TITLE: Same Game: Part XV – Out of Bounds

(Part 1 of 2 parts)

NAME: Mik

E-MAIL: mikdok@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: What happens when you go where you don’t belong.

FEEDBACK: Feedback? Well, yes, if you insist ... Flames? Send 'em to my brother, he's having a barbecue.

TIMESPAN/SPOILER WARNING: This is an AU, very vague spoilers for multiple episodes, nothing current. Skinner has always been their boss. And I don't give a damn how many arms Krycek has, he doesn't get to play.

KEYWORDS: story slash angst Skinner Mulder NC-17

DISCLAIMER: Fox Mulder, Walter Skinner, Dana Scully 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.

This is for Geoffrey, who gave me permission to play with his characters from "What You Want", for the owners and shareholders of the Chatterers Gallery for their love, support and lifetime supply of "Peeps", and querida Susan, for her brilliant execution of all things beta. Beta-Kitty, get well, quick, so you can, come home, and, help me, with all my, commas.

If you like this, there's more at http://homepages.go.com/~frogdoggie/3wstop.html

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

Same Game XV – Out of Bounds (part 1 of 2)

by Mik

He sighed. I braced myself. I had been sleeping with Skinner long enough to recognize that sigh as a precursor to a shift in position. If I timed it just right, I could slip out from beneath his arm without disturbing him.

A moment later, I was creeping downstairs, naked, dragging a hand over my eyes and stumbling into a chair, exhausted. Despite my normal routine of night terrors when on my own, it was unusual for me not to sleep when I was in his bed, but these nights I had a lot on my mind.

Something had changed the definition of our domesticity in the last month. I’m not sure I could define it. I’m not sure I’d want to try. Since we had resolved our interpretation of one another’s roles in this relationship, things seemed to have normalized somewhat. There was almost a ‘Hi, honey, I’m home’ routine to us, now. Let me state this right out: it was not a bad thing, in fact I enjoyed it, but it was different. But there were still boundaries I was unsure of, and there were still raw places that neither of us wanted touched.

Work had managed to keep us apart a lot. When we could get together, it was 1) Say hello; 2) get naked; 3) eat and 4) sleep. Get up and repeat as necessary. Consequently, deep conversation did not fit into the equation.

It wasn’t our nature to ‘chat’ a lot, and quite frankly, we found we could go entire weekends emitting nothing more than inarticulate grunts and moans. When we did talk it was extremely superficial; sports, weather, the nudists who had moved into the condo across the pool from him, allowing us a great insight into female physiology. We had tacitly agreed not to discuss work. He was trying valiantly not to be my boss. Still …

"Fox?"

I sat up straight and looked around.

He was at the bottom stair, shrugged into his bathrobe, blinking at me. "Can’t sleep?" he asked, concerned.

"Just restless." I tried to smile. But I know he had seen me hunched forward, head in my hands. Not exactly the pose of a happy man. "I get this way. You know that. "

His voice was a non-threatening murmur. "You want to talk about it?" But there was an anxious hopefulness in it. Or, perhaps an anxious dread.

I shook my head. "Nah. I’ll be back in a bit. Go on back to sleep. Sorry I woke you."

He took the few steps into the living room, ‘til he could reach me. His fingers went through my hair, distractedly. "You’ve been restless a lot lately," he observed.

I reached up and held his hand against my head. "It will pass," I promised. "Go on to bed."

He didn’t move, but he was quiet for a moment. "Getting bored?" he suggested softly.

I looked up with a jerk. "Where did that come from?"

His smile was rueful. "It’s no secret that I’m a bit of a stick-in-the-mud, even for a gay relationship. Maybe especially for a gay relationship. I know that." His fingers shifted under mine, sending a little shiver down my neck. "You once described me perfectly; picket fences, pipe and slippers. I like things quiet and familiar. Even you."

"I know." I slid my hand over his lazily. "And I like it, too. It feels good … safe."

