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

HERE THERE BE TYGERS

by Blue Mohairbear

March 1999

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He calls me when I just have settled down on the sofa with a beer and the remote, flipping through the channels, my hair still damp from the shower.

"Agent Mulder, could you come over to my place? Now. It's urgent."

His voice sounds strange and the invitation is even stranger. Sounds more like an order than a request. Politely though he has asked, it doesn't feel exactly like I have a choice. It doesn't feel like he's going to answer any of my questions on the phone either. A feeling of foreboding settles in my stomach.

"Uhm, yes, sir. On my way." I sound like William Riker.

I stay in my jeans and shirt and just put sneakers and a jacket on. On the ride to Crystal City I rack my brains about that call but I can't figure it out. There's no open case at the moment, and as far as I know, I haven't fucked anything up. Well, in the last two weeks, that is. I haven't lost or destroyed anything, either... not in the last two weeks. But the funny feeling is still there - something's not ok.

He opens the door in black jeans and a green Henley. He looks so different from the man I see in the office. Younger. Though his face now looks strained and tight. Wordlessly, he steps aside and lets me in. He points to the sofa and I sit down, searching his face for a hint.

"Sir? What happened?"

He gives me an unreadable look. Pacing up and down before me, he takes his glasses off, pinches the bridge of his nose like he's fighting one of his murderous headaches (yeah, Walter, thought I didn't know about these, huh?) - then he comes right to the point.

"I found this tape in my mail when I came home tonight, Agent Mulder. I think you should listen to it and then we should talk." The bad feeling in my guts increases. I try a lame joke.

"A tape? The friendly sender didn't give his name, I suppose?"

"No. But there isn't any doubt, whatsoever, about who sent it", he says grimly and pushes the "play"-button on the tape deck. A cultivated voice fills the room, silky and calm and ironic, and I freeze. Not only do I know very well *who* is talking but I know exactly *what* he's talking about. I panic. I raise my hands.

"Please, sir." My voice sounds squeaky. "I know every word of this. Don't play it. Please."

Skinner stops the tape and gives me a hell of a glare, jaws clenched. His dark eyes shoot deathly beams in my direction.

"Well, Agent Mulder, the fact is that *I* don't know every word of this. And I want you to fill me in. On every missing word."

His voice is cold and stern and he's angry as hell but tightly controlled, whereas I am not controlled at all but frightened enough to piss my pants.

Oh G-O-D. This is the most embarrassing moment of my life. And the end of my career, I suppose. No... wait a second. What did he just mean, "every missing word"? The tape continues and I realize that what I am hearing is only the middle part of that pleasant little chit-chat we had a few days ago. Cancerman and I.

"Well - you are surely aware of the fact that this little folly of yours could cost you your career, Agent Mulder." The voice sounds friendly, calm and amused. Then a soft hissing sound - he's blowing smoke out.

"If I *had* done it, maybe." That's me, sounding cool.

"We both know that you did it, Agent Mulder."

"You're not telling me you have a tape that shows me doing it." My voice again, trying to sound ironic and controlled, but actually sounding angry. A soft chuckle is the answer.

"Would we need such a tape, Agent Mulder? The point is not that you did it, is it? We all know you did it. And if just that fact came out, you would be backed up by your... superior, like always. But the really interesting question here, Agent Mulder, is, *why* you did it. And the answer is: you did it out of love. Out of love for a *man*, Agent Mulder. Your superiors would be delighted, I imagine."

Silence. Then me again, and I sound... uneasy.

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"Oh, Agent Mulder. We both know what I'm talking about, don't we? I'm talking about a male FBI Agent who is in love with another man and who has committed a felony for that man. I'm sure the Government would find this rather interesting, don't you think?"

You can hear me swallow.

"Even if I *had* done it which you obviously can't prove, I would have done it out of loyalty and respect. Nothing else."

He chuckles again, taking a deep draw from his Morley and blowing the smoke out again.

"Out of loyalty and respect. How very touching, Agent Mulder. Don't you think your superiors would find this touching, too? Or... should I say... your... *superior* ? The one and only? The one who counts?"

