Little Things (part 5 of 15)

by Mik

Mulder was asleep. On his side, his back to Skinner, his lips parted, his breath soft. There had been no sex, no contact at all. Skinner had given him the same running pants, a different tee shirt, and Mulder had gone into the bathroom to change. He didn't lock the door this time.

When he came out, Skinner was in bed, pillows piled up to support his back, his knees up to support his book. He felt Mulder consider him, uncertainly, and he pulled the bedclothes back and patted the bed beside him. "Get in bed, Kitsune," he said, smiling at the nickname, how well it suited him. "You look like you're about to fall."

Mulder obeyed. At first he was on his back, rigid, his arms crossed over his chest, his fingers tucked under his arms. It was a defensive pose but one that was familiar. Skinner tried to remember when he had seen Mulder sleep like that. He knew he had. He could see him on that damn green futon, a book or a magazine on his stomach, the gun on the table by his head. Skinner reached out, idly, and pulled the blankets up around his shoulders. "Relax, Mulder," he murmured. "No one's going to pounce on you tonight."

I wanted to pounce on you this afternoon, he thought, looking down again. When I saw that damn red whip in your pocket. Skinner smiled and turned a page, pretending to himself that he was reading. It had been hell for him to drive away Sunday. Mulder had followed him only as far as the front door, but at the last minute, dove in for an almost rib cracking hug. "Thanks for coming … sir," he murmured and turned away. Skinner knew then he was hooked. It wasn't just curiosity. It wasn't just sex. It wasn't just mid-life crisis gone crazy. It was something strong and deep -- maybe not love, not in the pure way he viewed love, but it was something, something more than he had felt in a long time. He knew he couldn't lose Mulder now.

All the way home, all that night, he thought about Mulder, about what he felt like, looked like, tasted like, sounded like when something inside him broke. Skinner would swear he heard shards of glass falling when Mulder talked about guns. But he still wanted to give him something, something to show that this burgeoning relationship meant something, that he meant something. When he woke up Monday, he just knew what he had to do. He was going to give Mulder that paternal approval and affection he was looking for. If he could satisfy Mulder's need to be a good son, then maybe Mulder might need to be something else with him.

When Frank Carnahan first started talking to Mulder, Skinner thought he had failed. Mulder looked absolutely miserable with the man's reminiscing. But, later that night, when he looked up, soft eyed, and murmured 'Thanks', it was heartfelt.

Skinner turned another page, and sneaked another look at Mulder, still and serene in sleep. His face was so animated when he talked tonight. Skinner had never been in a position to just let go and let Mulder expound. It was amazing where that warped brain took him. And he could put a little twist of humor into the most frightening tales, making Skinner's stomach tighten in dread, and then release in laughter. Kitsune. Kit. Young fox. Suddenly, Skinner had another obsession. He had to get a picture of his young fox in uniform.

He let his eyes slide over Mulder's frame, crinkling up in an amused and thoughtful frown. Mulder wasn't much smaller than he was when he was in the Marines. His old uniform just might fit. He chuckled to himself. Maybe he could coax Mulder into playing a little Raw Recruit and the Drill Sergeant. Well, that was a few days away …

In sleep, he certainly didn't look like a candidate for meltdown, but he must be. Skinner had had the unpleasant task that afternoon of reviewing Mulder's jacket as it came across his desk, concluding the Internal Affairs investigation. He was tempted to put the folder back in the confidential pouch and send it away, unopened, the way he always did, but this time his curiosity was greater than his sense of reason. He was shocked at the things he didn't know about the agent; the regression treatments, the evidence of abuse in his childhood, the number of times he had been in crisis intervention due to the nature of his work. The ratio was unofficially four to one. For every four deaths an agent encountered in the field, there would be one trip to crisis intervention. Mulder had been through the program eleven times in fifteen years, once while he was still in the Academy. He'd lost his sister, his father, two partners and nearly lost Scully more than once. No wonder Mulder had never allowed himself any close associations. He was a walking catalog of betrayal, abandonment and death. Skinner winced at the way he had added another brick to that teetering pile, the horrible way he had unknowingly played on Mulder's broken relationship with his father. He turned a page, drawing a deep breath. I hope I've done a little to shore up the mess in the past few days, he thought.

