TITLE: Same Game: Part IX - Full Court Press

(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: Liars and trials and snares, oh my! 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 a tiny nod to ever so wonderful Hal this time), and querida Susan, for her brilliant execution of all things beta.

Same Game IX - Full Court Press (part 1 of 2)

by Mik

I must have glanced at my watch for the thousandth time. It still said 4:20. A look at the clock on Scully's desk confirmed it. Time had stopped. I wasn't sure, but I might have been relieved.

It was my watch alarm that woke me a little over twelve hours before. I awoke exactly where I had collapsed, in a sticky, sated heap, on top of my boss. Rolling off of him with a groan, I had groped, blindly, to silence the alarm before it disturbed my slumbering giant. I have to confess that, at that moment, I was a little intimidated by him, even in sleep. It seemed incredible that, after years of being reamed by him, I had returned the favor.

He murmured something and I rubbed his chest soothingly. Amazing chest. He had been trying to tell me he was too old for me, and yet he was built like a tank, stronger at his age than I ever was or ever will be. His chest was solid and broad and well-defined, and yet had made my pillow all night, the strong even thrumming of his heart a lullaby.

The pleasure of crawling back up there and sleeping for another two or three hours was almost irresistible, but we were two men in a hotel room on an early Thursday morning, and we needed to get out under the cloak of darkness.

And silence. We didn't talk much as we took turns showering and getting dressed. As he rolled over and started to get out of bed, he winced and looked at me, a little surprised. "Yeah,"

I agreed with a grim smile, "I should have warned you. You are gonna' feel it this morning."

He reached over and patted my thigh. "Worth it," he mumbled before stumbling to the bathroom.

Well, I admit I was relieved. What might have been all right in a champagne-laced moment last night might be all wrong in the reality-driven light of morning.

The only other thing he said to me was just as we reached the door. He leaned into me for an almost chaste kiss and said, "I'll see you at home tonight."

Home. I had 'home' to go to. But...what was waiting for me there? He'll have had all day to think about it, a day to decide he hated what happened to him and he never wants to see me again.

"Mulder, why don't you go home?"

I turned sharply at the sound of her voice. "Scully?"

"I think Mulder has a hot date," she taunted. "I think

he's been staring at the clock all day."

"I think he will not dignify your ridiculous assumptions with a reply." I admit, I was shutting down my PC.

"You might as well go. After all, we put in OT last night at that party." She was now sneering.

"I thought you were having a good time," I protested, unrolling my cuffs. "Romantic dinner at the Henley Park?"

She was making the kind of face I'll do anything to avoid.

"General Hardy is a pig. He kept groping my thigh."

I didn't let my fury show. I grabbed a piece of notepaper and scribbled something.

"What's that?" she asked, watching me fold it and tuck it into my shirt pocket.

"Just a note to remind me to have him killed. I know people."

She nodded. "Just let it be something the Metro P.D. will have to investigate. I don't want to do the autopsy."

"C'mon, Scully. Think of the pleasure you'll have castrating him."

She wrinkled her nose at me. "I'd have more pleasure doing it while he's still alive."

I paused as I shrugged on my jacket and looked down at her.

"Sometimes you frighten me, Scully." I pushed my hands into my pockets and found another piece of paper. It read: Dinner at seven. Bring clothes for tomorrow.

My hand clutched around the paper just as the feelings clutched around my heart. He wants me to spend the night. I shoved the paper back in my pocket and tossed Scully a wave. "See ya' in the morning."

She gave me a smile and a speculative look. "Will I?"

I know I blushed. "Scully, tomorrow's a working day."

"Well, you know the old saying; don't do anything I wouldn't do."

I turned at the door and returned to her desk, trying to tower over her. "Someday, Scully, you must give me a detailed list of what you wouldn't do."

She chuckled and gave me a half-hearted push. "Go on, get out of here. I will not have you late for a date on my account."

"Scully, would you be terribly disappointed to find out that I do not have a date?" I had to smile, though it was more for my benefit than hers. "I am just going home."

She returned to her file. "If that's your story, Mulder, stick to it. I'll see you tomorrow."

I didn't feel like my dignity was worth prolonging the argument. And, if I stayed, she might start asking questions I definitely didn't want to answer.

