TITLE: Mr. Mulder Makes a Deal

NAME: Mik

E-MAIL: ccmcdoc@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: Resolves to deal with none but honest men, he that must leave off dealing … Fuller

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 …

SKM & MKS

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

Mr. Mulder Makes a Deal

by Mik

He’s asleep. Stretched out on my lumpy, old futon, shoes kicked off, slacks looking a little worse for wear, glasses neatly folded and setting atop a stack of newsletters from The Lone Gunmen. He looks totally at peace, completely relaxed and as out of place as a rabbi at a Spam factory.

It’s been a hell of a day. Fear, breakfast, sex, sleep, fear, tantrums, lunch, conversation (and more fear), football highlights and now …

What now? That’s a good question. He’s twice indicated he’s all for commitment, but am I? Shit, twenty four hours ago, he was my boss, my nemesis, a face and a title and no soul. And now he’s sprawled out in front of my television like an old married man.

I’m not sure I like it. I don’t hate it, mind you, but I’m not sure that’s what I was looking for when I showed him the way to my bed. Let’s face it, I’m not a domesticated animal. He is. He was raised and groomed for home, hearth and country. Me? Well, we all have our own definitions of Spooky Mulder, but no one, man or woman, ever thought of me in connection with rice and rings and matching keys, not even our beloved Scully.

Scully. Shit, what is SHE going to say about this? I can’t tell her. It’s that simple. She can never know. If Skinner was meant for Apple Pie and the American Flag, then Scully is Truth and Justice and Forensic Evidence. This will not go down well with her. That girl has Bureau protocol tattooed on her heart.

Of course, if I can’t tell her … I can’t do this. I can’t lie to Scully. Not for very long. And never about anything truly vital to me. She knows everything about me. It’s MY tattoo: SKM -- Scully Knows Mulder. I can’t have secrets. They come tumbling out of my mouth and dance on her shell like ears.

"Stop pacing." The growl from the futon is low and deep and definitive. There’s an unspoken ‘or else’ at the end. Just the sort of tone to make me pace forever, just to be a prick.

I do stop, though. I consider the balding top of his head. Slowly, I drop to my knees and kiss him there. What am I going to do with you, Mr. Skinner?

He tips his head back and looks at me. God, even upside down, he’s … incredible. His eyes are so warm right now, and his smile, those nice white teeth that match a mark on my hip … "What was that for?"

I let my fingers stray into that dark brown fringe. His hair, that which remains, is surprisingly thick and soft. "Oh, I don’t know."

He sits up, slides his hands through his hair and looks at his watch. "I should get going," he murmurs. "I need a shower and a change of clothes."

I feel relief rush over me. And then … regret. "Yeah. Well, it’s been … um … nice having you." Nice? Could you be a bit more trite, Mulder?

He chuckles and gropes for his glasses. "It’s been nice having you, too."

I glance away, just knowing I’m blushing. "Thanks for lunch."

He chuckles again, levers himself up and ruffles my hair as he passes. "Thanks for breakfast." He gets to the hallway and pauses. I can feel his eyes on me. "Mulder?"

I look over my shoulder at him. He’s frowning at me. "Yeah?"

He looks at his hands. He looks at the mess I made of my wall. He looks at my fish tank. He looks at me. "You’re the expert on gay etiquette. What do we do now?"

I pull myself to my feet, and come up alongside him. "What do you want to do? There are no rules. I told you, no obligations, no guarantees --"

He has me by the collar and is pinning me to my battered wall. "Come home with me," he whispers.

‘Home’. ‘With me’. I swallow. "What for?" I make myself say lightly.

"Just to be with me."

Did my knees just buckle a bit? "Come on, Skinner," I say in a slightly strangled voice. "Haven’t you had enough of me for one day?"

He catches me by the chin, and sucks my lower lip into his mouth for a moment. Then he smiles at me. "Evidently not."

At that moment, I’m ready to let him throw me over his saddle and ride off into the sunset, but I force myself to hang on the shreds of reality that I can recognize. I press my hands against that imposing chest. "Skinner, we have to be realistic about this."

He had begun work on my throat, but now he pauses, and pulls back slightly. "How do you mean?"

"We can’t turn this into a … a …" I fumble for words.