Mulder shifted in his sleep, rolled onto his side, and squinted up into Skinner's reading light. "Wes?" he said quietly, as if he had been practicing while awake so that it would come naturally in sleep. "How long are you going to sit there, pretending you're reading?"

Skinner put the book down on the bedside table and slid his glasses down into his hand. "I didn't know I was keeping you awake."

"You weren't." Mulder rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. "I just realized I was subconsciously listening to you turn pages. It was erratic, and it woke me up."

Skinner rubbed the exposed arm. "Only you would notice something like that."

Mulder shrugged. "What's the matter?" He tried to ease himself upward. "Can't you sleep?"

Skinner held out an arm, inviting him into an embrace. Mulder moved into it quickly and settled against his chest with a satisfied little sigh. Skinner rubbed his shoulder. "You like this?"

"Mmm," Mulder answered. Shy fingers were walking up the hard ridges of Skinner's stomach. "That's quite a six-pack, sir."

Skinner rubbed his chin against Mulder's hair. It was so soft, so fine. Was it like this when he was a child? Did his father ever notice? How could anyone harm something so soft?

Mulder traced the line of Skinner's sternum, and let out a little sound of surprise and amusement -- Skinner had heard it before. It was almost a snort. "Your blood pressure is pretty good."

Skinner nodded against Mulder's forehead. He felt his cock twitching.

Mulder put his head down, resting it against Skinner's shoulder, his nose pressed against Skinner's throat.

Skinner started to say something, but Mulder stopped him with a little hiss. "Shh. Just hold me."

Skinner's arms tightened around him, wondering what it had cost him to admit a need. "You okay?"

Mulder nodded. "It was a shock seeing him. I hadn't seen him since … oh, God, back when we had a family. I had forgotten that I knew him."

"You don't forget things, Kit," Skinner reminded him, rubbing his arms lazily.

Mulder chuckled at the connotations of the nickname. "No, but I bury things."

"What would you like to bury now?" Skinner would swear on a stack of Bibles that he meant nothing sexual with that remark, but it made Mulder raise his head and meet his eyes, one brow arched in a fine imitation of his partner.

Skinner held his breath. Was he pushing? He had promised.

Mulder sat up a little, and pushed the bedclothes down slightly. "Well, a couple of things come to mind." Rolling onto his knees, he reached, shyly, for Skinner's pajamas.

"Not this time." Skinner stopped him. "It's your turn. That's the deal." He eased Mulder back until he was flat on the bed. Mulder laid rigid under his hands, his jaw clenched. "Come on, Mulder," he said, his voice getting rough. "Just close your eyes and pretend it's someone else." He offered Mulder a pillow.

Mulder pushed the pillow away angrily. "I don't need to play games, sir," he snapped. "If we do this …" he stopped. "When we do this, it will be us. There won't be anyone else tagging along."

Skinner smiled and relaxed. "That's what I want." He leaned down and kissed Mulder.

Mulder put his hands on Skinner's shoulders. "I'm not quite there yet."

Skinner pulled back. "You were ready to --"

"I know." Mulder eased himself upward again, wrapping an arm around an upraised knee. "It's kind of sick, actually, but it's easier for me to …" he sighed. "I'm a grown-up, I can say this. It's easier to suck your cock than to have you do it to me."

"You let me the other day," Skinner reminded him.

Mulder's expression was almost acute. "I know. It was weird. I was curious. I wanted to see if it was different. It was. Now, I've just got to work my way back to that." He sucked both lips between his teeth and bit down, making his full mouth into a thin, white line. "I'm not quite ready to have a man make love to me," he pushed out with effort.