"But, boring."

"No." I brought his hand to my mouth and kissed it. "You’re a great lover and a good friend. I couldn’t be bored with you." That I could say with conviction. "I just have a lot on my mind right now." I released his hand. "Go on. I’ll be back soon."

He didn’t move. "Is Scully all right?"

"Scully’s fine. I’m fine." I stood up. "Come on, pipe and slippers." I wound my arm around his rock-hard middle and urged him toward the stairs. "I’ll come back with you."

He stopped at the stairs and sighed. "Mulder, if you want out of this …" He let it go.

I caught his chin with my free hand and met his eyes. "I do NOT want out of this. Skinner, this has been the best thing that ever happened to me. I never want out. You’d better not push me out. I’ll stalk you or something."

He smiled against my hand. It didn’t reach his eyes. "Fair enough. Let’s go back to bed."

So I laid there, still, waiting to be sure he was asleep. I didn’t know how to tell him.

A month ago, in Buffalo, miserable because I had called it off with Skinner, I didn’t run when I ran into General Sean Hardy. Typical sociopath that he is, he knew exactly what to say to convince me that I needed to get away from the Bureau, without even knowing that I needed to get away from the Bureau. I endured his comments, telling myself I was only being polite, when in truth I was desperate for any option that would get me away from the truth I had given away with both hands. He suggested we get together for lunch when we were both back in D.C.

And, even though I resolved my issues with Skinner, I kept the lunch date with ‘Sean’.

General Sean Hardy can be a smooth operator, despite the stupidity with which he attempted to handle Scully. One afternoon with him and it was clear to me that if he’d taken another tact, he might have gotten through to her.

He certainly got through to me. He invited me to a ritzy joint not too far from where I live, but way too far from the way I live. He knew the kind of beer I like in my dreams. He got my name right, this time. Then he said, ‘I know you don’t like to be addressed by your first name, however, I find calling you Agent Mulder just too formal for an informal lunch date.’ An ingenuous smile. ‘Would you be offended if I called you Mulder?’ Very smooth.

And by the end of lunch, we were both laughing, having a little brandy with our coffee, and a couple of cigars I KNOW never saw the inside of Customs. They’re not my usual vice, but hell, you don’t get an opportunity like this every day, so I took it.

So there we were, a couple of men of the world, settled back in our sidewalk cafe chairs, Courvoisier brandy in one hand, hand-rolled Cubans in the other, when he leaned forward and touched my knee. ‘You’re wasted where you’re at, Mulder.’

_____

Skinner filled my coffee cup, and ruffled my hair as he left the table. "You know," I growled over the sport’s page. "You only do that because you know I can’t do it back."

"It looks like someone got up on the wrong side of bed -- about three times," he observed, putting the pot back.

I flushed. I didn’t know he noticed that I got up again. "I’m sorry if I disturbed you."

He wiped his hands on a towel and then straightened it. "Well, you did, but only because I’m worried about you."

I pretended not to notice, even though every time he does that he reminds me of that Julia Roberts movie ‘Sleeping with the Enemy’ and I wonder if one of these days I’d have to drown myself and let my hair grow out or something. "You fuss too much," I told him and turned a page.

"I resent the term ‘fuss’," he said, returning to the table. "I prefer ‘exercising due concern’."

"Well, you’re exercising too much concern here. I’m just going through a phase. I do it periodically. I haven’t had an X-File in weeks, and all these murders, kidnappings and robberies have gotten on my nerves." I sought his eyes over the edge of the paper and tried to grin. "I need a good animal mutilation or a haunting."

"I’ll see what I can do," he said dryly.

The house phone rang. We looked at each other. I whistled, low. "Boy, you’re good."

He cuffed me gently as he got up to answer it. I heard him laugh. I heard quiet murmuring, a soft expression of surprise. I heard him return. "No X-File," he said, leaning against the kitchen door. "How ‘bout a Mets game?"

"Oh, no thanks. I’m full."