I didn't waste much time in my apartment, either. A quick run through the bedroom to throw stuff into my garment bag. A minute in the kitchen, gulping down water to try and combat a major case of dry mouth. As I was putting the nearly empty bottle back in the nearly empty fridge, I saw something and reached for it. A red rosebud. I'd made some really stupid joke the night before when I swiped it from him. I meant to throw it away when I got home, I really did. But, when I carried it into the kitchen to dispose of it, I suddenly couldn't do it. I tossed it in the refrigerator and decided I'd toss it out later. It was still in there when I walked out the door.

At 7:01, I was parked in front of his complex, backing out of the car, balancing the garment bag over my arm and a bottle of scotch in the other. I picked up the liquor on my way because I just felt I couldn't come empty-handed, especially after the night before. If he were a woman, I'd be bringing flowers or something.

"Don't you want to park inside, Mr. Skinner?"

Skinner? I jerked around, hungry for a sight of him, and found myself nose-to-nose with the girl I would have had a crush on in high school; brown-eyed, golden haired, pouty-lipped. Well, maybe I wouldn't have had a crush on her if she was seeing Skinners that weren't there.

"Well, don't you, Mr. Skinner?"

Oh. She was talking to me. "Uh..."

"Your brother said you were coming to stay for a few days," she explained. "I'll let you in the gate so you can park in his guest space."

Brother. Stay. Few days. Brother? "Sure. That would be nice." I unlocked the car.

She hopped into the passenger seat. "I'll give you the code for the gate," she told me.

I had a parental moment, my first ever. "Honey, do you always just jump into strange men's cars?"

She laughed. She had the kind of laugh I always thought

Scully should have; a deep, back of the throat chuckle that was going to be the destruction of countless men before too much longer. "You're not a stranger. You're Mr. Skinner's brother. I told him I'd look out for you and let you into the parking structure."

At the gate she leaned over me, oblivious (or not) to the fact that she was rubbing herself all over me to enter the code into the keyboard. What surprised me was that I seemed to be oblivious as well. I mean...come on, young blonde rubbing her nubile body all over me, and all I could think of was 'Can't you open that gate any faster? I'm going to be late.'

The gate began to swing out of the way, and I swooped inside and into MY spot. I turned and looked at her as I pulled the brake. "Thank you very much..." I looked at her questioningly.

She fingered hair back from her face. "Felicity. I know, isn't it awful?" She chuckled again. "I always wanted to be named something straightforward, like...Frank."

"Well, thanks for the help, Frank," I said, pushing my door open.

She seemed disinclined to move. "Do you need help finding his unit?"

"Oh, no." I tugged my garment bag free and reached for the scotch. "I've been here before."

"Really?" She gave me a very frank assessment. "I don't remember ever seeing you around."

"I usually come late at night," I answered. I shut my door, pointedly. She didn't move. With a sigh, I hitched my garment bag over my shoulder and came around the car to

open her door. "Thanks again for getting me in." I reached for her hand and started to pull.

"There you are, Fox."

We both looked. He was standing at the bottom stair, jeans and polo shirt, looking as if he was ready to have roast blonde for dinner.

I dropped her hand, guiltily.

She bounced out of the car, working her hair back with another artless gesture. "I found him for you, Mr. Skinner. It's okay that I let him park inside, right?"

"Fine. Thank you." He came up to me and took my bag.

I held out the bottle. "You didn't have to bring anything," he murmured.

"Yeah, well, I didn't know what kind of wine to bring," I answered. I could tell by the way his eyes went over the label that he approved of the gesture. Man, he looked good out of the corporate drag. That fringe of dark hair was a bit ruffled. I'd never seen that. I mean, you don't think of Skinner as one who ever suffers bed hair. "Anything for my big brother, right?" I wasn't sure but he looked as if he wanted to hug me, and I know I sure wanted to hug him, but Frank was hovering nearby. So, I shut and locked the car, and let him lead me away.

"Who IS she?" I hissed as we hit the stairs.

"Down, boy," he warned. "She's too young for you."

"No, she isn't," I assured him. "I don't think I'd ever be old enough for her. She's...uh...advanced."

He shot me a look. "Well, let's just say that you show idiotic tendencies when it comes to who you're attracted to."

"Watch that dangling participle," I warned as we reached his front door. "And may I remind you," I added in a whisper as he twisted the key in the lock. "I am extremely attracted to you."

He pushed the door open. "My point, exactly."

Uh oh. I stalled in the hallway.

He eased past me. "I'll take your stuff upstairs. Fix us a drink, will you?"