Skinner was startled, and then a little hurt by the pronouncement. Up to that moment, neither of them had actually acknowledged that was where the relationship was heading. He slid his glasses back into place and studied all the fine nuances of Mulder's pained expression. Suddenly it was something he wanted, very much. "What are you ready for?"

Mulder sighed heavily, his shoulders going up and down. "I don't know. I really don't. I'm not good at relationship stuff. I tend to crawl up inside my head too much -- I get stuck there."

"You over analyze," Skinner concluded.

"Exactly. And that's what I've been doing for the past two days, ever since you left Katonah." He settled back against the headboard, not touching Skinner. "I told you this was way off my beaten path. Part of me doesn't like the unfamiliar territory. Part of me is a little frightened by the ultimate destination. But," he sighed again. "And this is the really twisted part. There's a part of me that is really enjoying the scenery." He looked up at Skinner, and there was a shiny bit of uncertainty in his eyes.

"What part?"

Mulder shifted awkwardly, letting his cheek rest against Skinner's bare, bronzed shoulder. "This part."

"I like that part, too," Skinner agreed. "It's like having a companion again, and …" he stopped, wondering if Mulder noticed the heightened color in his face.

He did. "And …"

Skinner drew a deep breath, considered his words and decided to let go with utter honesty. "You said the other day that our age differences meant that you were looking for a father-figure, right?"

Mulder nodded.

"Well, maybe I'm looking for a son."

Mulder choked back some kind of feeling. "If you think of me as a son, after what you just wanted to do, you're spookier than I am."

Skinner frowned. "Fox …"

"But, I must say, you've got that disapproving paternal voice down pat," Mulder said, shifting away from him. "Don't ever say my name again -- especially not like that."

"Sorry." Skinner pulled his glasses away, folded them up and put them on the nightstand. "Here's something else I like about you; you're fun to talk to -- odd, a little frightening, but interesting as hell. There's nothing mundane about you, Mulder."

"Well, that's sweet talk to me, Walter," Mulder said dryly. "How's this for a life? We sit up late at night telling each other war stories. You tuck me in, I buy you ties for Father's Day."

"Ties?" Skinner made an expression of pure pain.

Mulder laughed. His chest moved, at least, and a little corner of his mouth curled up. "All right, aftershave."

Skinner reached out impulsively and laced his fingers through Mulder's. "I'll talk. I'll listen. I'll hold you," he promised, gently but fervently. "Where we go from there is up to you."

Mulder settled back against Skinner's shoulder, letting his hands play with Skinner's long, strong fingers. "That's okay, for starters," he agreed. "Do you want to talk now?"

"Okay, for starters," Skinner said.

"What about?"

Skinner desperately wanted a question answered. "Let's start with the obvious. Sex."

Mulder lifted his head and sought Skinner's eyes. "I thought --"

Skinner nodded, a bit impatiently. "We're only talking. But we'll talk about things that I think are important this time. I've heard all about the Mexican goatsuckers I care to this night."

"Oh, but I thought you wanted to talk about sex."

"You know, a father-figure might be tempted to spank a wayward son," Skinner mused.

He felt Mulder chuckle against him. "All right. Sex. Whose? Yours? Mine? Ours?"

"Yours. Tell me about your sex life. The first time."

Mulder squinted again, looking back into a murky past. "There isn't much to tell."

"You have had a first time, haven't you?"

Mulder made a face that said 'of course!' but then he frowned. "Wait a minute, male or female?"

"I meant female." Skinner made a face. "Was there a male?"

"You."

Skinner relaxed. The abuse mentioned in his jacket did not specify sexual abuse, but Skinner had assumed … "Then I meant female. How old were you when you lost your virginity?"

Mulder warmed up a mutinous glare. "Why do you want --"

"Because I want to, okay?" Skinner snapped. "I'm not asking for all the glorious details. I just want to know a little about what makes you tick, sexually. As a psychologist, you know that the first sexual experience has a huge impact on the sex life."

"Well, that explains a lot, doesn't it?" Mulder grimaced.

Skinner ignored the implications in his remarks. "It depends. How old were you?" The boy had been precocious about everything else.