"Very funny. I have been presented with box seats to tomorrow’s game. You want to fly up tonight and have dinner in New York and catch the game tomorrow?"

I turned and looked at him. "You’re asking me on a weekend away? Gosh, what will I tell my folks?"

"That your lover has been given unbelievable seats to a pennant contending team," he returned, levelly. "And if you don’t go, he’s likely to pick up some cute barmaid."

"As long as he isn’t picking up busboys." I turned another page. "The Mets do look good this year."

"So? Shall I tell him yes?"

"Yeah, sure. Wait a minute, tell who?"

"Sean. He has season tickets."

"S -- Sean? Hardy?" I wonder how quickly I can learn to drown?

"Yes." He made a vague gesture toward the past. "You met him at that press conference a couple of months ago." He paused and added, "He’s the one you thought --"

"Yeah, I know who he is." Shit. I looked up at him again, frowning. "Do you really think it’s smart for the two of us to go away for the weekend, where someone we know will see us?"

"Mulder, he invited both of us." Uh oh, he sounds patient, which means he’s TRYING to be patient.

I swallowed. "Why would he do that?"

Skinner scowled at me. "He knows about us, Mulder."

Yeah. No thanks to me. "He does?"

"It’s okay. Sean’s a very understanding person. And I can trust him. So can you."

I felt my jaw clench and I couldn’t meet his eyes. You only THINK you can trust him, I thought, miserably. "Okay," I conceded. "If you think it’s a good idea." Shit, shit, shit.

_____

I don’t know how Sean knew I was going to be in Kansas City, Missouri, before I did, but there was a message waiting for me at the front desk when we checked in, inviting me to dinner. I know I smiled.

Scully didn’t question it. She probably assumed the message was from Skinner. She never discussed it with me, but lately, she’s been walking around with this smug look, as if she thinks she can take credit for Skinner and I resolving our differences.

Sean treated me to another one of those chaud maintenant meals and for dessert a bit of reminiscing about Walter that was sweeter to me than the creme brulee. He talked at length about Walter’s loyalty to his friends, which was no surprise, and his passion and absolutely goofy devotion to his wife, which was. And more surprising, it actually stung. I never thought I’d resent Walter’s love for Sharon, but I really hated hearing about it.

And in the middle of the reminiscing, Sean shifted tracks abruptly. "Walt thinks the world of you, Mulder."

I know I blushed and grew a stupid grin. "Well, he’s a pretty cool guy." Oh, come ON, could we be a little more high school?

Sean offered me a cigar. "So, how long have you been with him?" he asked, reaching for a box of matches.

The question bothered me a little. Walter had no right revealing our relationship without discussing it with me. Still, they had been friends for years. Maybe Skinner just needed a sympathetic ear for all the grief I gave him. "Oh, just a few months," I answered, accepting Sean’s offer. "It wasn’t something either of us planned. It just sort of happened."

The minute the words were out of my mouth, I knew I’d made a mistake. Sean considered the ring on his cigar for a long while before he ventured, "I thought you’d worked for him longer than that."

"Uh … yeah. Six years." Shit. I just outed us -- to the Pentagon!

Sean remained quiet for another minute. "I didn’t know Walt was gay," he said finally.

I took my time answering. I clipped my cigar and let him light it for me. I struggled to retain some sense of dignity, even if I felt I was wearing a bright red nose and huge floppy shoes, while I crawled out of a little, tiny car. "I don’t think he knew. As I said, it just sort of happened." I felt compelled to add, "It was a first for both of us." More awkward silence, before I began an almost desperate speech. "Sean, I don’t really care about me, but, you won’t say anything about --"

"I wouldn’t do anything to hurt Walt," he said quickly. "He’s been like a second brother to me. And he was always there for Ron, even at the worst times. And when Ron …" For the first time I saw Sean, not as the arrogant Soldier Boy but as a fragile human struggling with grief. "When Ron died, Walter came in and took care of everything so Mom and I wouldn’t have to. I know it was hard for him, too. He loved Ron like a brother, but he spared us the pain of …" A tear decorated his cheek, brighter than any medal on his chest.

