TITLE: Sad Lovers and Giants 17/? - Your Skin And Mine
NAME: Mik
E-MAIL: ccmcdoc@hotmail.com
CATEGORY: M/Sk
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: A blizzard. A power cut. Finding their way in darkness.
ARCHIVE: Only with my permission.
FEEDBACK: Feedback? Well, yes, if you insist.
TIMESPAN/SPOILER WARNING: Nnnnnnnnnope.
KEYWORDS: story slash angst Mulder Skinner 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. But when I become king...

Author's notes: Sad Lovers and Giants, the two things hardest to conceal.

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.

Sad Lovers and Giants 17/? - Your Skin And Mine

by Mik

I woke with a jerk so physical I thought for a moment someone was trying to rouse me. But no one was touching me. Although, Skinner was lying next to me, something I did not expect. Nor did I expect the complete, alien darkness around me. And least of all I did not expect the way horrific images rushed back at me. Screams and smells and blood and terror and rage. I did not expect to suddenly know things that couldn't possibly be true. But it all happened. I struggled out of the bed and staggered blindly to find a bathroom in this unfamiliar place, and throw up.

He was there beside me before I was through, his hand on my neck, his fingers combing my hair back from my eyes. "Is it…" I choked on my own bile, trying to get words out, "true?"

He didn't speak. He just kept his hands on me, supporting me.

So it wasn't a dream. It was all true. "Oh, God." I felt my stomach revolt again.

He remained beside me, silent only in words. His nearness, his touch, they spoke volumes. When it seemed my stomach had stopped reeling, he helped me to my feet and guided me back to the bed, drawing the blanket back to cover my shaking shoulders. "I'll make you some coffee," he offered quietly.

I shook my head, tugging the blanket tight. "No. I don't think I could keep it down." Elbows on knees, I let my head fall forward into my hands. "It's so awful."

"I know, Mulder." He was doing something in the darkness near me. "Here." He pressed something against my shoulder.

The familiar and comforting smell of peppermint overtook my senses and I groped for the candy. Then I knew something else was true. "You stayed."

"Yes."

And that was all the discussion we had about it.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

We talked about other things, of course. Gathered around that little table, horrible hotel room coffee in front of us, we talked about strategies, finding a therapist for me, finding a lawyer for me, accepting the inevitability that I'd lose my badge for going forward with my confession. Where he was full of concern and anxiety about what lay ahead, my reaction was more ambivalent about the future. There was alarm, of course, fear of the uncertainty, what was beyond the cliff where the federal agent I was suddenly ceased to be. Who else would I be? Who else could I be? Was I really nothing more than my badge?

And yet, flowing over that cliff was a waterfall of relief ... of never again seeing the imploring, anguished eyes of parents, spouses, lovers, children waiting for me to perform miracles; of never again seeing the mangled, tortured bodies that were the pathstones of my failure. Never again hearing the voices, never again invited in to tour the worm-ridden minds of the men who taunted me with their corrupted souls and sociopathic fantasies. A pretty powerful compensation for surrendering my badge, I thought.

We also discussed the possibility of prison, and there was the closest he came to articulating our relationship. He just took my hand and promised me I wouldn't face it alone. I took comfort in that, though. If I was convicted of killing my father, and I should be, everyone I knew would turn his or her back on the stranger I would become. No one would know me, the murderer. I didn't recognize myself anymore.

Skinner didn't see it that way. "You haven't changed -"

"Oh, yes, I have," I cut him off. "I've become someone I don't even know. Two days ago I was just a guy doing a job. Yeah, it's a terrible job and I did it better than most." I waited to see if he'd argue that point with me.

He didn't. He nodded in concession.

"Then suddenly, I woke up and I've become a victim of the kind of monster I hunt so well. And not only that, I've become the monster. I've killed."

"You've killed before -"

"In the line of duty," I reminded him. I pointed to my badge on the table between us. "Federally mandated executioner. The protecting piece of protecting and serving." I gave the leather case a not so gentle shove with my finger and it skittered to the edge of the table and teetered a moment before his hand closed over it and held it in place. "I'm a murderer now. I don't know me anymore." My voice caught on a ragged breath and I struggled a moment with it before continuing. "If I don't know this stranger with my face, how can any of my friends and colleagues? How can you?"

His free hand cupped my cheek. It was an endearingly gentle gesture, yet comforting and strong. "Because I do know you, Mulder. I know the man you are, the man you've always been, the man you will always be. That you were a victim of a monster breaks my heart, but it doesn't damage my vision of you. That you killed this monster only makes me wish it didn't have to destroy your career." His voice dropped to that lethal rasp I knew so well, yet there was an alien note of compassion I needed to hear. "I have no regrets he's dead, Mulder. Only that his death causes you still more harm."