"I was sixteen," Mulder admitted.

"Was she a virgin, too?" Skinner asked. His first experience had been with a virgin, and it hadn't been great for either of them.

"Yes, and no," Mulder hedged.

"Now that's impossible."

"Not when we're talking about two different girls." Mulder seemed extremely embarrassed.

Skinner's brows went up, impressed. He knew Mulder could turn heads now, but at sixteen?

Mulder hunched forward a little. "It wasn't what you're thinking. It was more of an educational pursuit."

"Uh hmm."

Mulder drew a deep breath. "I never dated."

"Now, come on --"

"No, I never did. I can honestly say that, in my entire life, I've never done the dinner-and-a-movie thing. When I was younger, I was a lot younger than the girls I went to school with. Always behind. And then, when I went to Oxford, it was girls who were the aggressors. They didn't need dinners and shows to get warmed up, they arrived, fully steamed. I was usually the one getting seduced." He felt Skinner move beside him and he looked to check if the other man was laughing.

Skinner was looking at him with concern and fascination.

He shrugged. "I knew these two girls from a Science Club I was in the summer before I went to college. One had a lot of experience, the other had none. We were sitting in the lab one hot, summer day, talking about … fusion, I think, and suddenly, she starts this very clinical dissertation on hormones and arousal, and she proceeded to use me to demonstrate. As I recall, it wasn't particularly pleasant, being so hot and in the lab and everything. Nothing romantic, but one amazing ejaculation. Then she just smiled and went away, leaving me there on a dissection table, with my pants around my ankles, gasping for breath."

Skinner shook his head. It was probably every other boy's fantasy.

"Then the other girl, Marla …" His eyes scrunched up as he searched for her photograph in his memory. "Marla Theirry." He smiled. "Red hair."

Skinner smiled and nodded.

"She came up to me, very shy, and started touching me. She was curious. Being sixteen, it was no great effort to regroup and start again." He made a face and shuddered. "But the pain and the blood …" He shuddered again. "It kind of put me off for a while. There wasn't anyone for a year and a half, and then there was Phoebe."

The color seemed to drain out of his face. Skinner didn't know much about that ill-fated relationship, only vague references he had gleaned from Scully. But he did know that it had a powerful impact on Mulder's psyche. Skinner put a hand on his arm and patted gently. "After Phoebe?" he said, eager to skip over details that made Mulder look like he wanted to retch.

Mulder shrugged. "A visiting professor, from Sweden no less. She was about ten years older than me. For a while, before I came back to the States, I was a kept man." He made himself smile. "Does that shock you?"

Skinner smiled. "Nothing about you shocks me, Mulder."

Mulder wasn't sure if he should be disappointed. "And then, a few years ago, just before the X-Files, there was a neighbor, really young, really wild." He snorted again. "Too wild for me. But, she is responsible for my ongoing fascination with pornography."

"Did she …" Skinner stopped. How do you ask someone if his ex-lover was a porn star?

"Work in film?" Mulder mocked. "No, but she loved watching it, the weirder the better. She could watch some stuff that I couldn't even whisper." He waited for a minute. "Okay. Now you know it all. There aren't many women in my history, and no men. My sex drive must be pretty low, because I can live without it or get what I need from what Candra left behind. What I can't get is the warmth and that's what I need."

Skinner shifted, pulling Mulder into his arms. "You've got it now."

Mulder settled against him, letting out something that sounded like a contented sigh. "Your turn," he murmured.

Skinner looked down at him. "Do you really want to know?"

Mulder thought about it. "No," he admitted, as if it surprised him. "Well, I do want to know one thing …"

"No other men."

"No. Why me?"

Skinner studied his face, as if Mulder had the answer to that one. "I'm not sure yet," he confessed. "When I know, I'll tell you."

Mulder barely stifled a yawn. "Promise?"

Skinner reached up to turn out the light. "I promise." He let Mulder shift around until he had his back against him. "Come here after work Thursday night. We'll go to the airport together in the morning."

