TITLE: Sad Lovers and Giants 06/? - Man of Straw
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 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...

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

I happen to think I have a great beta. I happen to think everyone knows who my great beta is. But I am dreadful about giving her credit for all her hard work. Shame on me. Thank you, Susan … the greatest beta in all betadom.

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 06/? – Man of Straw

by Mik

He frightens me. I think, in one way or another, he always has. He's not fearless, but he's sometimes blind to the things that should frighten him. His politically precarious position in the Bureau has never concerned him. He's made decisions that were potentially fatal to his career, and possibly to him, without even a mental flinch because he believed they were the right decisions to make. He can be one of the most focused and driven men I've ever known. But on that particular night, his focus was on me, and that was almost terrifying.

It wasn't that he was any physical threat to me. Unless it was that he engendered an almost violent physical reaction in me. After all, I nearly raped him. I know there was a moment when I was prepared to. The sight of him writhing on his bed in complete sexual abandon had aroused a desire in me that had drowned all reason. Holding him, kissing him, smelling the perfume of sex on him, drove me to a point where I would abandon every ounce of humanity and morality within me to throw him on the bed and take him, by force if required.

It wouldn't have been easy. Mulder doesn't give in. And he didn't. He tried fighting, saw that it was impossible, and chose flight. It wasn't cowardice; he just wasn't giving in. But even in doing the wise thing, he was his usual impetuous, careless self, and tripped over something left on the floor.

That moment will live for me, in stop action, frame-by-frame horror, forever. His eyes, wide with realization, coming to me, as he lurched forward and landed, with a bone-crunching thud, on the impossibly hard floor. For a moment, his eyes stayed on me. Then they closed and he was still.

I know the procedures. I know I shouldn't have moved him, but at that moment instinct was still overriding wisdom, and I knelt beside him and turned him over gently, calling his name. He was out. There was no doubt. His face was like that of a doll's; human in form but devoid of animation. But he was breathing normally, and didn't appear to be bleeding anywhere.

Getting him to the bed without causing more injury, to either of us, was a challenge. He might appear to be fairly slight of frame, but he was still a full-grown man, and limp as a hundred seventy pounds of noodles. I had hoped that the process of moving him would be sufficient to rouse him, but he was still unconscious as I arranged pillows and blankets around him.

It was after he woke, however, that he truly frightened me. I had his naked flesh in my hands, and I was forcing myself to remain removed, and clinical, even while I felt the beginning of an erection within my grasp. I was trying to say all the right things, explain why it was impossible for us to continue, that it was madness and we had to stop, even though he had done nothing except be in my arms while I kissed him and tried to do more.

And then, he pushed the bedclothes aside, seemingly inviting me into his bed, and asked me to stay the night.

Even then, I hesitated: a wisp of straw whirling in place, needing to go, wanting to stay. "What did you say?"

He looked up, slightly startled, as if he hadn't spoken and was alarmed that I was hearing voices. "I...asked...oh, never mind." He grabbed at the blanket he'd pushed away, trying to cover himself.

I moved quickly, to still his hand. "No, before that. You said something else, first."

"Did I?" He kept licking his lip...didn't he understand how that inflamed me? "I...don't remember," he lied. He pulled his hand free. "Look, you're right, it's a bad idea. I'm sorry I said anything."

"But you meant it, didn't you?" I implored.

His eyes flicked up to me, and away. "Yes," he said, and gulped coffee. "But just because I -"

I put my hand on those lips. "Shut up, Mulder." I touched his face carefully. "Just shut up before you ruin it." I leaned in and kissed his mouth, felt him dissolve a little under me. "Do you have any idea how much I want you," I whispered against him, "and how crazy this is?"

He pushed away from me, spilling coffee on both of us. "Stop it. Just stop it. Either you're going to do this or you aren't. But stop preaching. Don't start fires and stamp them out in the same breath." He caught the neck of my sweatshirt and tugged me nose to nose with him. "Get off the fence, Skinner. Just once in your life, get off that fucking fence." He let me go.

I got off. I reached out and eased the paper cup from his hand. Then I pushed him back into the pillows and kissed him, hard, ignoring the sharp sound of protest as I encountered his bruised cheek. I forced my hands under his sweatshirt and sought, found and teased two very small, very hard nipples.

That had a surprising effect on him. His body arched up under mine, so sharply that he actually lifted me with him. I increased pressure in my fingers and he began to curse my ancestors and descendants. I moved my mouth to his neck, my tongue pressing against a pounding pulse there, and sucked, still twisting and tormenting his nipples. There was no doubt about his level of arousal; despite his impressive orgasm less than an hour before, and the injuries he'd just sustained, I could feel his erection growing against my belly.

When I was sure of him, when I knew I could have him without further protest, I backed off him and began to strip, not caring that we could both see our breath, bursting out of us in irregular puffs of white. Dragging the blanket up around my shoulders, I descended once again, shoving his shirt up high enough to get my mouth on one of those rigid nipples. He moaned and twisted and swore under me, his hands groping and clutching at any part of me he could reach, my ear, my shoulder, even what little hair he could find, while he begged me to stop and at the same time, not to stop. He didn't hurt me with his frantic tugging and tearing. On many levels I was oblivious to it. All I knew at that moment was I was finally going to have my reward.

