TITLE: Sad Lovers and Giants 07/? - Sex Without Gravity
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.

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 07/? – Sex Without Gravity

by Mik

The storm must have passed through in the night. It was still colder than a politician's heart, but there was a faint greyness posing as light permeating the room. Nothing else had changed. My head still hurt, Skinner was still next to me, there was still an air of disquiet around me.

I know I stayed still like that a long time, trying to understand the feeling of disquiet. I know I'd experienced it before, but I couldn't remember when. Probably something to do with Skinner. The man always seemed to bring out all the worst in me. Even as a lover, he was proving to be intimidating and impossible to read. First, I thought he wanted me, then I thought he was ashamed of what he wanted, and then I thought he thought he'd have me and forget me, and then...ah, now that's where it gets fuzzy. What then?

My head was pounding, and my instinct was to rub it, but it was too cold to move. I still had an envelope of warm air under the blankets I wasn't willing to risk. And I didn't want to wake the man next to me and engage in more emotional shadowboxing. That's exactly what it felt like...boxing with shadows. Somewhere, just out of my sight were his true feelings, casting a long, but evanescent mark over me, something I could neither embrace nor shove away.

Then there were my feelings. Unlike his shadows, mine were more of a glue, spilled out on the floor between us, there, obvious and unavoidable, trapping both of us, catching our feet when we tried to turn away from the situation. And that was the real problem. I didn't think he was wrong or unreasonable to want to stop this before it actually got started. I completely understood his rationale for saying 'Stop!' even while he was reaching for me. The real problem was...I didn't care. At least not as much as he did. And right or wrong, stay or go, we had to be in agreement about the course we were going to take.

I even understood his vacillation. When you're standing in front of the candy counter, it's a little hard to remember you're on a diet. Sometimes, no matter how good you're trying to be, your hand is going to reach for that big, gooey piece of uh-uh...and you have to pull your hand back at the last moment in a rush of fortitude. Of course, even that won't stop you from looking back at it, or keep your mouth from watering in desire. And that's what I was to him, the ultimate uh-uh.

That, right there, has always been the fundamental difference between us: his fortitude at the candy counter. That, and his fundament sat behind a massive desk, in an expensive chair, in front of a bank of big windows, and my fundament, when not being stalked, chewed out or shot at, sat in a rickety chair that was some secretary's cast off, in a hole in the Hoover basement. And also that I still basically believed in my job, even - to the extent that anyone can enjoy failure - liked my job. Skinner just appeared to endure his.

I know he must have liked his job once, though, to have risen to the position he held at his age. He'd been an Assistant Director as long as I'd been in the Bureau, so he'd gotten his fundament into that chair at an age when most of us are still in the field. He obviously knew how to get the job done, including knowing which other fundaments needed kissing. And maybe that's when he stopped liking the job...when it stopped being about getting it done and started being about kissing ass. I was starting to feel both proud of him, and sorry for him.

Odd to feel sorry for him, after all this time. I'd never thought of him as being a man who merited pity or envy. He just was. That's all I knew. All I cared to know. I didn't know much more about him, did I? I had been stunned to find out he was married. In fact, I didn't find out 'til he was almost unmarried. I'd heard rumors throughout the years that he'd once been a cop in Houston, New York City, Mars ... take your pick. I'd heard he'd killed a man, two men, an entire drug cartel. I knew he liked to box, that he kept himself fit, that he'd actually baked a cake once for some bring your own party on his floor, and no one died from eating it.

I'd heard music in his office occasionally, but it always seemed to be different, and usually played just to cover sub rosa conversations. There was a picture in a yearbook, of him dancing at a Christmas party. I didn't recognize him, myself. Scully pointed it out. He was smiling ... and had hair. And someone told me once he had a dog. I don't know if it was pedigree or mongrel, if it ever had a name, or if he still existed. Or if he ever existed. The idea of Walter Skinner being anything more than my migraine maker seemed unthinkable.