Mulder lifted his head to look over his shoulder. "I usually drive Scully --"

"Let her take a cab."

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

Mulder showed up around seven, in black jeans, a black turtleneck and a denim jacket, his garment bag thrown over his shoulder. Skinner knew he was staring hungrily. Mulder just looked so damn good … but he had promised himself he would not push. He was going to let Mulder come to him, whenever he was ready. "Come on in, I've got pasta on the stove. There's wine and beer in the fridge." He took Mulder's bag and set it in the hall beside his own, and pressed the back of his hand to his cheek. He was feeling flushed. He had been collecting websites for certain … instructions he wanted to have available whenever Mulder was ready, but he couldn't seem to navigate the 'Net.

For the first time, Mulder wandered, as if he was at home in the condo. He went into the kitchen, took in the gourmet island, the copper pots, the granite counters. He tilted his head back and sniffed. Just like an animal in the wild. "Smells good," he said, realizing that Skinner was standing in the doorway looking at him, not knowing how much Skinner wanted to be touching him. His eyes narrowed. "Are you all right, Wes? You look a little … hot."

"Cooking," Skinner lied. "You look a little flushed yourself."

Mulder shrugged. "Long day."

Skinner considered him. "How are you on the Internet?"

Mulder gave him a flash of that angelic smile he had pulled in the office on Tuesday. It came and it went. "Fair," he allowed. "What are you doing, Wes, looking for porn?"

Skinner's mouth pulled down into a frown. "No, I was trying to get basketball tickets, you little jerk." He reached out for Mulder's wrist. "Come up here and help me."

Mulder's eyes brightened. "Are you serious?"

Skinner stopped at the stairwell and turned. "Well?" he said patiently. After all, maybe Mulder needed to know that his affections were welcome.

Mulder looked up, bewildered. Then he smirked, wickedly. "If I kiss you now, you'll think it's just for the basketball tickets."

"Whatever works," Skinner admitted.

Mulder lifted himself up the scant inch difference in their heights and pressed a chaste kiss to the A.D.'s frown. He rocked back and looked up at Skinner's implacable expression. "Give me some help, here."

Skinner took that as an invitation, and using Mulder's wrist for leverage, pulled the agent into his embrace, one hand on the small of his back, drawing him close enough to feel the jean-clad erection beneath his wool work slacks, one hand behind his neck, preventing him from going away. Mulder's squirms were momentary. Then he let his hands slide up Skinner's shirtsleeves and across his shoulders. He parted his lips and sucked Skinner's soul down into the wet whirlpool of his mouth. Afraid of losing control there on the stairs, Skinner pulled back. "It's nice to see you, too," he murmured and went on upstairs.

Mulder was silent behind him, stunned. He came into the room the way he might if he expected an alien armed with nuclear weapons might be just on the other side of the door. Skinner flicked a look at him. Was he upset, or aroused? He risked a glance at the black jeans and decided arousal was in there somewhere. He reached into his pocket, taking care to remove the right piece of paper. "A friend of mine said I might be able to get tickets to the Lakers for tomorrow night. Do you think you can show me how to get there?"

Mulder dropped down into the chair before the laptop, and let those long fingers fly over the keyboard. Skinner should have known that, along with everything he was, Mulder would be a WEB geek. Within seconds he had the website in question. Skinner leaned over his shoulder, his breath on Mulder's face. "Does this mean there are still tickets?"

Mulder nodded, and clicked menus. "Oh, shit, forget it," he said, reaching for the mouse to leave. "Those are scalper's prices. I can't afford --"

Skinner stilled his hand. "I can."

Mulder looked up, their faces were so close. He shook his head firmly. "I can't."

"Agent Mulder," Skinner said very sternly. "Order the tickets. Here's my credit card." He tugged one from his wallet, and tossed it on the desk. "If you don't do it, I will."

Reluctantly, Mulder entered the information and got the confirmation number. Then he sighed. "I guess I'm a kept man again."