I licked and bit and sucked my way down his undulating body, only dimly aware of his raspy mutterings. Every part of his torso was sweet with sweat and sensitive to my attentions. Finding myself at the junction of body and limb, I muscled my way down and forced his thighs apart, to get my mouth on his balls.

He let out a deep grunt as my tongue coaxed one into my mouth. His hands stilled...his body ceased its frenetic movement. His back arched up slightly and fell again. He seemed to be poised for something momentous.

I stopped caring what he was doing. I sucked, laved, nipped and chewed at his sac, the base of his cock, his inner thigh. He smelled hot and needy and faintly of semen and I breathed it all in, burrowing my nose against him. His skin was firm and smooth and tautly drawn over muscle. I'd pull back to admire what little I could see, then swoop in for another mouthful.

I let saliva drip down his balls and worked it into his scrotum with my fingers as I sucked. He was making a sort of chesty whining sound as I rubbed backward, hunting for the ultimate treasure. Even in my state of unbridled bliss, I knew I had no lubricant, no condom, and yet, it didn't matter. I was beyond caring. I had him. I was going to have him.

I pushed his legs farther apart, and forced my finger deeper, spreading his cheeks, searching for entry. His thighs were quivering but his body was otherwise motionless. I could still hear that sound coming from somewhere deep within him. It hummed in my ears.

At last I found my goal, a tight, hot pucker of flesh and I pushed my wet fingertip against it, gently.

The whine seemed to rise in pitch, and his body began to shake. I pushed a little more and was surprised that he was actively resisting me. I pushed again, this time almost warningly. His response was a full body twitch and a soft cry ... it didn't even sound as if it came from him. I lifted my head, murmuring, "Relax, I'm not going to hurt you," as I worked up enough saliva to better wet my way in. I twisted my hand to get a better angle on him and pushed again.

I might have made entry, I'm not sure. He howled, trying to twist away from me. I shifted up on my elbows, irritated. "Do you want this or not? You're the one who said get off the fence."

He was whispering something and trying to pull his legs together around my neck. Wresting my hand free, I forced his legs down and apart, hovering over him menacingly. "Will you just relax?" I commanded. "You're the one who started this. But I sure as hell am going to -"

That's when he clawed me. Raked one hand over my face and began to fight. His entire body was dedicated to the purpose of getting from under my body. Furious, I put my weight on him, grabbed his hands and held them down. "You little fucker," I hissed. "Don't think you're going to play this with..."

I stopped because I could hear him. Or rather, I could hear the sounds coming from his body. They weren't his. They sounded desperate, and almost childlike. Soft, frantic pleading. "I'll be good. I swear. I'll be good this time."

I scrambled away from him, probably more afraid of him than he was of me at that moment. He slid off the bed and backed away from it 'til he reached the wall, and slumped down, wrapping his arms around his bare legs, his head ducking into them. He was still whispering.

I couldn't get out of that room fast enough. I wasn't exactly sure what he was playing at, but the entire situation made me highly uncomfortable. I grabbed my clothes, and left him, shutting the door behind me.

I dressed and settled down on the edge of my bed. Just this afternoon, on this very bed, I'd confessed everything to him, what I felt, how much I wanted him. I thought he felt the same way. Oh, Mulder, I sighed heavily. What the hell is going on in that brilliantly twisted brain of yours?

Fumbling my way into my bathroom, I splashed frigid water on my face, surprised at how much it could sting. I returned to the room, and paced, sat, paced and sat. I poured myself a glass of milk and found that, even though it had been sitting out at room temperature all day, room temperature was evidently a little cooler than the average refrigerator. I rummaged among the things I'd brought back from the convenience store, found a piece of chocolate and ate it with the rest of my milk, then resumed my pacing and sitting routine.

I was still angry with him ... no, I was still enraged. But something else was starting to nudge its way into my thought processes. Mulder wasn't a stupid man. He wouldn't have willfully invited that encounter only to fight me off. I know Mulder could be accused of many foolish stunts, but I could not believe he would deliberately egg me on to a situation where I would have violated him against his will, especially after I'd come so close to doing it on my own just hours before.

And then there was the way he looked, the way he sounded ... I had to know what was going on.

I knocked on the door between us, and opened it when I heard his mumbled, "Come in." He was seated on the edge of the bed, back in his cum-stained sweats, his hair straight up in all directions as if it had been clenched and pulled violently. I wondered briefly if I had done that.

"Are you all right?" I asked, trying to keep my voice level and non-threatening.

He twisted to look at me, and even in the almost nonexistent light of the room, I could see tear tracks on his face. Yet his expression seemed composed, even bemused. "Yeah, I'm fine. I ..." he paused, looking around the room as if in search of something. "I have this terrific headache, though. That must have been one hell of a fall I took." He gave me a rueful smile. "I don't suppose, in all your bounty this morning, you thought to pick up some aspirins?"

