TITLE: Mr. Mulder Makes Breakfast

NAME: Mik

E-MAIL: mikdok@hotmail.com

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: … let us prove, while we can, the sports of love … Ben Jonson

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, 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. But, when I become king …

And thanks to my Beta-Kitty, for the recipe for toast.

If you like this, there's more at http://homepages.go.com/~frogdoggie/3wstop.html

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

Mr. Mulder Makes Breakfast

I can’t believe it. I mean, I’ve seen a lot of things in my career; amazing, unbelievable things, but this is beyond X-Files. This is beyond Z-Files. This is …

He’s asleep in the other room. By him, I mean my boss, the bane of my professional existence, the He Who Must Be Avoided. Walter S. Skinner, Anno Domini. He’s not merely asleep in my apartment, but, until Nature intruded and insisted I wake up, he slept wrapped around me, the bane of HIS professional existence.

To coin a phrase … Holy Shit.

Then there’s the way he came to be wrapped around me. The fact that for a short period of time the two of us were making a Twinkie; cream filled. I haven’t done that since college. I’d forgotten how damned good it feels.

This … this is going to take some processing -- and at least two cups of coffee. I knew something was biting him yesterday morning when he kept glaring at me. I thought he was angry because I lost another cell phone. Why should he be surprised? It’s sort of my annual Rite of Spring. But then, he got up and walked out. No word, no gesture, no explanation. Just exit, stage left.

I had to race him down all the way to the Park. And there he was, off the beaten path, staring at the trees with what, if I were prone to prose of a purple, or even lavender hue, I would have to call a dreamy smile. Went rigid as a stick when I touched him, though. Geesh, Mulder, that should have been clue number two.

I still didn’t see it coming when he phoned me up and asked to come over, discuss something ‘of a personal nature’. I’m not really sure what I expected, but I had this feeling that my ass was somehow on the line.

And it was!

I never thought I’d say this about Walter Skinner, but he’s cute when he’s embarrassed. Lots of the old-fashioned hemming and hawing, and glances off into the distance. The tops of his ears turned red. If I hadn’t been so terrified that he was about to tell me I was a marked man or that he was a clone, I would have had a good time with all of it. I used to know how to flirt, and he’d have been fun to mess with.

Well, he certainly messed with me. One kiss and I was a marked man. A tattoo on my forehead that reads: I belong to Wally. And for a virgin, he’s precocious. I can’t wait ‘til he gets a little experience. Huh. I guess I’ll have to make sure he gets some.

I have to admit, I really didn’t expect him to stay the night. I think when the shudders stilled and the rush passed, he was terrified to find himself naked, in his male subordinate’s bed. I tried to give him a gracious out. Really, I understood. It’s a mind fuck. Of course, I was surprised at the lump in my throat when I said it. It hurt, fully expecting him to grab his pants and run.

But he didn’t. He pulled me down into his arms and just held me. Didn’t say anything, didn’t touch anything. Just held me. And I fell asleep. And there I stayed ‘til the man came calling about the horse.

Now, the real question is what he wants to do now. Maybe he stayed last night to be nice, to be kind. Oh, shit. I hate that. I would have preferred him to grab and go.

Okay, maybe he did mean what he said last night. Will he still mean it this morning? Things look a whole lot different in the light of day. He’s had his itch scratched, his curiosity sated, maybe now he doesn’t need to stay. I can deal with that. I can. This wasn’t a romance. I’m hardly a blushing virgin who gave it up to keep him. This was … what was it? In reality, he came to me for help and I helped him. He stayed the night to say thanks for the help. That’s all. That makes sense. Okay.

I’ll make it as easy as I can for him. Let him go graciously. I can do this. I’ve been on both ends of this little scene. The decent thing is to offer him some coffee. Did he ever drink the stuff last night? No. So I don’t know how he takes it. Well, I’ll just take it to him black and bring sugar on the side.

Coffee doesn’t seem like much. Not for him. I could make some … let’s see … eggs. I could scramble some eggs. I hardly ever burn eggs. And toast. I have a toaster here somewhere. Yeah. This is the decent thing to do. A little breakfast to make the glide out the door easier.

And the newspaper. Give him something to do while he eats so he doesn’t have to talk to me. That would probably be more comfortable for him.

Let’s see, now. A guy like him probably watches his cholesterol so I can’t cook the eggs in butter. Hmmm, olive oil? Where the hell did I get this? Oh, yeah, Scully, Christmas last year. Olive oil’s supposed to be good cholesterol. Hell, I’m doing him a favor.

What do you know, I didn’t burn the toast. Now … I’ve got some jelly here, somewhere. I hope strawberries don’t give him hives. Look at this. The eggs turned out okay. Good sex must inspire me.

Um … good sex would be an understatement, now that I think about it. That guy should turn pro, and get endorsements. Now why did I have to think that? I’m going to start seeing Penzoil emblazoned on that bald scalp of his every time I look at him. Great, now I’ll giggle every time I look at him.

Oh. What if I never look at him? What if he decides he can’t work with me because of this? Shit, I didn’t even think of that when I kissed him. Mulder, one of these days you’re going to think things through instead of acting on impulse.

Okay. Coffee, eggs, toast and the newspaper. I’ll just set the tray on the bed and scram, let him eat in peace. Then … I’ll go for a run. Leave paper out someplace, let him write a note and go. Yeah. That’s the easiest way to do it. Deep breath. Here we go.

Oh, man, he looks good laying there. He’s a mountain, he is. And looks pretty fine without those glasses. The man really ought to consider contacts, the women would be crawling all over him.

And that … that smile. What’s he smiling for? "Breakfast." That’s it, keep it easy, and unassuming.

"I haven’t had breakfast in bed in years. Is this part of gay etiquette too?"

Oh, shit, why did I have to say that? "No. Just trying to be a good host."

Now I’ve embarrassed him again. "I’m gonna’ make sure there are clean towels for you."

"Mulder."

I got so close to the door. "Yes, sir?"

"Sir?" He’s laughing! "I think we’re a little past ‘Sir’, don’t you?"

I need to swallow and I don’t have a drop of saliva in my body. "I guess so … Walt."

"Mulder, are you … do you regret … well, what you said last night about obligations, that goes both ways."

I wish I could see what’s going on behind those dark, hot eyes. "Oh, no, no regrets here."

"Then come here."

I really don’t want to get within striking distance.

He’s smiling again. What a smile. "Yes, si -- Walt?"

Don’t flinch, Mulder, don’t flinch.

"Any chance I could have you for breakfast?"

Okay, laugh. It’s all right. And I think he’ll have Pepsi on his chest, and Trojan … well, we know where he’ll have Trojan. "I’ll be dessert."

-THE END-