I understood. "How did he do it?"

"Shotgun."

"I’m sorry."

He straightened and brushed at his face impatiently. "Anyway, I’d never allow Walter to be harmed, by anything," he added. He met my eyes at last. "Is he happy?"

"Oh, I hope so," I answered with unexpected fervency.

Everything else grew out of that conversation and despite all our convictions about hurting Walter, we had taken steps that were going to disrupt his life at best.

_____

I could feel Skinner’s eyes on me, concerned, as we waited for clearance to unbuckle our seat belts and deplane. Sean had sent a private plane to take us from Dulles to JFK. I had made some sardonic remark like, "Your tax dollars at work," and fallen silent for the duration. I knew this was a mistake. I didn’t want Walter finding out this way, but Sean and I were bound to reveal ourselves in close proximity for the weekend.

As the lights in the cabin went off, and we climbed out of our seats, I sent Skinner a nervous smile.

In the boarding sleeve, I was startled to feel his fingers tangle with mine and hang on. The bulldog was holding my hand, practically in public! Shit, did I feel like a heel.

Sean met us at the end of the sleeve, with a hug for Skinner and then one for me. I hugged back without thinking, though Walter’s grip on my hand made it awkward. When I released Sean, I looked up at Skinner and he smiled at me, in approval. I made myself smile back. We had to talk.

XXX

Something is bothering him. I don’t need to be an ace profiler to see that. He’s quiet and restless, getting up and wandering around the condo at night when he thinks I’m asleep.

I really thought things were better. He always seemed eager to get together with me. The sex has been phenomenal. The time we spend together has been easy and lazy and undemanding. And yet, something’s not right.

At first, I thought he was having problems with Scully, because he always seemed to be worse after a field assignment, but then I saw them together on a local case and it was patently clear that the Mulder/Scully chemistry was unpolluted.

I didn’t know what to do for him. I tried waiting it out, I tried distracting him. I even tried asking him. He said it was a phase and the next morning he was his customary, cracking-wise self. But, something’s still bothering him.

I knew he didn’t want to spend one of our precious weekends with Sean Hardy but I find it hard to tell the kid no. I tried to make Mulder realize that this was just proof that he was going to be part of my life even when other parts of my life intruded. Sean had somehow discerned my extraordinary feelings for Mulder and graciously invited him along for the weekend.

At least, that’s what I thought.

My first clue should have been when Mulder accepted Sean’s embrace so naturally. (Well, natural for him.) Their greeting was casual and friendly. Mulder made an off-hand comment about seeing him out of uniform, making Sean laugh. Sean asked about a case, Mulder answered.

The picture came into focus that night, however. Coming out of the guest bath of Sean’s apartment, I saw Sean lighting Mulder’s cigar, and the easy smile Mulder gave him in thanks. Even then, I didn’t catch the implications right away. My initial reaction was loud protest. My Mulder didn’t smoke, not cigars, not anything. My Mulder was brash and juvenile and impulsive, but he didn’t have any of the standard issue vices. What was he doing with one of Sean’s smuggled Cubanas clenched between his teeth?

I stood there a moment, trying to reconcile myself to the idea that Mulder was smoking, and watched them lean against the balcony, talking and considering the skyline. They seemed so comfortable together, relaxed … familiar. I felt a tightening around my chest, and a level of envy turning the edges of my vision green.

A song came on the radio and they reacted instantly, in unison, as if rehearsed; a finger-snapping, shuffle step dance, singing ‘We built this city on rock and roll’, a little of what Mulder refers to as ‘air guitar’. I’d never seen this side of Mulder, although I’ve often suspected it existed, somewhere, buried beneath his neuroses and guilt. I think this was what Mulder could have been; as a big brother, as a best friend, as a young man with a normal childhood. Ending the song with a flourish, he laughed, and Sean put a hand on his chest, shaking his head, saying something I couldn’t hear.