"… love affair?" he suggests.

"L -- love?" Damn it, that’s not fair.

"Why not?" His dark eyes are serious. "This isn’t a game with me, Mulder." The fingers at my collar loosen and one fingertip runs over my chin again. "When I came here last night, I wasn’t looking for …" He pauses. "Well, I’m not sure what I was looking for, for all that. I just knew I needed you. I still do." He backs away from me. "I still do."

He loves me. No. He cannot love me. He can. He does. He thinks. I think … I think this is insane. No. Oh, somebody make him stop looking at me like that. "Look, Skinner …" I look at my hands.

"Oh." I feel something in him change, retreat. "I see. I’m sorry." He backs away and I look up in time to see something break in him. "I thought that you …" He gestures toward the hole in my wall. "I’m sorry." He snatches up his jacket from the back of a chair. "Don’t worry about it, Agent Mulder. We’ll just forget this happened."

Forget? How the fuck am I supposed to forget what you did? "Wait." This is stupid. I am capable of speech, of coherent, adult exchange of words and ideas. How does he turn my tongue into squirming worms that cannot express thought? "It’s not that I don’t …" Come on, one of us has to be able to finish a sentence. "This is just happening so fast. I don’t think either of us are prepared to make life changing decisions because of oral sex and Thai food."

"I am."

Okay, when a six foot four former Marine tells you he’s ready to make commitments, you have to listen. Hell, E.F.Hutton would listen.

"Mulder, this was a long time coming for me. I didn’t come to your door on a whim. You have no idea how much thought -- agonizing thought went into that decision." He shrugs. "What I didn’t think about was how you would react. First of all, I never expected you to accept my interest. But when you did, I wanted to believe you were willing to accept my … my … everything."

Okay, when a six foot four former Marine’s voice breaks slightly on a confession, you have to listen, you almost have to cry yourself. "I think it’s pretty obvious how I felt," I tell him quietly, also pointing to the hole in my wall. "But I haven’t had time to think everything out, as you have. I see so many obstacles that my natural, cautious nature tells me --"

"Your WHAT?" he demands, laughing.

I frown at him. "I do stop and think some things through, although I know you or Scully would never believe it." Mentioning Scully was a mistake. We both fall silent.

He backs up, gropes for the door. "Well, go ahead, think things through," he offers in a flat voice. "If you decide that you want to pursue this relationship, perhaps you could drop me an email." He yanks the door open and leaves, taking great care not to slam the door behind him.

What now, Mr. Wizard? For twenty four hours you had the best thing that ever happened to you. And you just pushed it out the door. What next? What does your natural, cautious nature suggest? Playing in traffic? Eating raw eggs? Russian Roulette? Why do you go up on the roof and see if you can fly? "Shit," I say with feeling.

There is a knock at the door. I wait. It opens. He comes in, puts his jacket down and looks me over, as if trying to decide what it is he thinks he has to have. "Let’s try it. No strings. No obligations. No discussions about the future. If in fifty years we find we just can’t stand it, no questions no recriminations, all right?"

"Fifty years? Skinner, you won’t be able to tolerate me for fifty days," I toss back.

"We’ll see. I’m a stubborn bastard."

"Shit, yeah," I agree.

"Almost as stubborn as you."

Okay, now he’s making me laugh. I stop at once. "Work."

He makes a very flat, final gesture with one hand. "Doesn’t enter into this. Nothing changes there."

"Scully."

"Ah, yes," he sighs. "That will be difficult. You couldn’t keep this from her, could you?"

I shake my head.

"And you think she’d out us?"

I shrug. "I don’t know. I know she wouldn’t approve. She’s pretty straight-laced, that one."

"Then I suppose what you have to do is make up your mind which is more important to you."

I flinch at the suggestion. "That’s cold, Skinner."

"Yes. But I know what I want. It’s time for you to decide."

"That’s fair." I bite my lip and consider options. "But I can’t do it just like that. I need time to figure it out."

"That’s fair," he echoes. "I’ll tell you what. I’ll give you a week or so to think about it. Whichever way you decide, I won’t hold it against you." He holds out his hand.

I take it.

His fingers tighten over mine. "But you should know I intend to lobby very heavily in my favor."

I grin at him. "Deal."

-THE END-