I covered both his hands with my own. "Skinner, look at me. Look at who I am. I...killed...my...own...father."

"I am looking at you," he answered very quietly. "All I see is the man I love."

Those words tripped through every cell of my being, washed over every strand of DNA, changed me yet again. From the monster I had been a moment before, I had become something redeemable. "I ..." nothing could come out from the tangled mass of my emotions.

He simply smiled. "I know." He slipped his hands from mine and stood, beckoning toward the bed. "Let's get some sleep. We have an early flight in the morning."

"Flight?" I repeated, stupidly. "What about your car?"

"It's a rental. I'll pay the drop-off charge and fly back with you." He paused and I could see something in his eyes darken. "Circumstances deem I get back quickly."

I had a vague recollection of some threat passing between him and A.D. Hopkins at the crime scene and I realized this man had jeopardized his career for me once again. "Skinner, you should have left -"

"Should have, perhaps." He shrugged slightly. "No matter." He held out a hand. "Let's get some sleep."

I dropped onto the bed heavily and watched as he set the alarm clock. What had he done for me? What had I done to him? "Skinner, I'm sorry that -"

"Nothing to be sorry about." He turned enough to look over his shoulder. "This was the right thing to do. There was no other choice. Even if I had nothing but professional respect for you I couldn't have left you alone in your state of mind. And," he swung his legs into the bed, "I have so much more than just professional respect for you."

That gave me my first genuine, happy smile in weeks. "Yeah?" I said as he flicked off the light.

I heard him make a sound, not quite a laugh, but something real and convicted. "Yeah," he said.

I needed to be close to him. The need was sudden and overpowering. The moment he slid into the narrow bed beside me I rolled up against him, burying my face in his chest. He seemed to be so much bigger than all the problems in my life rolled together. His embrace seemed hotter than the flames of hell waiting for me. I couldn't let that go.

He wrapped me up in arms that were strong enough to hold the whole world at bay, at least for the rest of the night, and pulled me tighter against him. "Shh," he whispered against my brow. "We're going to get through this ... all of it."

I lifted my head, searching blindly until I found his mouth. The kiss I took was rough and demanding and desperate. I was terrified by so many things and I had to face every single fear at some point. Might as well begin. "Please." I kissed him again as I squirmed to get my body closer to his. "Now."

It seemed as if he didn't quite comprehend what I was seeking, not at first. When my hands stroked down his body, he pulled back from my kiss, stilling my hands. "Mulder?" When I tried to answer with another assault on his mouth, he held me back. "Are you sure?"

No, I wasn't sure. Not at all. But I was desperate. "Yes," I lied, pushing against him. "Please." I forced our hands between us, and began to squeeze his warm, spongy flesh. "Now."

He grunted as my hand claimed him, as his other hand tightened on my wrist. "Wh - what do you want?" he asked in a choked voice.

I didn't hesitate. "Fuck me."

He moaned a little. I know I heard it. I also heard the struggle for restraint in his voice. "Mulder, you can't -"

"Yes, I can." I kissed him again and opened my eyes, searching to find his in the darkness. "I have to. You need to. Now."

I'm not really sure what convinced him; the desperation in my voice or the way my hand was using him like a pull toy, but in another moment I was on my back, and he was on top of me, just like the first time. "How do you want this?" he muttered into my hair while his body was grinding me into pulp.

"I...uh...I don't know." He had passed on that fire to me and my entire body was smoldering, ready to burst into flames. "Like...oh, shit, like this." I grabbed for his shoulders, my fingers digging into his flesh mercilessly. "I need...I need to see that it's you."

That was all he needed to hear. Pulling back on his knees, his big hands scooped under my thighs and pulled my legs apart. He licked two fingers and started to rub them against me. "I don't have any condoms," he said in a tone that suggested it better not concern me.

It didn't. I was only capable of two thoughts at that moment...how big his fingers felt and how much I needed to be able to do this. "We're both clean, aren't we?" I panted. If ever there was a moment to apply the axiom Trust No One it was that one, but considering all the things that lay ahead of me, if I couldn't trust Skinner, I was lost.

"Yes," he hissed, shifting between my legs, pushing his fingers inside me.

I felt myself jerk into rigidity. "Will you..." I swallowed, "will you stop if I tell you to?"

He went equally rigid. "Do you want me to stop?" He started to pull away.

I clutched at his arms. "No. No! Just promise if..." I hated how foolish I sounded, "promise you'll stop if I ask."

He melted against me, his hands came up around my face and into my hair. "I won't hurt you," he kept repeating fervently. "I promise, I won't hurt you."

