TITLE: Same Game: Part V - Back in Play

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: Mulder and Skinner continue the relationship that began in "Same Game: Part I - Tip Off", "Same Game: Part II Ground Rules" "Same Game: Part III: Home Court Advantage" and "Same Game IV - All Tied Up". Once the players are back on the job, will the game play the same?

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, no spoilers. 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 the characters from "What You Want", and for the owners and shareholders of the Chatterers Gallery for their love, support and lifetime supply of "Peeps".

Same Game V - Back in Play by Mik

Standing beside my car, down in the bowels of the Hoover, I looked off toward the bank of elevators. For the first time in all the years I've worked for the Bureau, I was actually nervous about going upstairs to my office.

I never take a day off, unless it's to be in the hospital. I actually called in ill. What was even more amazing is that he did. We're going to claim we both had food poisoning.

We spent the day together. It seems impossible to say this, but the guy's fun to be with. He's no wild party guy, but he's easy and comfortable. We rented a couple of movies, and sprawled on the sofa, eating things guaranteed to cause food poisoning. At one point, he pulled my head into his lap, and I know I drifted off there, completely content. And later woke, feeling his thoughtful frown on me.

"You slept," he said, almost incredulous.

"Yeah." I sat up, rubbed my hand over my eyes. "Sorry."

"It's all right." He smiled and again I felt myself turning to water. "It's good to see you rest."

"Thanks." I groped for my watch, left on the sofa table. "I'd better get going. By the way, who won the war?"

"Oh, the good guys." He frowned at me. "Why do you have to go? I thought you were going to…stay," he finished.

"Are you kidding? I called in sick today. Talk about an X File." I stretched and scratched. "Scully will be leaving the Hoover at five oh one.

At five forty six she'll be at my door, assuming she doesn't get caught for her speeding."

"Call her," he suggested, his mouth curling up in what could almost be an impish grin. "Stall the inevitable."

"And say what?" I cocked a brow at him. "I'm not really sick. I'm having a sleepover at my boss's house?" Although, the idea of staying another night…

Impulsively, I pressed a kiss to that mouth. "I really have to go."

He caught me, a paw to the back of the neck and pulled me back against him.

The kiss I got in return was enough to convince me that Scully needed the practice searching for a missing field agent.

But, now I was going to have to face her, explain why I called in sick, why, when she got to my apartment she found neither my lifeless body, nor my car, gun, badge or cell phone. Believe me, a Scully interrogation is never any picnic, but this one was going to be a bread line in Triblinka-on a cold, rainy Friday, under enemy fire.

I swallowed tightly and shifted awkwardly. I have to admit I was a little tender in certain areas. And no, not just my ass. There was another part of me that had been penetrated and was a little raw…something…I don't know, if I was the corny, romantic type, I'd say my heart.

I was relieved not to find Scully in the office when I came in, but I could hear the little click-click of her heels in the hallway and knew I was about to face the inquisition. I dumped my coat on the rack and went to my desk, considered my battered, rock hard chair and elected to stand and pretend I was perusing my shelves for something. Might as well stall sitting down as long as possible. Either that or go get the cushion I used driving in.

The door pushed open. "Well, congratulations, Mulder," I heard her drawl.

"You have apparently managed yet another miraculous resurrection."

I looked over at her, trying to assume a pose of utmost innocence. "What do you mean, Scully? It was just a touch of food poisoning."

Well, that was a mistake. Scully knows me too well. Innocence on my part, no matter how righteous, is a neon arrow pointing at my guilt. She did her patented Scully brow arch and Scully lip purse and brought her bag to her desk. She didn't say anything. She didn't have to. Her posture, her movements all said, 'Uh huh. Pull the other one.'

"I'm telling you," I insisted, with the patented Mulder whine, "it was food poisoning. Ask Skinner. He was there."

She jerked around to look at me. "He was out ill yesterday."

"See?" I pointed at her. "We went for a beer after we got in the other night, and ended up eating chili dogs. Mistake." I shook my head, trying to look rueful. "Big mistake."

She looked up, over the rim of glasses she was just sliding into place.

"You? Went for a beer with Skinner?"

"Yeah." I watched her. "So?"

"You." She pulled the glasses down and pointed them at me. "Went for a beer."

"I do it all the time," I insisted.