I panicked. I admit it. This did not bode well. I had expected to be assaulted the minute we crossed the threshold and he's making nice as if I was his brother. He did think about it all day, and tonight I would get the 'This was a mistake, Mulder,' speech. I entertained the notion of walking out. Then I decided he had my favorite suit upstairs. I'd better hear what he had to say.

I was putting a little scotch in a couple of glasses when I felt his fingertips on my shoulders, and then the heat of his body close, but not touching mine. "How was your day?"

"Long," I told him. "Lonely." I turned and handed him his drink. "Scully thinks I have a hot date tonight," I ventured.

He raised a brow as he reached for his glass. "What did you tell her?"

"I told her I was going home."

He put the glass down on the bar and pulled me just close enough to kiss me. One of those sweet kisses that express tenderness and aren't meant to be the gate-pass to sex. One of those kisses that women love and men always forget the significance of. Well, I'll always remember that one: it tasted like 'Welcome Home'.

******************************************************

"Hey, look, Scully, you made the papers."

"Please, Mulder. I've had a horde of press hounding me since yesterday when I left work." I was looking at a picture of her, taken at the press conference on Wednesday. Scully is the only person I've ever known who looks great even in news photos. I was already getting the scissors out to add this to my Scully file. "What did they want? An autograph?"

"No. They wanted to know about our sources for finding the stolen Fed Reserve truck."

The tone of her voice was hard, angry. I looked at her.

"What do you mean?"

"Someone has come forth claiming that he was the one who revealed the location, but that he revealed the information under duress."

"Duress?" I swiveled toward her. "You mean, we dragged him down to the basement and smacked him around a little?"

I grinned. "Scully, you brute."

"Mulder, don't make jokes. This is a serious allegation."

"It is a joke. The FBI doesn't resort to those kinds of tactics.

We leave that to the local police. We'll just put illegal phone taps and surveillance on a suspect." She wasn't laughing with me. "Who is this guy accusing of brutality?"

"Skinner."

"My Sk--our Skinner?" I gulped. "He would never..."

Well, he could get very physical when sufficiently provoked. No, he'd never break the rules. Not Walter. "No."

"We know that," Scully answered grimly. "But, is the public going to believe it?"

"Why not? We believe a president who says he didn't inhale or screw interns."

She gave me one of her looks, the one that says 'I've had about all I'm going to take from you, little boy'. "Mulder, be serious."

"I am being serious." I unfolded the paper and began scanning the article. "This guy's got a good imagination," I murmured after a few moments. "He's got some detail in here. I wonder who he knows at the Bureau who could have told him about the exact location of that com room?"

I folded the paper. "He's very believable."

"Yes," Scully said, unhappily.

"Scully, you don't think..."

"Oh, come on, Mulder, I know our boss. He couldn't have done that." She flicked a hand toward the paper in mine.

"I just hope he has a good alibi for that period of time."

"Scully, I don't care if he does or not. I know he didn't do this." He didn't. He couldn't have. He couldn't have broken every tenet he believes in and then come up to the Vineyard to be with me. I admit, I'm just vain enough to believe what he said about respecting my principles. I opened the paper again and searched for a time frame. "He couldn't have done this. He was working...oh, Friday night." Oh, shit. He spent that night with me. Oh, shit. Oh shit. Ohshit. Ohshitohshitohshitohshitohshit.

I stood up and stretched, trying to look like I was about to take a leisurely stroll to the men's room. "I'll be back in a minute," I announced. At the door, I turned left and ran.

I tried to look calm and composed by the time I reached his office, but I didn't worry too much when I didn't. Kim is used to me looking like I'm being chased by rhinos when I barge in there. "Can I?" I asked, and headed for his door without waiting for an answer.

"Agent Mulder, he's--"

I pushed the door open and shut it with my weight. A quick scan of the room found him alone, looking absolutely miserable. My appearance didn't seem to help him much. "We have to talk."

"Not here." He gestured over his shoulder, toward the mall.

I nodded and wheeled. His voice came from behind me. "And the next time I leave instructions I'm not to be disturbed, heed them." It was no effort to look chastened as I left.

He met me at the bench Scully and I call ours. He didn't sit down. He stood in front of me, hands thrust in the pockets of his trench coat. "I didn't do it, Fox," he said quietly.

I looked up at him, amazed he would think he needed to tell me. "I know that. Unless you were having an out of my body experience at the time, you were with me--in every sense of the word." I swallowed tightly. "Why didn't you tell me last night?"