I moved toward the door and they both turned, moved away from each other, looked guilty. And I understood.

They both fussed over me that night, almost a competition to prove which one of them mattered to me more. Neither of them realized it was wasted effort. I was shell-shocked. My best friend’s little brother had moved in on my lover. How could he do that? Hell, I helped raise the little punk. Who was there for him to turn to when Ron began his revolving door cycle through the VA system? Who came to clean up the mess when Ron took half his head off with an unlicensed shotgun? Who was it who got his mother into grief counseling and held his hand through some very rocky nights? And this is how he repays me? Takes the best thing that ever happened to me, and turns it into one more of his little ‘acquisitions’? The bastard. Even though I smiled at him, even though I laughed at his nervous little jokes, I wanted to toss him off that twenty-second floor balcony.

Mulder was just pathetic. He never got more than five feet from me, and when he wasn’t practically wrestling Sean to refill my coffee or light my cigar, he was sitting near me, glumly, chewing on a fingernail, and sighing a lot.

But none of us mentioned what was going on. This is why we have wars, I realized. If we were three women, there would be hair and false fingernails all over the terrace, but the matter would be resolved. We three big, strong men sat there, trying to maintain, and ignoring the elephant in the living room.

Oh, I admit I added to the problem. I got very territorial, touching Mulder whenever he got near me, positioning myself to always be between the two. I think I tried very hard not to be aggressive, but at the same time, I didn’t want either of them to think I was just going to roll over on this situation. Sean wasn’t taking Mulder without a fight; Mulder wasn’t going without protest.

Needless to say, it wasn’t a late evening.

I came out of the bath and found Mulder sitting on the edge of the bed looking miserable. He didn’t even look at me.

"You might have told me," I chided, trying so hard not to grab him and shake him and demand to know how he could do this to me.

"I didn’t know how," he admitted, staring at the floor.

I didn’t like the way he responded. It was full of inevitability. "Have you made up your mind?"

He nodded once. "Yeah, I think I have."

I waited. I wouldn’t ask.

He remained silent.

I asked. "What are you going to do?"

He shifted uncomfortably. "I think I’m going to go."

Sucker punch to the solar plexus. I reeled. Yet, my pride kept me erect. "When?"

He shrugged. "I’m thinking in about six weeks."

"What are you waiting for?" I barely kept the sneer from my voice.

If he heard it, he ignored it. "I want to finish up some loose ends, I guess."

Well, that was flattering. "Loose ends --"

He met my eyes and the feeling there silenced me. "Please, Walt, could we just go to bed?"

Now I just felt slapped -- all right, slapped HARD. How many times had Sharon and I had that exact conversation? How many times had I stopped an in-depth examination of what was going on by telling her I just wanted to go to bed? Shit. No wonder she divorced me. I couldn’t even speak to respond. I just gave him a jerky nod and began to undress.

The bed in Sean’s guest room wasn’t the king-size we were accustomed to so there was no way we could avoid one another. So we fell onto our backs and lay still, trying to pretend the other one wasn’t there. I know he could feel the heat that poured over me. I was so enraged, I needed physical release. I wanted to punish something, someone. I needed to scream, howl, hit, hurt. Mostly I wanted to hurt Sean for hurting me, but there was a need to punish Mulder, too. He needed to know that he couldn’t just walk away from me without consequences.

That kind of thinking frightened me, and I shut my eyes, trying to will away the image of Sean’s hand on Mulder’s chest, the two of them laughing so … so intimately. Mulder and I never laughed. Our conversations were so banal, so pointless. Mostly we had sex and argued. No wonder he was so easily wooed by Sean. A mind like Mulder’s needs as much stimulation as his body, and Sean is a very intelligent young man.