"With the Assistant Director," she finished.

"Scully…" I shrugged. "It seemed like the right thing to do at the time."

"To give him food poisoning?"

"Oh, thanks, Scully. You know, that really wasn't on the agenda."

She came to my desk, looked up at me, and sighed. "Are you sure you should

be here, Mulder? You don't look very well."

"Huh. Thanks again." I turned and pulled my chair out, hoping she would look away and not see me wince when part of my anatomy, which recently made repeated contact with Skinner's anatomy, made contact with that chair.

She kept watching me. So I hovered, ass half way down to the chair. Scully, haven't you got a coat to hang, or a cup of coffee to retrieve or something?

Check your make up, damn it, and let me get this over with. "What?"

"You look…strange."

Oh, shit. She's figured it out. I dry swallowed and tried to come up with plausible denial. "Stranger than usual, Scully?"

She nodded. "Considering you just spent a week on a VCS case. Usually you come back looking like the Night of The Living Dead."

"Scully, you flatter me. That was a classic."

"This time you look…relaxed." Those miss-no-detail-baby blues darted over me again. You don't look well, but you do look relaxed."

"Well, keep in mind I spent a day worshipping at the porcelain altar. I'm sure that helped." Look over there, Scully. A pony!

I swear it actually happened. I was saved by the bell. Or the chirp, rather, of my desk phone. I reached for it and she turned to her purse.

"Mulder," I said and started to settle down into the chair. Then I came right back out of it. "Right there," I promised. "Come on, Scully. We've been summoned." I snatched my jacket from the hook and held the door open for her. He's calling for us. I haven't been out of his house four hours and he wants to see me again. I dragged my fingers through my hair as we waited for the elevator.

Scully slanted me a glance. "Mulder, you're primping?"

I pulled my hand down with a jerk. "Am not," I retorted.

She reached up, and quite lovingly, straightened my tie. "I don't care how neat you look, I don't think he's going to forgive you for taking him out for beer and ptomaine."

I shrugged. "It was worth a try."

I felt my breath hitching with expectation as we came through the anteroom.

I've been in this outer office a thousand times, for one purpose or another, usually for a reaming, and not the kind I had enjoyed night before last.

This room had not changed in all those thousand times, yet today it seemed like a mystical place, a shrine. I was almost tempted to genuflect in Kim's direction.

She nodded us in. That massive door swung open, and there we were, in the holy of holies. He was behind his desk, looking…the same. Same white shirt, same conservative tie, same broad shoulders, same gleaming dome. Same set to those full, talented lips, same depth to those warm, knowing eyes. "Agents," he said, in that same, reserved tone. And I, drawing breath for courage, lowered myself into my same chair, watching, waiting for some sign that things were no longer the same. I think I wanted him to sprout wings and rise from his desk with golden light shimmering around him.

"How are you feeling, sir?" Scully asked, smoothing her hem down over her knees the same way she always did.

"Better. I…ah…ate something that disagreed with me."

I wanted to look at him, but instead glanced away, and snickered, "Frequently."

"What was that, Agent Mulder?" he demanded.

I jerked my eyes back to him. There was a hint of warning there. "Nothing.

Sorry. I…I hope you're feeling better, now, sir." I'm going to make you feel great in about eight hours, I promised him silently.

There was no indication that he heard, felt or understood. "I'm sure a good night's rest and I'll be fine," he answered and turned back toward Scully.

Thunk. That was my heart hitting the floor. "I'm sure," I agreed, sullenly. 

"Agent Scully, you got the pathology results I forwarded?"

"Yes, sir."

"Do you think you can have a forensic analysis ready in time for this bastard's hearing, next week?" How could he keep his voice so cool, so unaffected? Damn it, I was practically drooling, and he was behaving as if we had never been properly introduced. Well, he warned me. He said work had to go on as if nothing had changed. The ball was again in play and he was moving down court without looking back.

Scully gave him a sharp, efficient nod. "I think so, sir."

His eyes came to me, and I swear I straightened up like a teacher's pet.

"And you, Agent Mulder. Administration appears to finally appreciate the toll these sorts of cases take on you. They've approved some ETO for you.

Today, tomorrow, Friday. That should give you a nice long weekend." He pushed papers at me. "Enjoy some time for yourself. Get out of town for a while." He looked at me meaningfully. "Relax."