He shook his head. "I just found out this morning. No complaint was filed. This guy just went to the press and they ran with it."

"Shit, Walter. You have to tell them where you were."

"I can't do that."

"If you don't, it will be the end of your career."

"And if I do, it's the end of both our careers."

Well, I didn't have an answer for that. So I looked for a question I could answer. "The OPR's going to be up your butt in a few hours," I predicted, grimly. "I'd better go clear my stuff out of your place."

"No."

I looked up again. "But, I--"

His expression read 'Don't fuck with me, now, Mulder'. "I'll bring it to you. I'll meet you someplace. I want to...I NEED to be with you this weekend." He shrugged. "It'll be okay. I'd already let it be known around the office that I was going away this weekend. That way no one would bother us. Now, I'll really just go."

********************************************************

Mulder really loves this cloak-and-dagger stuff. And he's good at it. I was thinking we'd just find some out of the way roadhouse to meet and spend the weekend together. Mulder pulled together a series of stops and checks that would have confused the best surveillance team in the country. We met, switched cars and drove all over the Eastern seaboard, only to end up in a motel about ten miles from the Bureau. Mulder called it the 'Hide In Plain Sight' theory.

By the time we checked in, and Mulder brought groceries in from the car, I was exhausted. The whole day insisted on replaying itself in my head. Everyone appeared to be supportive and sympathetic, but the atmosphere along the entire sixth floor was beginning to smell of tar and feathers. And the worst part of it all was that, in reality, I deserved it.

I was settled deep in a lumpy chair, scowling at the world while Mulder unpacked groceries in the mini fridge. I was watching his ass as he knelt there, trying to make everything fit, and wishing I had the energy to get out of my chair and drag him to bed. We hadn't made love the night before, being content just to sit and talk and be close. At my age, sex every night is impossible, and he had, in his own words, screwed my brains out the night before that.

I must have dozed off, because it seemed as if only a moment later, he was kneeling beside me, hands on my knee, looking concerned. "Tired?"

I reached out and touched his hair. It still surprised me that it was so soft. "Very, I'm afraid."

He caught my wrist. "Well, let's get you to bed." He stood and began to tug. "How 'bout a back rub?"

"Sounds nice," I agreed.

"You know, they have a decent sized bathtub in this joint," he said as he got me to my feet. "You want a bath before you sleep? Might help you unwind."

"Mulder," I began regretfully, "I don't think I'm up to--"

He looked hurt. "I'm not trying to seduce you. I'm just trying to look after you. I have a nurturing streak of my own, I'll have you know, it's just very small." He started to tug me in the direction of the bathroom. "So take advantage of it, will you?"

I smiled at him. The idea of him being nurturing was inconceivable and at the same time very erotic. I tugged back, causing him to tumble into my arms. I kissed his cheek, impulsively. "A hot bath does sound good. Are you included in the deal?"

He looked surprised and a bit embarrassed by the unexpected show of affection. I've noticed he does very well when he initiates it, or if he's forewarned of my intent, but out of the blue kisses or caresses still make him start like a wild horse. "Oh, I might make you tea and wash your face," he teased, after a moment. He unwound himself from my embrace. "Come on. You get naked and I'll start the water."

It was almost too much effort to undress. It was too much effort to hang things up. I didn't even have the strength to feel guilty about the clothes I left scattered across the bed. I just shed them like a husk and left them.

I came into the bathroom, and found Mulder scowling at something in his hand. "What's the matter?"

He jerked around, guiltily, and tucked his hand behind his back. "Nothing."

"Come on, Mulder," I coaxed, not patiently. "What have you got behind your back?"

He shook his head. "Never mind. Get in, I'll get the water started."

I reached for him. "Mulder," I said, wearily. "Don't make me wrestle you. I'm too tired and the bathroom's too small. One of us will end up with our head bumped."

Reluctantly, he pulled his hand forward and held out a small green bottle. "Bath oil?" I said, incredulous.

He shrugged, not meeting my eyes. "I keep reading that eucalyptus is a good stress reliever. I thought you might..." He let the words trail off, and sighed. "I thought you might like to try it."

I laughed. I couldn't help it. "Mulder, you are a constant source of amazement to me."

He snatched the bottle back. "I'm glad I keep you entertained. I thought you just loved me for my ass." He leaned over and started the water.