Skinner put a hand on his shoulder. "Is that such a bad thing?"

Mulder answered with another sigh.

Skinner nudged his shoulder slightly. "Come on, it's just basketball tickets. I kind of felt I owed it to you, after you missed the Knicks game that night." Bad mistake, mentioning that. Mulder tightened up beneath his hand. "All right, call it an apology."

"You sent me roses," Mulder reminded him hoarsely.

"That was just to get a reaction," Skinner explained. "This is genuine."

Mulder pursed his lips together. "Are you trying to seduce me, A.D. Skinner?"

Skinner thought about the other paper, the one burning a hole in his pants. "No, it wouldn't work. I think you require E.B.E.s and someone lurking under the bed taking pictures in order to seduce you."

Mulder looked up at him, lips parted in the beginning of a disbelieving grin. "E.B.E.s?"

Skinner looked down at him, sternly. "Extraterrestrial biological entities. You see, I do read your reports."

Mulder got up from the desk. "Do you want a beer?"

Skinner shook his head as he slid down into the chair Mulder had just vacated. "Help yourself. Oh, would you mind setting the table?"

Mulder's eyebrows arched. "A kept man and a housekeeper."

"A favor, Mulder."

"I'll set the table," Mulder promised and went back downstairs.

Skinner didn't waste time reading any of the information he got. He just downloaded it quickly. Later, after Mulder was asleep, he'd get up and read it.

When he came downstairs, Mulder was leaning his head against the doorway of the kitchen. For a moment, Skinner thought he was crying. Then he realized that Mulder's face was flushed, too. "What's the matter?"

Mulder straightened, and returned to the table to finish putting silverware down. "It's hot in here," he said.

Skinner didn't think so, but he couldn't argue with him, he'd used cooking to explain his own flushed face, so he went to the fridge and pulled out a beer. "Here."

Mulder took it, twisted the cap and tipped it back, emptying almost half of it in one dizzying gulp.

"Easy," Skinner warned, putting a hand on his arm. "You have to fly tomorrow morning."

Mulder nodded and pressed the bottle to his forehead. "Yeah. If I keep this up, I may end up flying tonight."

They didn't talk much while they ate -- well, while Skinner ate. Mulder just sort of pushed things around on his plate. Skinner thought maybe Mulder was feeling the pressure of those basketball tickets, as if it was a put out or get out deal. He wanted Mulder to understand he was only giving them to him to make him happy. But he couldn't make the words come out without them being immeasurably sappy. So he tried to start another conversation. "What did Agent Scully say when you told her you wouldn't drive her to the airport?"

Mulder shook his head. "Nothing. She thinks I was sneaking off for a little wild stuff before I went out of town."

It was Skinner's turn to shake his head. "Wild stuff?"

"She thinks I'm seeing someone." Mulder thought a moment, shrugged. "A woman."

"Are you going to correct her?"

"Oh, no. Her jealousy is fun." Mulder dipped his finger in a little puddle of Alfredo sauce on his plate and licked it. "This is good, Wes."

Skinner thought he was going to have an MI right there at his dining room table. "Are you sure?" he drawled, trying to recover. "You've had about three bites."

Mulder shrugged and pushed away from the table. "I'm not hungry. I ran my ass off all afternoon, and I'm beat."

Skinner started to stand. "Go watch television. I'll clean up."

"No." Mulder stood too. "I can help. It will go faster." He reached for his barely touched plate.

"Mulder, I like these dishes," Skinner said.

Mulder thought about the broken plate in Katonah and then looked at the plate in his hand. "Okay." He left.

It didn't take Skinner long to clean up. He was a sort of clean as you go kind of guy, at home and at work. Within twenty minutes he had the dishwasher going, and came out of the kitchen. Mulder was stretched out on the sofa, his hands across his chest, his fingers tucked under his arms. The remote was on his stomach. The television was on a newsmagazine. His eyes were closed. His breathing was slow and regular.

Skinner went upstairs to read what he had taken off the 'Net.

- END part 5 of 15 -
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