I stiffened as I reached for the papers. So that's it, huh? What happened to 'I want commitment'? What happened to 'No more one night stands'?

"That's a good idea, sir," I said, rigidly. "I think I'll do that."

"Excellent." His fingertips stayed at the top of the page, toying with me.

"Where do you think you'll go?"

"I don't know," I answered, petulant. "I'll think of something." I tugged the papers away, and folded them carefully, rising slowly, determined not to let him see the pain he had caused me, either in body, which would heal, or my trust, which would not.

"I can't believe it," Scully whispered, nodding at Kim as we left the office.

"Skinner getting you some time off right the middle of all these terrorist threats."

"Me, either," I said, flatly. I've been kissed off before, and it's never pleasant but that…shit, I would have preferred him to pull out his service weapon and put one right between my eyes. Well, at least I got a long weekend out of the deal. I supposed that's the male equivalent of roses.

"What are you going to do?" she asked, and believe it or not, there was a note of envy in her voice. Oh, Scully, if you only knew…

"I don't know." I tugged at my tie as we reached the elevator. What the

hell, I'm off duty, dress code be damned. "Maybe go up to the Vineyard."

"To see your mother?" Scully smiled. "That will be nice."

My mother? Oh, sure, that would make it complete. Kicked in the gut by him and flailed alive by her? "No, I was thinking about the summer place. It's a mess. Maybe I'll go up and assess the damage and get some contractors in to paint and stuff. It's time to sell it." Or maybe I'll just hide behind the shuttered windows, among the shrouded furniture and echoes that haunt the place.

"Mulder?"

I looked down at her, resenting her intrusion into my melancholy. "What?"

"You sighed just now. Maybe you ought to just stay home and take it easy."

I shook my head. "No, I need to be busy." Liar. You just don't need to be in town, where you might be tempted to drive past his place at night, and watch lights go on and off, like a love sick teenager. I wonder if Calcutta would be far enough away?

The phone was ringing when we came into the office, but I ignored it. That's what voicemail is for, right? I picked up my keys and briefcase, and grabbed my coat from the hook. Scully tossed me a pointed look, but I pretended to ignore her, and kept going, slamming the door on my way out.

Bastard. I trusted you!

XXX

It's amazing how much you can hide from yourself, if left to your own devices. Wandering around that musty, cluttered house, all the memories, good and bad, from childhood seemed to assail me. There wasn't a single room that didn't have ghosts and each one cranked my anger up another notch. For a while I was angry at Them, the people in the gray, the ones who took my sister, the ones who corrupted my father, broke my mother, murdered whatever Fox Mulder started out to be.

Eventually, after unearthing some of my father's pottage (Jim Beam had always been his best friend), my anger shifted to better defined shapes; my father for dying without revealing the truth, my mother for leaving me, or for never being with me, Samantha for abandoning me, abandoning me twice, Scully for her doubts, and me for my beliefs.

Me. I became the focal point of my anger by the third day. I was foolish, worse than foolish, stupid. Naïve, blind, easily lead down those paths I wanted to go anyway. I deserved to be the joke of the Bureau for wanting to believe. Finally, too tired to rant, too tired to continue my hunt for something to hold onto, I threw the sheets back from the sofa in the living room and stretched out, shut my eyes and opened my ears, and started listening. Would he come? Or had I driven him away? Where were those glowing red eyes now? Where were the white claws with the sting I needed to feel real again?

Listening for the stealth in a jungle, I never heard anything else, but I felt my heart quicken, my senses tense like wire, I almost smiled, rejoicing.

He was here, I felt him, I knew it. My old friend had forgiven me and would not abandon me in my need. I laid still, waiting, shifting my hands to my sides, exposing my chest, my throat, longing for one final swipe of his fatal paw.

It came to me, clamping over my mouth, pinning my arms to my sides, holding me down so that I could not fight back, couldn't struggle, couldn't break away. My dangerous darkness hadn't come to claim me, but sent a corporeal emissary in his stead.

XXX

It wasn't what I expected. It certainly wasn't what I wanted to see. Even seeing it, I didn't want to believe it. When I passed that Leave Request to him, I thought I'd see some devilish gleam in his eye, some lewd suggestion barely stifled behind those incredible lips, but he merely took the paperwork and left. At first, I was disappointed, then I told myself he was merely exercising discretion for a change, and I was proud of him.

