TITLE: Air Supply/Even the Nights Are Better

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

SUMMARY: Mister Bubble is an aphrodisiac.

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.

Even the Nights Are Better

by Mik

Here he tumbles into the kitchen, a riot of brown silk, sleepy eyes and a slightly shy smile, my discarded pajama pants threatening to slide from his hips at any movement. "You're a nag," he tells me, lurching toward the coffeepot.

"You're the one who promised we'd drive them to the airport so she wouldn't have to come back alone."

"I am?" His drowsy eyes open a fraction. "I'm one hell of a nice guy."

I ease the coffee cup from his fingers before he lets go. "You are." I prove it by planting a kiss to sleep warmed, kiss bruised lips. "Do you think they know?"

He laughs deep in his throat. "Walt, the only people who don't know are a couple of pig farmers in Ohio." He lets himself sag into a chair.

I put the coffee in front of him and brush hair from his eyes. "Do you mind?"

He slurps coffee and points at my phone. "Get me the number for those pig farmers and I'll tell them myself." He sniffs. "I believe someone said...waffles?"

"And he called me a nag." I turn and pour batter into the waffle maker. It feels good having him here. Our house. Our place...that's what he called it on the way back from the wedding. I felt so good when he said that. This place has never been a place in the sense of belonging to someone, even me. It's been a house, never a home. Days spent here have always been a series of routines and chores. Nights...nights have been empty and long. Despite the frustrating chastity of our relationship, the nights spent in Mulder's bed, in his nearness, in his...what did he say?...his warm, were better than any night I've spent here.

Well, until last night, that is. I don't know who flipped the switch in this little sex...no, he's no kitten. He's an ocelot, a lynx. Long, lazy loping feline, who was suddenly in heat last night. All paws and whiskers and hot breath. Last night he was a predator and I was his prey, and the predator twitched and sniffed all over me as if I was his very first kill, lapped at me as if savoring first blood, rubbing against me, marking my carcass as his. And roared and purred. And laughed.

I bring him a plate, a golden brown circle of symmetrical squares, with butter just beginning to pool. He gapes at me in wonder, and I have to say I'm feeling pretty proud. He pours syrup, cuts, bites, chews and sighs. "Umm...Walt...I can't cook like this, you know. Tomorrow's breakfast will probably be stale Fritos and milk with a questionable code date." He has butter on his finger and he sucks it away.

Oh, shit...I'll eat stale Fritos and old milk if I can watch him do that for the rest of my life.

I think he mistakes my gobstopped expression for horror because he puts both hands up in a conciliatory manner. "Okay, okay...I'll learn to make cereal or...or...toast. I promise."

I shake myself out of my sexual reverie and look down at his plate. "Will you want another?"

He nods and attacks the waffle with the same lust he displayed for my body last night. He's a hedonist and I never noticed it before. I turn and pour batter, watching it spill out into the no-stick form. Tonight...tonight I will be the predator. "Fox?" I reach for his plate just as he puts the last bite into his mouth and flicks his tongue over a fingertip to catch a bit of syrup.

He holds the plate out to me, chewing. "Hmm?"

"Ever taken a bubble bath?" Slippery, soaped flesh, buoyed by steamy water, trapped in my arms. Heated, softened skin, relaxed muscles, easy entry. The slap of water against the tub in contrast to the sound of flesh slapping against flesh. Face wet with bath, and sweat and tears. Salty, soapy lips, puckered nipples, fiery tightness. I can already hear him moaning and begging.

Actually I hear him snicker as I pull the waffle up and put it on his plate.

"Umm...well..." he lowers his voice and his eyes as I bring the second waffle to him. "...yeah, I have."

I smile over his lowered head. Oh, yes...tonight... "Would you like to have one with me tonight?"

He's taking another bite. "Really?" he says, licking his lips and chewing. "I never saw you as the..." he stops because he has met my eyes. I know he can see every thought. "Uhh...yeah, Walt." He swallows. "I'd like that."

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

I have now seen everything. The lynx is in my tub, up to his pointy ears in mounds of glistening white bubbles. I'm not sure when or how, because I thought he was at my side every minute of this day, but he has somehow managed to procure a bottle of bubbles with a cartoon figure head for a cap, and has emptied half of it into my bath. As I step into the room, one long, lean leg rises from the soapy sea and waggles at me languidly. I laugh and start collecting the clothes he shed like lynx fur all over the floor. "Who the hell do you think you are? Jayne Mansfield?"

He's admiring a very bubbly leg. "Who?"

"Never mind, before your time, child." I bring my robe in and hang it behind the door. As I begin to undress, I hear a very distinctive squeak. When I turn, he has...I swear it...a rubber duck. "Speaking of children, what is that?"

"A ducky," he tells me, and squeaks it at me. "I have a battleship in here somewhere." He splashes around in the bubbles for it.

I press a hand to his brow, and look down at him, concerned. "I didn't realize you were allergic to bubbles. Have they always brought about this mildly psychotic reaction?"

"Oh, yeah, I probably should have told you." He looks at me, frowning. "Walt, bubble baths make me incredibly hot. A regular nympho. I'm probably going to have carnal knowledge of my ducky, here. You'd better leave soon. It will be ugly."

I reach in and ease the duck from his fingers. "I guess I'll just have to sacrifice myself, then." I lean over him and kiss him deeply. "I want you. So much."

He kisses back. "Yeah? Prove it."

I step in and settle down into the extremely hot water and straddle his thighs. His rigid cock is already bobbing between us. I give it an affectionate squeeze before I gather him against me, kissing, licking, nipping, lifting him, letting my hands roam down his back, and fondle his butt.

He moans and shudders against me. Then settles those lynx-like fangs against my throat, sucking hard.

I press a fingertip against his opening, and rub, waiting to feel if it will give, just a little. At the first sign of surrender, I pull him closer and roll carefully, to put him on top of me. As I brace myself against the floor of the tub, I feel a sharp pain and let out a cry, arching up and dislodging him.

He comes up from the water where I spilled him, coughing. "What is it? What happened? Walt? Are you okay?"

I reach under my hip to find what impaled me. "Yeah, but I think I sunk your battleship."

He tugs the toy from my hand and tosses it out onto the floor. "Man the torpedoes, Walt." He climbs on top of me and lays himself the length of my body, catching my cock between his legs. "Full speed ahead."

- END -