And that's it. The tape ends with a small squeaking sound and then the room is silent. Like somebody had dunked me under water and all sounds had been shut off by thick blue glass. I sit on the sofa, elbows on my knees, my forehead in my hands. I'm ice cold and I'm shivering. That bastard.

Skinner is standing at the window, staring out, arms crossed over his chest, looking...pissed? No, he looks... sad. Pissed I could handle better. Sad is worse. Much worse. It almost makes me cry.

He breathes deeply, fighting for calmness.

"I can think of several other questions than only that one, Agent Mulder", he states matter-of-factly.

"Questions like, what did you do, who is the man you did it for, why did Cancerman send the tape to *me* and why have the essential parts of the tape been cut out?"

"Sir...", I desperately try to save what little there is left of my dignity, "I can't tell you. Please. It's.... private."

My, doesn't that sound intelligent.

He whirls around, closes the distance between us in two powerful strides, grabs my collar with both big hands and hauls me up. The sudden motion yanks my head back, the vertebrae in my neck make an ugly sound. His eyes are black with fury, his lips drawn back.

"Are you out of your mind, Mulder?" he hisses. "Do you think this is a game? That man blackmails you because you have done something illegal, he threatens to endanger your career by implying that you are in love with a man - and you call that *private*? Hell, Mulder, what planet are you living on?"

His nearness makes me dizzy, his body radiates an incredible heat, I can smell him and that makes my head swim even more. I find myself paralized, I just stare into those incredibly dark and beautiful eyes. I feel like drowning.

"Sir... you can't help me. Believe me," I squeak. Feeling him so near me, touching me, almost makes my knees buckle. He lets go of my collar, his fingers dig cruelly into my shoulders. He shakes me hard and hisses between clenched teeth:

"You tell me *now*, Mulder. Private or not, this is not the time for being coy. I might still be able to get you out of this. Now, *who* is he and *what* have you done for him?"

His gaze is like a razor, his grip like iron. I look into his eyes again and I realize that I *want* to tell him. Fuck my career, fuck everything. Fuck even his protection, he'll probably hate me anyway afterwards. Probably? Sure as hell he will. But I want to unburden myself from it. I breathe deeply and steel myself.

"I filed the serial number off his gun that was used to kill a police officer, sir", I say.

Then I hold my breath and wait for him to break my neck with his bare hands.

Time stops.

Silence.

Still I can't breathe.

He frowns, and then... it dawns on him. He stares at me, eyes huge and black, jaws clenching. For a moment I believe he *is* going to kill me - then his hands fall from my shoulders and I immediately miss them. I will be bruised tomorrow from his hard grip, but I want those hands back.

He retreats from me, back to the window. He shoves his hands into his pockets and stares down onto the street. I see him breathing slowly, deeply. Years seem to go by in complete stillness. Then he speaks, without turning around. His voice is soft.

"As you said on the tape... you did it out of loyalty and respect...?"

I understand that with this neutral formulation he offers me a chance to get out of this, that we still can pretend nothing has happened and that he'll help me no matter what the Smoker will do. I'm grateful for his kindness, but I'm here now and I won't back out of this. I don't want to.

I'm sick of hiding and pretending.

"Yes, sir. Out of loyalty and respect. And because I'm in love with this man. Deeply and seriously."

Now. I've said it. It's out. Although I, too, phrased it anonymously enough to give *him* the chance to back out, if he wants to.

He doesn't move for a long time. I just stand there, in the middle of his livingroom, in a cocoon of timelessness, watching the broad shoulders heave and sink while he is trying to come to a conclusion. Then, finally, he turns around and looks at me, eyes full of wonder and tenderness. He slowly prowls over to me. My heart beats like a frenzied drum. My head swims. He takes me into his arms and it feels like a dream. His lips touch my temple, my cheek, and I'm drowning again. He whispers into my ear, hoarsely:

"You were so beautiful in your anger when you pointed your gun at me. So beautiful."