Then I rang his office, to offer him a suggestion of my own. He did not answer. Scully did, eventually, telling me he had already left.

I rushed through the day's work, believing that he would just KNOW where I wanted him to be, where I wanted him to spend his leave. I'm sure the local ER's reported dozens of heart attacks caused by the shock of Walter S. Skinner being one of the first people out the doors at the close of business that day.

I'm equally sure I broke laws getting home, but believing that the end, finding Mulder lounging in front of my television, or curled up in my bed, certainly justified the means. He was neither.

The disappointment that washed over me was unexpected and deep. I expected him gone when I woke up the next morning, and sent thanks to whatever deities that might be listening when I found him in my kitchen. I didn't expect him to spend the entire day with me, but he did. We never did make love again, but we experimented with the concept of goofing off, one that was alien to both of us. To me, it was enough that he was in reach, comfortable under my caress, affectionate in a shy, reserved way, like a child who was unaccustomed to cuddling. The cracking-wise he annoyed me with as an agent was charming and funny as a lover.

When I managed to persuade him to stay another night, just for the pleasure of him in my arms, I felt almighty. Me, forty-seven, balding, half blind, bureaucrat, managed to seduce him into staying with me instead of rushing home to placate and reassure his precious, beautiful, female partner. We spent the night in an embrace that made me feel as if we were a custom fit, and in the very early hours, I woke to feel his fingers, experimentally stroking me to unbearable hardness. His kiss, with sleepy soft lips, was enough to finish me.

So, why wasn't he back in my bed when I got home?

I waited until midnight before driving to his apartment. It was dark. His car was gone. I parked outside for a while, thinking he might have run an errand or gone to see Scully. But by two o'clock, I was pretty sure he was gone.

I spent two days trying to come up with an excuse to run into Scully so I could ask, casually, how Mulder was enjoying his leave? And by the way, where did he end up going?

I broke still more laws (some of them Federal, I'm sure) getting up to the Vineyard. The address she gave me was dark, and beginning to look a bit dilapidated, certainly not in keeping with the upper middle class Mulders.

But, his car was at the back of the drive, and to my surprise, the back door was unlocked. Where was his paranoia when he needed it? Mine was right with me, because I pulled my gun from the holster and readied it, as I stepped inside.

The kitchen was a dusty, undisturbed mess. Footprints in the dusty floor indicated a lot of recent pacing, but no sign that he had done more than cross the floor a hundred times. The same in every room I checked. I found an empty whiskey bottle on the floor in the hall upstairs, outside what must have been his room as a child. I sent my eyes around the moonlit room. It was more of a loft than a room, with bunks against the low sloped wall, and posters peeling off the walls, and a box of toys stacked in a corner. No other indication of what Fox was like as a child. There was a mark in the dust that looked as if he had been sitting up here, leaning against the wall.

I could see him, head tilted back, eyes staring off into the past, his mouth turned down in misery, and lifting the bottle occasionally for a long draw, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, and then returning to his memories. It broke my heart to imagine him there.

But where was he now?

Coming down the stairs I saw another door I hadn't tried, and even as I turned the handle, I already knew what I'd find, and I steeled myself for it.

Damn it, Mulder, how could you do this to me?

The room was shuttered so no moonlight spilled in to illuminate it. It took

me a moment to accustom myself to the dimness. There he was, stretched on the sofa, arms at his side, motionless. But, there was no smell of gunpowder, no splatter of blood. I hadn't seen any emptied medication bottles. Maybe he hadn't drunk himself into a suicidal stupor. I let myself breathe again as I came closer to the sofa.

I could hear him breathing then. A soft, rapid pant. He's dreaming, I realized, coming closer. Or having a nightmare. I knelt beside him, afraid to wake him, startle him out of whatever demon infested world he was lost in.

I put a hand on his chest, just grateful to feel the quick rise and fall.

He twitched and jerked. His lips parted and for a moment he reminded me of Munch's painting of 'The Scream'. His eyes were round and vacant, and his mouth pulled into an 'O' of panic. I put my other hand over his mouth, and held him a moment. "Easy, Mulder," I said. "Easy."