Fall? What fall did he mean? The one he took two hours ago? Could he be suffering from amnesia? No ... to my knowledge, amnesia is not retroactive. "I have some in my bag," I said, blankly, still watching him search the darkness. Now I was more confused than ever.

He turned in my direction long enough to nod. "Oh, yeah," he agreed, rubbing his forehead. "That would be great."

I started for the door, and stopped. "Mulder, what just happened?"

He frowned at me. I could hear it in his voice. "Well, I'm not sure. We must have...I mean...I guess we got a little too carried away. But don't worry," he added abruptly. "I won't say anything. I know we can't pursue this, so it won't go any farther than this room."

"No, Mulder, I..." I stopped. I still didn't understand what was going on. If this was some elaborate game on his part, it was too much for me. "Now I have a headache." I left him.

Back in my room, with the aid of my maglight, I hunted down aspirins from my dopp kit in the bathroom, poured out three for myself and dry swallowed them. I then took the bottle back to him.

He was exactly as I had left him, right down to the hand idly rubbing his brow. With a light on his face, he looked much worse. The left side of his face was starting to darken with a bruise, his mouth was starting to swell on that side as well. His eyes looked almost vacant. He almost appeared to be running on habit.

He smiled his thanks for the aspirins, hobbled past me into the bathroom and gulped water, then hobbled back to the bed, shivering. "Fifteen thousand years from now, some Boy Scout troop is going to stumble across our bodies, frozen in our beds, under tons of snow, and they'll determine that we were from a lost tribe in the Geekazoic Period." He tugged at the meager blanket, pulling it over his body as he gingerly settled into bed. "If my laptop worked, I'd leave a note to those boys, explaining how my kind paved the way for them to sit at home on their butts, eating cheese doodles, and still take a virtual hike in the wilderness of Buffalo."

I didn't laugh. I just couldn't manage it. I looked over the bed at him as he settled in gingerly. "How are you feeling?"

He gave me that plastic smile again, the one I had seen so many times in the halls of the Bureau. "Oh, I'm fine. Cold, but fine."

I scanned the room with the light. His mobile was on the bed table nearest the door. I bent and collected the coverlet that he'd left on the floor and smoothed it over him. "This should help," I promised him. "I'll see you in the morning," I added casually, flicking off the light and moving carefully toward the door. I feigned a little cough to mask any sound I made when collecting his phone, and slipped into my room, pulling the door firmly behind me.

I turned on the light again, flashed it over the face of the phone, and studied his call log. Who had he called while I was out fighting the elements for him? To my further irritation, his call log appeared to be empty. According to that, he had made no calls. I kept pushing buttons, trying to find some glimmer of information. He had made no calls...but he had received one. I didn't immediately recognize the number, but I knew the area code. Annapolis. Agent Scully had called him. For one moment, I was tempted to press the Redial button, and try to find out what they had discussed. But it was only a moment. I reminded myself of who I am and my position of authority over both of them. And when that failed, I reminded myself that she would know I was using Mulder's phone, and would want to know why.

Once I'd overcome my jealous need to know whom he had called the moment my back was turned, I was faced with the unenviable prospect of getting the phone back into his room, before he noticed it missing. I didn't think I could offer to share blankets again, not after the day we'd been through. But there had to be some way to get back in that room. I flashed my light around the room, searching for something, any excuse. The light landed on the carton of milk.

I got up and picked it up. Then looked into the shopping basket next to it. The light flickered over the yellow wrappers of the heat sticks. I scooped up two of them and went back to the door and knocked.

I could hear him groan and answer me softly.

"How are you doing?" I asked, keeping the light on his face so that he couldn't see me feel around, looking for the top of the bedside table, and return the phone to the place where I'd found it.

"Great," he mumbled, putting his hand to his eyes. "Except for this blinding headache."

"Sorry." With the phone in place, I switched the beam to another area of the bed. "Here, I brought something that might help you warm up enough to get to sleep." I broke the seal on one, and tucked it under the bedclothes, on the side nearest me. Then I moved around the bed and broke the other seal.

He tried not to flinch as I slipped it under the blanket next to his body, I know he tried. But I still felt it. "Are you sure you're okay?"

He nodded. "Fine," he promised. "And thanks." He shifted. "Yeah, that does help. You do have a couple for yourself, don't you?" he added belatedly.

"No, I'll be all right." I started back to the door. "Sleep well, Mulder."

"Wait." The word was almost torn from him. I heard the swish of bedclothes. "Might as well share the resources while we've got them, right?" His laugh was feeble. I didn't have to see his face to know that was absolutely the last thing he wanted to do.

"No, it's okay, Mulder. I'll be just fine." I wasn't deliberately trying to sound stoic. I just wanted out of that room. "Get some sleep, okay?"

I could hear him shifting around under the blankets. "I mean, Ski...um...Walter. I mean it, Walter. Sleep here. We'll both stand a better chance of staying warm." He put a cajoling little note in his voice. "You said so yourself. Extreme circumstances call for extreme measures."

I frowned into the darkness. "I'm not sure I like being considered an extreme measure," I muttered.

I heard him chuckle. "Welcome to my world."

End 06