"Your ass is lovable, I grant you that." I pulled the bottle back and opened it, sniffing tentatively. "Smells good. Stress relief, eh?"

"That's what they tell me."

I poured a capful into the tub, doubtfully. The water turned a pale green and the air did smell something like a camping trip in a bottle. Nice, actually. I put the cap back on the bottle and set it on the counter. "Thank you, Mulder." I pulled him back up and into my arms. "You may not nurture often, but you nurture well." I kissed him.

He wiggled against me. "Of course, sex is great for relieving stress, too," he said against my mouth.

"We'll discuss that. After my bath." He felt good in my arms. I liked having him pinned against a wall, my body molded against his. Yes, after the bath, I thought. "Why don't you get in with me?"

He considered the tub. "I think that would be a bit crowded," he said, sounding regretful. "You take a bath, and I'll meet you in bed." He hovered at the door, watching me step in, sit down, stretch out, sigh. "You want some tea? I got some of that stuff you made for me."

"I thought you didn't want me to go to sleep just yet," I reminded him.

He shrugged. "Yeah, well, I drank it and we didn't sleep right away, did we?"

I let my memories expand to that night, how unsure I was, but how much I wanted him. I recalled the heat of his body as I covered him, kissed him, felt him laugh then moan beneath me. I thought of the way we came almost simultaneously, just from the contact of our bodies. How much I was hooked from that moment, on the feel of his skin against mine. "No," I agreed, sighing, again, in contentment. "We didn't."

When I opened my eyes, he was kneeling at the side of the tub, looking anxious. "No regrets, Walter?"

I touched his face. "None."

He hesitated and added, "Not even about the other night?"

I didn't have to think about it. "No. I admit I prefer making love to you, but I don't regret you making love to me. What about you?"

He shrugged again. "I like both."

I cuffed him, good-naturedly. "Regrets?"

"Oh, God, no." He actually smiled. The smile faded quickly, though. He leaned forward, until his brow met mine. "We'll get through this, Walter. I won't abandon you."

I think, if I had had the strength left, I would have wept at that moment. Instead, I reached up and put a hand around his neck, holding him against me. "I love you, Fox. I won't abandon you, either."

Those words seemed to have the same effect on him. He blinked several times and pulled away from me. "I'll see about that tea." He was gone.

The room was steamy and scented strongly with that bath oil. The water was warm and womb-like. Mulder would have found the association significant. Of course, he finds the contents of my refrigerator significant. I tried to cling to that thought, any thought of Mulder, of his unexpected nurturing streak, the sounds he makes in bed, the rare moment when he's caught laughing. Even with an image of his smile, I felt him slipping away from me, his expression contorted as he melted between my clutching fingers, and what was left was another face, equally contorted, my fingers around his throat.

It was years ago. When I was a field agent. Hunting down a man who kidnapped boys and put them on the street. I'd been to the morgue that morning to look at the body of an angel faced twelve year old boy who had been slashed and beaten by a john. Even as a police officer, I had never seen anything like that. I was disgusted, enraged, homicidal. Still young and idealistic enough to believe that crime had to be punished, still shell-shocked enough by war to believe that ends justified most means.

I found a man who knew the man. He was young himself, oily and sly, an arrogant crack fiend who had no intention of doing anything but watching earnest and determined Feds dance. I lost it when he sneered and called the children meat. I pulled my gun and pressed it hard under his jaw and suggested to him what the results would be should he survive having part of his brain splattered over the wall behind him. He talked. He cried. He sang. We made HIM dance.

That night I went home and thought long and hard about turning in my badge...or eating my gun. But I had Sharon to think of, the home we wanted to build, the child we wanted to have, and I did what any Marine would do. I sucked it up and reported to work the next day. We caught the bastard, put him away, and I never looked back.

"Walter?"

I jerked upward in the tub. "Yes, Mulder?" I snarled.

He was staring at me, startled by my tone. "I guess the tea wasn't necessary." He put the cup on the counter. "Don't let the water get too cold." He turned away.

"Mulder. Fox." I reached out. "Sorry. I'm just exhausted. I don't mean to take it out on you."

"It's okay." He came back to the tub and dropped to his knees, letting his fingers trail in the water. "This stuff doesn't smell too bad."

"No. It's nice. It was nice of you to think of this." I watched him stare into the water. "I'm sorry I snapped."

He smiled but he didn't look at me. "Is there anything I can do?"