It took a minute for him to orient himself, then he met my eyes with a glare, and pushed my hand away. "What the hell are you doing here?" he rasped, struggling to sit up.

I stood and backed up a step. I mean, it looked like that was my intent, but in truth I was merely recoiling from his question. "I might ask you the same thing, Agent Mulder," I said stiffly.

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, just as I had pictured him. "I live here." He shrugged and those haunted eyes went around the room. "I did."

"But, why did you come up here this week?" I said. Did that sound like a whine to him? It did to me.

He didn't look at me. "Because I'm going to sell the place and I wanted to get some work done on it before I do."

"How much work did you get done, sitting in the dark, drinking?" I asked.

Shit. He was right. I do have that father voice down good.

He smiled. It was grim and rueful, but it was a smile. "Can I ask you a question?" he said, looking down at his bare feet.

"Of course."

"Why?"

I frowned at him. "Why what?"

He looked up at me. His eyes seemed silvery. It must have been the poor light. "Why did you hand me all that shit about a commitment? You had me.

I was willing. I didn't want anything in return. Why did you have to dress up the fact that you wanted to fuck me?"

"I…" I stopped. "I didn't. It wasn't about fucking you, Mulder. It was about loving you."

I heard him mutter under his breath. I think he said, "Don't hand me that bullshit." A moment later he dragged his hands over his eyes swiftly. "Why did you blow me off in the office the other day?"

"I didn't," I repeated. Pieces falling into place suddenly produced a picture, albeit warped.

"What was all that shit about needing a good night's rest? What was all that shit about getting out of town, i.e., 'get away from me, Mulder'?"

"Is that what this is about?" I didn't know whether to laugh or to hit him.

"The good night's rest I was referring to was the one I was hoping to have, in your arms. Getting out of town meant getting out of Alexandria and coming up to Crystal City."

Mulder's eyes narrowed, then shut tight. Then his head dropped sharply, hanging between his slumped shoulders. "I thought you meant…" He stopped and sighed.

"Rule number two. No, never mind." I knelt at the side of the sofa. "This isn't a sentence either of us wants to finish. Mulder." I reached out and squeezed his naked shoulder, gently. "I wanted to spend this time with you.

I wasn't sending you away, brushing you off. Good God, I might as well try to brush off my lungs at this point."

He lifted his head, looked down at my hand and then made himself meet my eyes. I mean he had to force himself to look up. "I didn't know that. How was I to know that?"

Indignation boiled in me. How could you not know? You fucking, blind asshole? Didn't I just lay myself out for you? Didn't I just expose every nerve, every fiber for your inspection? I didn't say anything. How would he know? This is a man who wouldn't understand kindness, it wasn't his native tongue. He couldn't recognize generosity if he had never seen it before.

Love was as alien to him as his little green-gray men. "Because I told you," I answered, and lifted my hand to stroke his cheek.

His gaze faltered and fell. "I've been told a lot."

"I know." I dragged my thumb across the definition of his cheekbone. "But, I promised you, you can trust me. Why do you think I'm here?"

He shook his head against my touch. "I don't do this well. I'm not good at all the subtleties of relationships. That's why I don't have any."

A flash of insight. A brief peek into the gears and ghosts of Mulder's mind.

"Scares you, doesn't it?" I suggested.

He laughed, silently. "Shitless."

I stood. "Let's get out of here."

He looked up at me. Dear God, that expression; open, pained, hopeful, incredulous.

I held out a hand. "There's a Day's Inn up the road. Let's go get some food in you, and a decent night's sleep and see if we can't salvage the weekend."

"Food?" he repeated, rising slowly.

"I was a trained field investigator. I'm sure I can find a drive through someplace."

Then I saw it: A hint of a grin, a spark of green even in the gloom of the room. "No, I mean is that all you want to get into me?"

I felt part of me melt and part of me grow rigid in the same instant. "We'll see after you eat," I promised. "Where's your bag?"

He made a vague gesture toward the hallway.

"Have you eaten anything since the bacon and eggs at my place the other morning?"

Those hazel eyes squinted thoughtfully.

"Mulder, we now have a new rule: We will both make every effort to take care of ourselves and one another, so we can be together for a long time."

He leaned in and pressed his brow against my shoulder. "Yes, sir," he mumbled.