But the unthinkable seemed to have happened. He was in my bed. He had as recently as yesterday professed feeling for me. Deep feeling. More than mere desire. Possessive, needful feeling. He'd actually been jealous of strangers making eye contact or small talk with me. That was totally out of my ken. I loved Dana Scully, with a passion that speared my brain sometimes, but never my heart. I had never been inclined to write sonnets for her, or smother her in kisses and rose petals. I think she has been inclined, on occasion, to smother me with a sofa pillow, but that's another argument, for another time. The only jealousy I've ever felt for her, is on the odd occurrence when her personal life took her out of my immediate reach, so that I could not call on her in the middle of the night to expound theories, or make her do secret, emergency autopsies. But there was no romantic jealousy there. The truth is, I would love to see her married and happy, as long as her husband didn't mind me sleeping on their sofa all the time.

As for Diana, I was only jealous of her professionally. She baited me every way she could. But she knew me too well to think that cheating on me would matter to me except in that prehistoric male ego way. Although I can't even imagine having the inclination to club her and drag her back to my cave by her hair.

I don't know...maybe I'm not capable of that kind of jealousy. I tried to imagine being jealous of Skinner if someone else caught his eye. Nope. The only emotion that came to mind was sad surrender.

My head was pounding. I had to stop thinking. Ignoring the cold, I pulled a hand free, rubbed my brow and groaned.

I felt him shift beside me. He lifted his head slightly and looked at me. "Are you all right?"

"What the hell happened to you?" I blurted. I couldn't help it. He looked as if he'd been attacked by a Bengal tiger. He had three long gashes and one fainter abrasion, from eye to chin.

He touched his face. He looked surprised. Then he frowned at me. "You don't look much better." He brushed those same fingers over my cheek, making me flinch. "How's your head this morning?"

I brushed his hand away. "It hurts." I twisted around 'til I could sit up. "Seriously, what happened to you?"

He fell back on the pillow and looked up at me. "You don't remember?"

"I don't remember a pack of wild animals running through here, no." I fumbled for my flashlight on the bedside table and flicked it over his face. "My God, that looks awful. Have you seen it?" I resisted an urge to touch, because I knew something in that color scheme had to hurt, and if I touched it, he might hurt me. But with my hand hovering between us, I noticed something. The spacing of the gashes looked like..."Are you saying I did that?"

"I'm not saying it, Mulder. I'm stating it." He rolled to his side and then out of the bed, lurching toward my bathroom. He flicked the light switch several times, grunted, returned to me and snatched the maglite from my fingers. He went back to the mirror over the sink and gave his reflection thorough study.

I watched him, trying not to be amused that even he would insist on trying the light switch more than once, and wondering when the hell I'd taken a whack at him. It must have been before I fell, I decided, although I didn't remember him being close enough to me that I could inflict that kind of damage. "I'm sorry," I called over the sound of running water, and then the sound of his cursing.

He came back into the bedroom and tossed my flashlight on the bed. "You didn't do it on purpose, did you?"

I shook my head. I didn't even remember doing it.

"Then don't worry about it." He stretched, arching his body forward, emphasizing his chest, his belly, his groin. It was a display of maleness almost equal to animalist mating rituals. All he lacked was brilliant plumage or a cockscomb. It didn't matter. He had my attention. He straightened abruptly and frowned down at me. "Do you need something for your head?"

Spell broken, I refocused. "Yeah, an ax would do nicely." I made myself rise. The entire left side of my body felt bruised. I considered the floor and made a mental note to never, ever fall face down on concrete.

He frowned at me again. "I'll get you aspirins." He left me.

I wandered into the bathroom and gave myself a quick once over. He was right about my face. I didn't need more light to see I had a dark bruise under my left eye. I had one on my shoulder and shin as well. Anyone seeing us together would think we'd had a hell of a fight. Which in point of fact, we did, but I don't think either of us intended to inflict this level of injury on the other.

I emptied my bladder, rinsed my face, and very gingerly dabbed a towel over it. Next door I could hear him flush and run the tap. I didn't feel like hunting down my comb and shaving with that mess on my face was right out, so I worked my fingers through my hair to imitate some semblance of grooming skills, rinsed my mouth and returned to the bedroom.

He brought me aspirins and water a moment later. "I'm going to go see what the chances are for coffee this morning," he told me stiffly.