I wanted to believe him. Dread was seeping into me through every pore. I could actually feel control slipping away. "I know," I whispered but I didn't really believe it. People had hurt me before, people who should never even think about hurting me. People could lie.

"And if ..." it was his turn to grope for words, "if you...leave me..." he shifted his body on me, "what should I do?"

My fingers gripped tighter on him. The answer to that was clear. "Don't leave me."

Keeping his weight against me, almost as if to pin me down, I felt him reach under us both to adjust my legs.

I kept my hands on his shoulders, and tried to fix on his eyes in the darkness, tried to fix on the moment, the reality. It was growing increasingly more difficult to do that. On the edges of my consciousness, things pricked at me. The smell of dusty, stale air. The pressure of something hard against my chest. Panic. Whispered, frantic protests. The loud ripping sound of tape. Helplessness. Hard, raspy breath hot on my skin. Fear. Pressure. Betrayal. Pain. "Stop." I slapped my hands against his arms, but they didn't feel like my hands. The pressure and pain didn't stop. "Please." It didn't sound like my voice.

I felt the memory of penetration before he actually entered me. My entire body arched in objection and agony. Even though he was moving very slowly I could feel the forcing, stabbing memory splitting me open, burning and tearing. I heard a scream that was not my own, and my nails raked over his shoulders. "Stop. Oh, God, stop."

I don't know when I started crying, but I felt his fingers brushing tears away from my face. "I'm sorry," I heard him whisper. "I shouldn't have. I'm so sorry."

I rolled away from him, and dropped to the floor, dragging in air as if I had been pulled up from icy water. "It's...my fault," I sobbed. It's always my fault. I deserved this. "I'm sorry."

"Mulder."

I could see him almost lunging over the bed toward me, and even though I wanted to be still and be brave and not run, I flinched from his outstretched hand.

He seemed to freeze there, his hand reaching out to me. "No, Mulder." His hand went past me and found the switch for the lamp over my head. "It was not your fault."

Things weren't so bad in the light. The sounds and smells and the choking sensation of tape shutting off my screams were gone. But I was left cold and empty and ashamed of myself. My teeth were chattering. I was shaking. I couldn't make myself stop. "I'm sorry," I repeated. I could hear the words come out and hang in the room and yet it still didn't sound like me. "My fault. I can be good. I promise."

"No." Something warm settled over me. He had pulled the blanket off the bed and let it fall into place on me, covering me, shielding me. "It wasn't your fault." He backed away from me then.

I looked up and saw him gathering his clothing together, starting to dress. "Are you leaving me?" You promised, I thought, struggling to my feet. You lied.

He looked at me as he slid into his shirt. "No. I just thought you'd be more comfortable if I was dressed."

"Don't leave me." I fisted tears away from my eyes. "I'm sorry."

"Mulder, look at me."

I looked up.

"Do you know who I am?"

"What kind of silly question is that? Of course I know who you are. You're ... oh." I looked down at the bed. I straightened, drew a deep breath, and rearranged the blanket around me. "You're Walter S. Skinner, my former boss, and a guy with whom I'm never going to have sex." I dropped down on the bed, sighing. "And I am so sorry."

"Oh, don't say that." He touched my shoulder and when I didn't withdraw from him, he gave it a reassuring squeeze. "We got farther this time than we ever did before...who knows?"

"Yeah," I said without much enthusiasm. "If it matters at all, I really did want..."

"No, you didn't." He sat down beside me. "You wanted to prove that you could. Well, maybe someday you can, but right now isn't that day." He patted my naked thigh. "And if it matters at all, I'm not going to abandon you just because we can't fuck."

His use of the word made me snicker in spite of myself. "Hey, you didn't run away screaming into the night this time. Maybe there is hope."

"You made me promise not to leave you even if you left me," he answered. "Do you remember that?"

I nodded, and rubbed my nose with the edge of the blanket. "And I didn't leave you. Not entirely. It was the strangest sensation." I risked a look at him, and his face was so full of compassion and concern I wanted to start crying all over again, and for a completely different reason. "I've read dozens of case studies, but until you experience one, you can't really comprehend it, how disabling it feels. It wasn't like ... you know, a fugue state. I was here. I was with you. I was just having these...flashes of memory. They seemed to be superimposed on us. And...I heard...I mean, when I spoke ..."

"It didn't sound like you?" he prompted.

I nodded.

He nodded back. "That's what always happened."

"Shit, no wonder you broke up with me."

"No, I broke up with you because I'm an idiot," he answered. "But I truly did mean to do the right thing."

"No." I leaned up against him. "This time you did the right thing."

End 17