"'Sir'?" I repeated.

"Oh, did I break a rule?" He lifted his head and leered. "I'll have to pay a penance, I suppose."

I sighed, relieved. Things were all right again.

That late at night, I felt fairly comfortable getting a single room, but with two beds, at the back of the motel. Mulder was drowsing in the front seat, and I half walked, half dragged him into our room, and dropped him gracelessly on the nearest bed. "I asked at the front desk. There's a hamburger drive through that's open twenty-four hours, right next to the

Interstate. What do you want?"

He opened one eye and smiled, softly. "You."

Lust surged through me. There he was, on his back, on a bed, just the way I had been hoping for three days. I leaned over him, trapping him between my thighs, and kissed him, thoroughly, the first time since I let him out that morning three days before. "I'm dessert," I promised. "You need some protein."

"Semen is nothing but protein," he said. Such a matter of fact statement, but it made me want to climb up and force feed all the semen he could swallow.

"Yeah, but you can't get fries with that," I retorted, reigning myself in.

You just wait, Mulder. The minute that hamburger disappears, you're mine.

He chuckled beneath me. "All right. It would be very embarrassing if my stomach started growling in an intimate moment, anyway. Just get whatever looks good. I'm going to take a shower."

I was tempted to say that him in the shower was what looked good to me, but I knew if I didn't get out of that room soon, I wasn't leaving 'til check out tomorrow.

An hour later, we both were naked, in bed, consuming one another. His chin, his throat, my shoulder, my bicep, the only sound in the room our ragged breathing. Occasionally, my head would clear enough to ponder the pure joy of holding him, but it filled quickly again with the swirling fog of heat and passion.

Lost in this forbidden pleasure, I was unprepared for him to commandeer control. Suddenly, I was on my back, him straddling my chest, his fingers in what was left of my hair, his eyes gleaming. "I believe you promised me dessert," he snickered, scooting backward, dragging his firm ass and tight balls over my chest, abdomen, for one electric moment, along the length of my cock, and then my thighs. Settling there, he leaned over, and began to lick, bite and suck his way over my chest. The attention he lavished on my nipples was agonizingly sweet. His kisses to the scars on my belly were loving and gentle and nearly brought tears to my eyes.

And then…

It's been a long time since I've had a blow job. Sharon didn't care for it, so it probably goes back to my high school days, or maybe a couple R & R's in Saigon, but no one ever did it the way he was doing it. I had a feeling I was an ice cream cone and he was a five year old the way he nibbled his way up and down my shaft, over the crown with delicate twirls of his tongue and then plunged the whole length into his mouth. I think I nearly choked him, coming up off the bed spasmodically. "Mmulder!" I settled back, gasping.

"Shit."

He raised his eyes to meet mine, and he smiled around me. Then he began to pump. I've seen this man use his mouth for some pretty amazing things over the years, but I had no idea he was this talented. He was sucking my life out as if my cock was a straw. I couldn't resist. Within moments, I was shooting down his throat, oblivious to his choking, desperate scramble to swallow.

When I could think again, I opened my eyes. He was back on his heels between my legs, wiping cum from his mouth with the back of his hand, but he was grinning, almost as idiotically as I was. "Agent Mulder," I gasped. "You did NOT learn that at Quantico."

He shook his head and settled down beside me. "Nope. But, you know, sir, being a trained field investigator myself, I pride myself on being a quick study."

I looked down at him, cradled in my arm. "You mean…you've never done that before?"

He shook his head. "But, I've been the recipient a few times, so I knew what I liked." He let a fingertip trail around one my nipples, still rock hard from a shot of pleasure to the adrenal glands. "I just hoped you'd like the same things."

"I did," I assured him. "That was a job well done."

"Thank you, sir." He snuggled up against me, and sighed to his soles.

"Thank you."

I nudged him. "What are you doing?"

"Going to sleep," he answered, without opening his eyes. "Dessert always makes me sleepy."

"But, what about you?"

His answer was faint. "Tomorrow. I got what I wanted."

"And that was?"

I felt him smile against me. "You."

I kissed his hair. "I love you, you know."

"Mmmhmmm."

I smiled to myself. That was probably all I could hope for, but, in Mulder-speak, it was enough.

-THE END-