I answered with a nod, while I collected bedding and tried to work it into place on the bed. It was a fairly safe bet that, on the day I lost my job at the Bureau, I would have no future as a chambermaid.

He waited a moment. "Failing that, there's still some juice in my room. And bagels."

I nodded again. I don't know why I felt shy about meeting his eyes just then, but I did. It was disturbing to me that we'd managed to do visible damage to one another. I was a little afraid of what he would do to me, or worse, not do to me, if someone was ungracious enough to comment.

He must have heard something in his room, because he looked back over his shoulder. "Excuse me," he said politely and disappeared, shutting the connecting door behind him.

Just then someone knocked at my outer door. I opened it eagerly, praying it was a coffee fairy.

It was, sort of. It was Danny Stanton. "Hey, great news, we finally got the water heaters going again, and - what the hell happened to you?"

I smiled with half my face. "I've been getting that a lot lately." I touched my cheek gingerly. "Actually, I tripped in the dark. Make a complaint to your manager for me, will you? Your floors could be lethal."

He looked alarmed.

"Don't worry," I promised with an almost airy wave. "I'm not going to sue you for my big feet. What were you saying? I heard water and heat in the same sentence and lost track."

"We've got the water heaters working." His eyes stayed on my face. "We could have enough hot water for bathing soon."

The connecting door opened. "I thought I heard someone at my..." Skinner stopped behind me.

That's how bad his injuries were, I realized, when Danny could see them from the darkened hallway. His eyes went over my shoulder and back over my face. "Tripped?" he repeated.

I scowled, despite the pain. "Thanks for letting me know about the water," I replied, and shut the door in his face. I turned around slowly, waiting to see if Skinner would explode, or just slap me and leave.

He did neither. He frowned again. "What was that all about?"

I sighed. "I think we've been outed. At least as combatants." I jerked a thumb over my shoulder. "I had told him I tripped in the dark, and -"

"Which was true," he inserted.

"Yeah, but then you came along, Black Eyed Susan, and he put one and one together and came up with ten rounds, no knock out." I eyed him. Up close it looked even worse. "I think, after seeing you, he gave me the win on points. That really does look bad. Are you sure I did that to you?"

He backed up a step. "Quite."

"Huh. Well, again, I'm sorry. But I sure don't remember it." I inched around him. He was looking at me oddly. A mixture of speculation and incredulity. It made me uncomfortable.

He turned as I passed him, still watching me. "You don't remember." It wasn't a question. It was said with just a little less conviction than the original 'Eureka!' "You actually don't."

His tone intrigued me. "What's that supposed to mean?"

He looked at me then my bed, and then at me just a moment longer. "Nothing."

It was my turn to look at the bed. "Did I...did I have some kind of nightmare?" I could feel my face starting to burn again. Oh, brilliant, Mulder. Have a patented, full color, complete with score somnatic event in front of not just my potential lover, but my once and always boss.

"Yes," he said after a moment of consideration. "I must have ... disturbed you in some way." He was moving toward the connecting door. He was leaving. He was retreating. He was abandoning me.

"No," I said quickly. "You didn't do anything. This happens all the time." Stupid. "Well, not all the time...sometimes. You know..." come on, Mulder, dig yourself a little deeper, "now and again. I mean..." I fumbled to a stop as he reached the door. "You didn't do anything."

"Don't worry about it, Agent," he said in what could almost be described as a soothing voice, only it wasn't. "It looks much worse than it is." He made his face smile even though it had to hurt. "Did I hear something about hot water?"

"Uh...yeah." I gestured at the outer door again. "They got the water heaters started. We should have hot water again soon."

"That is good news." He affected that smile again. "I think I'll go get ready to take advantage of it." He pulled the door open, and for a moment there was heaviness in the air while he tried to think of something inane and noncommittal to add. "I'll see you later."

I dropped down on the side of the bed as he pulled the door to. "Fuck," I said with feeling.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

I took a shower myself, after a while. But first I spent quite a lot of time trying to remember the nightmare I must have had. Something happened. There was no doubt of that. I think I knew it before I saw the irrefutable evidence on his face. I woke up with that familiar sense of something gone wrong. But I had no lingering images of whatever horrors had caused me to lash out at an innocently sleeping man. And that was unusual for me.