Damn it, I lost Sharon because we never talked, and now I’m losing Mulder for the same reason. It’s supposed to be different, easier with another man. This isn’t supposed to happen --

Then, I felt it. His hand. On my chest. His fingernails dragging over my skin. His mouth on my shoulder. A part of me melted. I’m losing this, I realized, painfully. In six weeks, my pass expires and he’ll be gone. A part of me wanted to brush him off, tell him to go now. The rest of me didn’t listen.

His fingers meandered down my torso and danced lightly over the place where my leg joined, and his mouth moved up, over my shoulder to my throat. He was murmuring between kisses, soft, encouraging, almost crooning sounds. I almost felt he was trying to soothe me.

His mouth found mine. I didn’t resist. Angry, even betrayed, I could not resist Mulder’s kisses. His mouth is a separate entity, alive, aware. He licked his way into a kiss, sucking at my lips, nipping at my tongue. His body moved against mine, his fingers seeking, finding, stroking the center of my consciousness.

A few moments later, he pulled back, rolled away from me.

_____

Mulder was in the shower, so I climbed out of bed and dragged on clothes before leaving the bedroom. I wanted to be out of the room before he finished.

Sean was on the phone in the kitchen, at the same time, giving instructions to his housekeeper on the proper speed for whisking eggs. Once a general always a general, I suppose.

He gave me a little high sign as I went through, and concluded his call quickly. A moment later he was bringing me a Bloody Mary. "’Morning, Walt," he said, tentatively.

I gave him a nod, and swished the celery stalk around my glass distractedly.

He gestured toward the terrace, and I followed him, having no place else to go, and unwilling to go back into the guest room and face Mulder.

We took chairs and sat, quietly, trying to appreciate the still air of early morning, which promised a thick, hot summer day to come.

It was clear there was something on Sean’s mind. He opened and closed his mouth several times before I rescued him with a terse, "Fox told me, Sean."

He looked relieved, and then regretful. "I know it’s hard on you, Walt. I never intended to hurt you. I didn’t realize --"

"All that matters is what’s best for Fox," I said roughly, cutting him off. I didn’t want to hear the thin apologies meant to cover the depth of this wound.

"Fox has what’s best for him," Mulder announced, coming through the glass doors. He paused at my chair, and kissed me. "’Morning, babe." He took a chair nearby and nodded when Sean offered him a Bloody Mary.

‘Babe’? I looked at him. He looked unnaturally bright. He looked as if he was trying too hard. He looked as if he was avoiding my eyes. "How did you sleep?" I asked softly.

I heard Sean return behind me.

Mulder looked up and forced a smile. "Great. Always. Thanks, Sean." He pulled the celery out and licked the tomato juice away from its length, and I felt every stroke of his tongue on my cock. And I know he knew I did.

Sean didn’t miss it, either. He drew up his chair and looked from one of us to the other. "Are you two okay with this?"

Mulder waved it away with a tolerant frown. "We’re fine, Sean. Don’t worry about it."

And the three big, strong men groped greedily for another topic, while the elephant trashed the living room.

Breakfast came, and we all raved about the meal, even though I doubt even Sean could remember what we were having. We talked about the Mets prospects, and Mulder rattled off statistics like a pro. I felt Sean’s eyes darting to him in approval and wanted to point out that I taught Mulder the finer points of baseball.

Mulder surprised me, however. He smiled at Sean’s admiration. "Don’t be impressed. I just have a photographic memory. I don’t know much about baseball, really, except what Walt taught me. I’m more into basketball." He flicked a look at me.

"Really?" Sean reached for the coffeepot and refilled our cups. "I suppose a tall guy like you plays a lot."

Mulder’s eyes remained on me. "I play often enough. Walter keeps me on my game."

I thought back to a night in a small town in Tennessee when I took a man so brittle with guilt he could have snapped with a sneeze out for a little one on one, and came back with my whole life rearranged.

"You play, Walt?" Sean was looking at me.