His arms tighten around me, a hand glides under my jacket. I embrace him fiercely and press my lips against the soft, warm skin of his neck. Again I smell him, more intense this time, and his scent makes me drunk. It's a mix of aftershave, fresh clothes and *him* and that last one is so powerful that I can feel my IQ sinking far below zero in seconds. I lean against his muscular chest and feel his heartbeat and I'm relieved to notice that it's as frantic as mine.

"It hurt me to see you like that, it hurt me to know you were thinking I betrayed you. I wanted to explain, but I couldn't."

His hot breath in my ear sends violent shivers down my spine.

"I know that now", I whisper.

He looks into my eyes, smiles - and then he kisses me in earnest, on my lips, and The World As We Know It dissolves around me.

He is a passionate kisser, my boss, and I have never been kissed like this before in my life. He kisses me all the way up to his bedroom, his lips lifting me up step after step until he lets himself fall backwards on the bed, pulling me on top of him. His muscles ripple under my body, I realize my jacket is gone and my shirt is shoved up. I'm lying over his big chest like lying on a mountainside, looking down into a flushed, handsome face and a pair of happy, ebony-colored eyes.

I stare at him and can't believe all this. He smiles, a beautiful, boyish smile, takes my face in his hands and covers every inch of it with tiny kisses until I lay on him in a boneless heap, sighing and vibrating with sensation. An affectionate chuckle, then he rolls over, buries me under him and storms my mouth like a horde of pirates. His tongue feels wonderful, hot and strong and it sends this slow, sweet, trickling feeling like warm honey over my skin and into my groin. I try to pull him nearer, try to crawl, to melt into him. He presses hard against me, covers my whole body with his. I hear a loud moan and realize with amazement that it's me.

In reply, he grabs my hair and kisses me harder. I almost lose it here, I moan louder and his grip tightens. He looks at me, his eyes dazed and slitted with arousal. There is something new in them, something.... wild. Feral. I gasp as he pulls my head back and falls onto my throat with a growling sound, licking it with long, thick, hot strokes. I have never felt like this before, like a prey at the mercy of the tiger.

To my surprise this feeling turns me on, it shoots a new shockwave of arousal through my body and it teaches me my first lesson: with Walter Skinner, the way to lust and pleasure is surrender, and I gladly give myself up to him. I groan and grind my aching cock into his hip, already panting and half over the edge. He growls, louder, and I feel his teeth at my throat - oh yes, *yes*! ... and then he straightens up. I whimper at the loss of the big body over me. His eyes search my face, questioningly and solemnly, thinking.

"What?" I breathe, impatiently wriggling against him. I try to pull his head down to me but instead he takes one of my hands in his and kisses the palm.

"I'm your first man." Half inquiry, half statement. His thumb strokes my palm where he just kissed me.

Shit. How did he know that? Is there "Inexperienced With Men" printed on my forehead?

"Uh... yeah", I admit hesitantly. I'm not sure how he thinks about this. "Does it bother you?"

He smiles, looking pleased.

"Not at all. Au contraire", he says softly, kissing me on the lips. "It just means we'll have to go slow."

Shit.

I don't want to go slow. I've been dreaming much too long about this. His maddening caresses, his powerful body, his warm silky skin, his scent, his voice - he drives me crazy, my cock is so hard it hurts and I'm close to coming in my pants like a teenager. And we are still fully clothed. I want him and I want him *now*. I grab his shoulders, hard, and he sees it in my eyes. He gives a ragged sigh, yanks me up and my shirt goes over my head and flying behind him to the floor. I'm shoved back flat, close my eyes, helpless, and feel his hot wet lips trailing down my neck, my throat and chest with kisses. His teeth tug at the hair on my chest which delights me because no one ever has done that before.

My grin quickly turns into an "oooh" as his tongue circles my nipples. Circles, but doesn't touch. Shit, I didn't know my nipples were *that* sensitive and he doesn't even get near them. It drives me mad. I whimper and wriggle to bring his tongue to where I want it but he moves like quicksilver and easily evades my attempts. He's quite a sight, controlling me so effortlessly. He looks up and catches me watching him. Shakes his head and strokes his hand lightly over my eyes.