I couldn't stand it anymore. It was bad enough he had always thought I was a loose cannon. I didn't want him thinking I could actually be a danger to myself or others. It took a lot of courage to knock on that connecting door. It took even more for me to pull the door open without waiting for permission to enter. "Skinner, I want you to know that ..."

Suddenly it was hard to speak. He must have been freezing, fresh from a hot shower, into that freezing room, in nothing but the merest wisps of soft cotton over a portion of his body, but he sat on the edge of his bed, looking relaxed and in control, even with me standing there gaping, and quite possibly, drooling. I wanted some of that. No...I wanted all of that.

He had socks in his hand, as if preparing to put one on, but they just hung from his fingers as he looked at me. Looking back, it should have struck me odd that he neither looked surprised or angry about my intrusion. He was just looking at me. "Mulder?" he said.

"I..." I swallowed. I made myself move. "I..." I got right in front of him. "Do you want me?" I asked.

He still didn't look surprised or angry. He did, however, look mildly pained. "Mulder, we decided -"

I cut him off with an impulsive and lingering kiss. "Because I want you." I let my gaze force its way into his. "Tomorrow doesn't matter," I promised. "Later today doesn't matter." I felt myself going to my knees between his. "This matters." I kissed him again. "Right now." I pulled the socks from his hand and worked his arms up to my neck. I wanted to be in his arms. I rested my head against his shoulder and asked again, "Do you want me?"

He was shaking. I didn't expect that. I should have been ashamed of myself. I should have been embarrassed. I should have gotten up and run, out of that room, out of that hotel, out of that state. But I stayed there, on my knees, waiting for him to give me even the tiniest sign that he wanted this as much as I did. "Do you?" I repeated, and fastened my mouth on his neck.

His deep and muffled moan was enough of an answer for me. I nestled against his chest, my mouth working on the cotton of his tee shirt. I sucked and bit, filling myself with the way he smelled, and how the smell of the tee shirt was so much a part of how he smelled. I found one of his nipples, jutting out, making a knot in the fabric, and I sucked on that. Hard. And I let my teeth set on it just enough to feel him flinch inside. I ran my hands around his waist, over his chest, his shoulders, his face. I think I was moaning. Maybe he was. Maybe we both were. But there were sounds of longing and need making a chorus in that room.

Finally I got my face between his legs. There was a thick ridge rising up in the middle of those clean white shorts. I mouthed it relentlessly. I found a salty wet place and licked and breathed and chewed on it. I worked up and down that well-defined ridge, sucking, pressing, rubbing. My hands were wound around his waist, his fingers were tangled tightly in my hair. I didn't mind. It meant he wasn't pushing me away. We were both shaking now.

He was trying to say my name. I could hear a guttural "Muh - Muh...Muh..." above me, but I didn't think he was telling me to stop. Quite honestly, unless he pulled a gun on me right there, and ordered me to leave, there was no way I was going to stop. Even through the cotton of his briefs I could feel the heat and the way he was throbbing in anticipation of orgasm. For the moment, as unlikely as it was for me, my own gratification was unimportant. I wanted, no...needed to make him surrender to me, to make him explode, give him something so amazing and intense that he would always remember this day, this moment.

His fingers clenched tighter in my hair but I still didn't mind. I worked my mouth over the cloth-covered knob and sucked. I felt him cry out more than I heard it, and his body jerked upward. I'm amazed he didn't rip through his shorts at that point, but I got a strong taste of semen strained through cloth, and I could feel a full body shudder all around me.

For one unbelievable moment I was floating, in a free-fall of powerful sensation. I felt invincible, I felt weightless, I felt like I'd conquered Everest, brought about world peace, cured the common cold. I made my boss, Walter S. Skinner, come.

Finally, slowly, and with infinite tenderness, he lifted my head, and despite his cum smeared across my lips, kissed me deeply. "Yes," he whispered raggedly against my mouth. "I want you."

End 07