I was jerked back to the moment. "A little." I shrugged. "Just to keep him loose."

Mulder snickered into his coffee. "He keeps me loose."

I sent him a discerning look. Mulder was putting on a show. But for whose benefit?

____

Much to my disappointment, from the airport, I took him back to his apartment. I had hoped we would have at least had a late supper or something before we parted company for the week. I should have suspected something like that when he insisted on taking everything to New York. He had no reason to come back to the condo. So, it caught me by surprise when, he turned to me and said, "Do you want to come up?" and there was a light of hope in his eyes.

I should have said no. I know that. I knew it then. But, six weeks is very short in the overall scheme of time, and I wanted every minute I could with him.

He let me in and left me in the hallway, puttering around in the kitchen. I closed the door and took his bag into the living room, noting that the tidiness he had been so proud of was now a distant memory. I wondered, somewhat caustically, if Sean would subject him to spot inspections.

A few moments later he appeared, with a glass of Scotch in each hand. "You want to stay the night?" he offered in what I would have to say was a silky purr.

I actually considered it. If I left at five … I reached for one of the glasses. "Yes."

He took a sip from his glass. "Let’s go to bed."

What is this, Mulder? A mercy fuck? I studied his face; open and in need. Well, hell, beggars can’t be choosers, can they? I emptied mine in a gulp. "Yeah."

That entity known as Mulder’s mouth went to work the moment we crossed the sill. He licked, he sucked, he bit, he kissed. And all the while, his fingers were working at buttons and zippers and waistbands. Within a couple of minutes, I was naked on the edge of his bed, and he was on his knees between mine, licking over my cock like an ice cream cone.

I contributed nothing to the entire procedure but the occasional grunt of approval, and to run my hands through his hair. He felt so good, and yet …

Eventually, he stood and pushed me back on the bed. Then and only then did he begin to undress, slowly, with a teasing smile. The little prick was giving me a strip show. And I lay there and enjoyed it as he shimmied out of his jeans and let his shirt fall off his shoulders with a flirtatious shrug.

Naked, he climbed up over me, and straddled my hips, rocking his ass over my cock. Occasionally, he would swoop down for a kiss, and then went back to his rhythmic rocking.

Finally, I couldn’t take it anymore. I caught his arms, and pushed, flipping him over, so that I could take the superior position. He opened his mouth in protest, but I cut him off with a kiss. "This is for you, baby," I told him.

He squirmed under me as my mouth moved downward. "Don’t call me baby."

I bit his nipple. "Just making up for this morning."

He answered with a groan and arched against me.

I followed a route similar to the one he had taken with me, ‘til I found his cock; upright, rigid and purple, and I took it into my mouth, whole. "W -- Walter," he gasped as I sucked, hard.

It had been a while since I’d had him in my mouth, and I had forgotten how good he tasted, the salty-bitterness of his pre-cum, the soft, warm eau de Mulder of his skin. I licked and slurped up and down his shaft, savoring his flavor, savoring the way he writhed and moaned under me, savoring him.

After a few moments, I urged his knees upward, released his cock long enough to suck my own thumb a moment, and worked that up inside him almost roughly, making him yelp. "Just making sure I’m keeping you loose," I explained with a chuckle and resumed my diligent work on his cock.

Between my mouth pumping up and down and my thumb pumping in and out it didn’t take much longer. He shifted and trembled, and moaned and then his head tipped back and he let out a deep, animal growl, as he flooded my mouth with his cum.

"Oh, God, Walter," he moaned, groping for me, and running one shaking hand over my scalp.

I let his cock slip out of my mouth, and eased my thumb from his ass, letting him roll onto his side, his knees still tucked up. "What about you?" he mumbled.

"Shhh," I answered quietly, sadly. "This was about you, remember?" I settled behind him, holding him close, kissing his neck, his shoulder, his hair. I let him fall asleep, as he so often did post orgasm, my limp penis resting against his back.

-THE END-