don’t look too bad for a guy your age, a desk jockey, paper-pusher. The boxing pays off. Now, if only some of this hair was on my head...ah, well, there’s bound to be a woman out there who could be attracted to a bald man--who works sixty hours a week and is so obsessive-compulsive that, despite all his good intentions, he’s going to pick up his dirty clothes and carry them to the hamper before he gets in the tub. Oh, shit, Walter, you’re hopeless, aren’t you?

Steam feels good though. I wish I spent more time in the gym at the Hoover. And this water...shit, hot. But it feels good. Yeah, that’s nice. I didn’t realize I could stretch out so much in this tub. You could almost have two in this tub. It’s been a long time since I took a bath with someone. Those were good times. Whatever happened to them? I remember one time in Sharon’s mother’s house when we...oh, that’s all I need, to remember sex. Don’t think about it. Think about the budgets, think about anything, think about Mulder.

It’s been a long time since I’ve had sex, if even thinking about Mulder doesn’t wilt this rod. Well, I’m not a Boy Scout anymore, a little five-fingered romance isn’t going to send me to hell, and it just might help me sleep tonight. I guess it’s true, no one knows you better than yourself. That feels good.

Now, what shall I think about? Come on, Walt, you’ve got every female in the world to fantasize about, what’s your pleasure? Kim? Oh, no, I wouldn’t be able to meet her eyes in the morning. Sharon? Never look back.

Agent Scully? Hmm...Agent Scully. Dana. She’s lost a lot of weight since her bout with cancer, but she’s still a good looking woman. Well fit, trim, nice little breasts. What’s that word? Perky. Yes, I’d have to say Dana Scully’s breasts are perky. They probably have a nice little bounce during sex. I wonder what Mulder thinks about her--

Damn it! Mulder, get the hell out of my mind, will you? I really object to you invading my sexual fantasies. Why am I constantly thinking of that little prick? Honest to God, there are times when I’d like to shoot him myself. No, I think it would be so much more satisfying to wring his blasted neck. I’d love to throw him over my desk and get my hands around his--oh, God, what an image. I wish I could wash my mind out with soap.

Come on, back to Dana’s breasts. That’s it. I can see her across my desk, her prim, Bureau drag suit open, her sensible white bra pushed up to expose her breasts, which bounce in rhythm to him driving into...him? Of course. I can’t fantasize about her. I can’t think about her without thinking about him.

I don’t want to think about Mulder…damn you! I want to pick you up and throw YOU out the window like a discus.

Don’t stand there and pout at me, Agent Mulder. I want you out. Out of my bathroom, out of my fantasy, out of my life. Don’t run your tongue across that bottom lip. Don’t stand there, hands on hips, pelvis thrust out, daring me to take a shot at you. Don’t...just don’t.

Oh, hell, is that it? Is that what I want? Yes, damn it. Sometimes I want to grab him and shake him and slam him against a wall, or across my desk...

I can see him, eyes wide in surprise, lips parted. Oh, shit, that mouth. I could devour that mouth of his. I could feel him squirming under me, mouth open in protest, then accepting mine, his hands scrabbling at the papers scattered over my desk, clutching at my shoulders, clawing at my tie. I could rip his perfect Armani suit to shreds just to get a look at his chest, his flesh, him. Turn him over, hard, fast, listen to his objection and then his concession. Hold him down with one hand, spread his ass with the other. Oh, that ass. Tight, firm, round. Penetrate him. Just once getting through to him. Listen to him yelp and then moan. Watch sweat bead up on the golden skin of his back, watch his hands trying to find purchase across the slick surface of my desk. Listen to his voice get husky and needy. Listen to him say my name. Listen to him scream my name. Feel his insides grip...feel him grip me...oh...oh, shit..."Mulder!"

Well.

That was...

I feel like rubber. I could sleep ten hours now.

That was nice. I should take a bath more often.

-THE END-