TITLE: Air Supply/I Just Like The Feeling

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. Of course if you have four arms you can throw caution to the wind.

SUMMARY: Wake up calls, whispers, waffles and...um...wuvin'?

ARCHIVE: Only with my permission.

FEEDBACK: Feedback? Well, yes, if you insist …

TIMESPAN/SPOILER WARNING: This is an AU, very vague spoilers for multiple episodes, nothing current.

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 20^th 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.

Author's Notes: Needed a schmoop fest. If you're diabetic, my apologies.

If you like this, there's more at https://www.squidge.org/3wstop

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

I Just Like the Feeling

by Mik

I have a confession to make. Me. The guy who has lived most of his life alone, by choice. Not necessarily my choice, mind...but...ah, we won't go there, will we? The point is I like his warm.

You don't know what warm is? Oh, no, I'm not talking about the OED definition, not about temperature. Warm, in this case, is a place, is a...state of mind for the body. It's that place your lover leaves behind when he gets up and leaves your bed. Usually the warm is a very cold place.

Not with him. It took me a while to believe that he'd come back. I mean I know I'm not the most encouraging lover in the world. For months after he slipped his arms around me and held me in place as I fell apart, I still resisted him. It was...it was surreal. Walter Sergei Skinner, my boss, my sometimes enemy, held out an unconditional love. He stayed by me all those nights when I wouldn't let him touch me, wouldn't let him hold me, wouldn't let him even say the words I needed to hear.

*******************************************

I felt his breath in my ear. His voice was deep, rich, and aptly enough, warm. "Fox...We'll be late."

"Mmmmph."

*******************************************

I think for a long time he despaired of ever feeling close to me. Yet there he was, night after night, stubbornly climbing into my bed, stubbornly waiting for the night he could do more than kiss my cheek while I remained still and rigid, practically holding my breath in fear that he might do more. But even though each night I built a wall between us, each morning he got up and said 'I'll see you tonight.' And each night he was there.

He was good to me. He listened. Oh, my God, did the poor man listen. He had to hear every fleeting thought about Scully that ever padded barefoot across my brain. He got soaked in my tears. And when the water receded, and I found out I wasn't just a mudslide rushing toward the riverbed, I had to admire him for standing there, hip deep in the detritus of my grief and regret and not even looking as if it disturbed him, actually looking as if he was damned glad to be there.

I think it was somewhere in the middle of that mudslide that my feelings started to change. And it started with noticing the warm.

*******************************************

"Come on, baby." His tongue was wet on my neck. "We promised we'd be there."

I flicked my hand impatiently backward, trying to make him go away, let me finish my memories.

*******************************************

It was a cold day...a Saturday morning, the day I discovered it. It had snowed in the night, and we'd left the window open a crack. Now there was snow on the sill. And I could see his breath as he rolled over, stretched and stumbled toward the bathroom, gathering up his clothing as he went. Looking back, it seems unbelievable that when presented with a body like that, all I saw was his breath.

Before he left the bed, he reached out and gently pulled the blankets over my shoulder. But the bed was cold without him. I was tempted to call him back. I didn't, of course. I wasn't quite ready to admit that he was anything more than a stopgap, a little dam to stop the flow of my loss, a tourniquet drawn tight around my heart before I bled to death.

I could hear him in the bathroom, peeing, flushing, washing his hands, stumbling around to get into his clothes without coming back in and turning the light on in my bedroom. I rolled over. I found it. His warm. The place where his body had filled the bed all night, and the heat of that body lingered like sunshine on sand after sunset. Without even thinking, I wriggled into it, let it envelop me. And I drifted off to sleep, for the first time, content.

*******************************************

He was sucking my neck again. Oh, when he did that last night..."Come on, Fox. I'll fix breakfast. Come on down." That voice, so warm, so full of promise. The man could make eggs sound erotic.

I grunted in reply, my eyes still shut, my body still boneless and placid. And warm.

*******************************************

Last night. Last night, I had planned this big scene. Not so much seduction as surrender. The big night, the big act. Going all the way, as we said in school. I was ready. So ready. And in love. Yeah, I'd loved him for a long while now, but yesterday, at Scully's wedding, I realized I was in love. In love enough to want to be married, or as close as two men could get, in love enough to be willing to spread my legs and take him inside me literally as well as metaphorically.

Oh, I had it so beautifully planned. Wanted to come back to his place, thinking his bed was so much nicer than mine. Wanted to tease and arouse and seduce him. Wanted to make him want me. Last night, always, forever.

Naturally, it didn't go as planned. We were both so worked up by the time we got in bed that just a few touches, a kiss here and there, a little rocking and rolling … but what a rock, what a roll. We came on contact, as it were. And then … oh, then! He started to laugh. Not embarrassed, not mocking, just full bodied, happy laughter. It was like an orgasm in itself. Made me feel good. Made me laugh. So we enjoyed simultaneous humor.

*******************************************

His hand stroked down under the blankets, rubbing the point where my back gives up to my ass. A very sensitive place, I've learned. One finger stroking the top of my crack. "Come on, baby."

I shivered. But I didn't move. I wasn't going to 'til the warm was over.

*******************************************

When the laughter subsided, he held me close, kissed me, told me things he'd never told me. Told me how much he loved me, how he feared losing me. I promised him breathlessly, he couldn't lose me, no fucking way, not now. But I understood his fear. I held tight and promised. Again and again.

His hands slipped down my back. I'll always remember how big they felt, so warm. Kissing me, he cupped my ass in his hands and spread it open. I know I was a little nervous, I know I trembled just a little. He broke the kiss and promised that he wasn't going to hurt me.

Last night … well, we never did it, but we got comfortable with each other. He touched me, let me explore him. We kissed a lot. Laughed some more. Tasted, rubbed, caressed, came. I fell asleep in his arms.

*******************************************

A persistent finger slid down and brushed my anus. "Fox, you can get up and get ready to go, or I'm calling Scully and telling her you can't take them to the airport because you're losing your virginity."

"You wouldn't," I murmured, nestling into the bedclothes.

"You're right." His finger disappeared, and he slapped my ass. "I wouldn't. Now get up. I'm making waffles."

"Mmmmmph." I burrowed my face into his pillow. It was still warm.

"What are you doing?"

"Sleeping in your warm," I mumbled.

"My what?"

Reluctantly, I rolled over. Oh, that shining star of a smile. "Your warm," I tell him sleepily. "The place where you were before you got up."

He gathered me into his arms, and kissed me. "Have I mentioned that I love you?" He asked gently.

I stretched and yawned, trusting him to hold me. Trusting he wouldn't let me go. "Not since about three this morning. I was starting to be concerned."

"I love you." He eased me back into the bed. "And tomorrow you can fix breakfast, so I can try out this...warm."

- END -