"You can hand me the tea," I told him. I didn't want tea. I wanted scotch and his mouth. I took a small sip. "This is good," I said, surprised.

He smirked at me. "And you thought I was just a pretty face."

"I guess I did," I confessed.

"How long do you plan to soak up all this stress relief?"

"Why? Are we on an agenda here?"

He nodded. "Yeah. It's eleven. I want you in bed in fifteen minutes and in me in twenty." He sneaked a quick glance toward my cock that had twitched at the suggestion. He didn't succeed in hiding his smile.

"In you?"

"Well," he smiled again, and that smile could have made me do cartwheels. "I didn't say where in me. I think even a weary old man like you could handle a blow job."

I knew I was getting stiff now. "Yeah, I think I could. What about you?"

He arched a brow. "What do you mean, what about me? I demand parity, buddy boy, so start work on relaxing that jaw of yours. I don't want you gritting your teeth and doing something we'll both regret."

"And I would," I agreed. "I'm fond of that aspect of your...personality."

"Well, let's see, you like my ass, my face and my...personality." He stood and stretched. "Anything else?"

I considered him. The bath, the tea, his presence were working their magic. I wanted him. "I'll get back to you."

******************************************************

Two Saturdays in a row I've awakened ridiculously early, in a motel room, with Mulder in my arms. I'm thinking this could become habit-forming. Breakfast was drive-through that he went for and brought back, high in cholesterol, low in flavor, and dessert had been quick, sweaty, loud sex.

He made a picture, sprawled across the bed in nothing but one of my tee shirts, thumbing through a magazine while I read the Post and finished the coffee he'd made. He's learning, by the way. This batch was superior, at least, to the stuff he brought back with breakfast.

"Walter, have you ever heard of Tantric breathing?" he asked.

I looked up from the paper. "What?"

He looked over his shoulder at me. "Tantric breathing. It's Zen, or something. It's supposed to increase intimacy and intensify orgasm."

"Mulder, if our orgasms were any more intense they'd kill me." I returned to the paper, paused and looked up again. "What the hell are you reading?"

"An article on quickie sex. I was thinking it would come in handy when we were between meetings or something."

"Don't even think about it." I put the paper down and came to the bed, kneeling behind him, dragging my hand up his bare leg. "What magazine?"

Embarrassed, he showed me the cover. "Scully's got me hooked on it," he confessed. "She has a subscription to it and I read hers all the time."

"Bath oil, tea, and women's magazine articles about getting more out of sex?" I reached up between his legs and squeezed his balls firmly. "Just checking."

He rolled the magazine up and smacked my head with it. "Thanks a lot. Just for that, I won't try their recipe for spicy tofu tacos." He pulled away from me.

"Good." I caught his ankle and wrested the magazine from his hands. "Mulder, this is two months old. You don't really read these, do you?"

"Take the worried look off your face, Butch," he said, sitting up. "Sundance isn't gonna' start riding sidesaddle. I do read them, though. Or rather, Scully and I do. She saves them up for our road trips. We take all the 'How well do you know your mate?' tests and howl. These magazines have livened up many a dull field assignment, I assure you." He took it from me and spread it open to one of those quizzes. "You want to see how well you know me?"

"I know how well I know you," I answered, and flung it across the room. "I know if I kiss you right," I pressed my mouth to the tendon that joined his neck to his shoulder, "there, you're mine."

He moaned slightly. "I'm yours no matter where you kiss me," he mumbled. I felt his fingers wind around my neck and he wriggled closer so that he was under my torso. He opened his eyes, met mine and glanced away, self-consciously. "God, that sounded trite, didn't it?"

I studied his face. He looked almost...unhappy. "Is it true?" I asked him.

He didn't meet my eyes. "Yeah."

"Mulder?"

His eyes flickered up to mine, reluctantly. "Yes?"

"Is it true?"

He nodded. "Yeah. It is. It's weird. I've never been too good in relationships. Part of the reason is I don't give myself. I don't really have claim on me, myself, so how can I give me away?"

I shifted around to pull him against me, stroking his shoulders and back. I felt him sigh, felt the muscles ripple under my fingers. "But, you," he said, muffled against my chest. "You just took what you wanted, and it was okay."

"Was it?"

"Yeah." I felt him press his cheek to my chest. "But, you didn't just take part of me and leave a hole. You put something back."

"What?"

He sighed again. "You."

-THE END-