"No", he says tenderly. "Close them. Concentrate and enjoy."

I do as he says and fall into an abyss of swirling lust.

In bed, this amazing man seems to set to work as thoroughly as he does in the office. There, he never misses the tiniest flaw in my reports - well, okay, "flaw" and "report" should be synonyms in my case - , and here - I don't think he leaves one square inch of my upper body without kissing, licking, nibbling, sucking or biting it. *Especially* my nipples. With every touch of his lips and tongue I lose a piece of my identity. I forget who I am, where I came from, I don't even remember an existence before this one, here in this bed under the magic power of this man who is doing his best to kiss me into the next galaxy. My constant moans have become a white noise to me.

This is a slow motion film, definitely. All my begging and pleading to.... to what? I don't even know *what* I'm begging for, I just whimper constantly and incoherently. It doesn't matter anyway because nothing I do can make him move faster. He works his way down to my belly with maddening slowness. I briefly wonder if he wants to kill me this way but just then lightning strikes and blows the pitiful rest of my brains away because his hot fingers glide under the waistband of my jeans and open the first button. I almost come from just hearing the pop.

I whimper and thrust my hips up to get my cock into contact with his fingers. He just presses me gently down again with his big hands, gives my navel a reassuring kiss and gets back to the buttons. Pop. The second one. The third. My cock pushes out of my boxers and into freedom. My eyes are still closed but I can tell that its tip is dripping wet.

// *Don't* touch me now, Walter, or I'm gone.... //

// *Please* touch me, Walter, let me come.... //

*What* do I want...? I can't think, but now I feel that my jeans are being tugged down. Apparently, my absent brain has managed to get one message to my hips: to lift up and let my lover pull the jeans off. The boxers go at the same time and he begins to stroke my legs. His hands move gently from my feet over my shins up to my thighs, concentrating on the inner thighs, using a soft pressure to spread them. I gladly do as he wants and he kneels between my legs.

Oh god.

This feeling.

Him.

Between my legs.

It's too much.

I gaze at him and one look at the hot blazing lust in his eyes does it for me. I want to beg him not to tease me any more, I can't bear it, I *have* to come now or I'll die. I open my mouth but I can't speak. Not a word comes out, just a stifled moan. But he understands. He smiles, a tiny, tender, and very aroused smile. For a second, something shifts before my eyes and it looks as if a big tiger was sitting between my thighs, staring hungrily at me. I blink. I have seen stranger things, but -- I haven't time to think about that, because, gripping my hips, Walter bends down and takes my cock into the tight, hot wetness of his mouth. Just like that.

And just like that, I pass out.

I'm on a roller coaster, in the last wagon, where the traction force is most powerful. For a few timeless seconds, the wagon comes to stop on a terribly high peak, and then, suddenly, it speeds down, down into a big black hole and I can't even clutch anything because there isn't anything to hold on to and I scream and I fall. And fall. Fall into the most intense pleasure of my life.

When I open my eyes again I see that I haven't crashed because there's a pair of muscular arms which must have caught me and hold me tightly against a big chest. This feels *so* nice, although, unbelievably, he *still* wears that damn shirt and his jeans. We'll have to do something about that, soon. Very soon. Just now I think I'll just stay here for the rest of my life, thank you very much. The big chest moves. Feels like silent laughter.

"What?" I say, drowsily. Still trying to find out what exactly happened.

"Are we back?" he asks affectionately, stroking my hair and kissing it.

"We?" I mumble. "Are you telling me you went with me and I missed it?" I let my hand glide down over hard muscles to an even harder big bulge. The sharp hiss and the abrupt tightening of his body are a satisfying answer. I suddenly feel fully alert again - and I don't seem to be the only one here. Don't tell me my cock is stiffening once more.

It is.

Well...

I kneel beside him and impatiently tug at his shirt. He understands, sits up, pulls it off in an elegant motion and lies back. I gasp at the sight of the big chest, covered with a mix of thick dark and feathery grey hair. I explore him with my hands, comb my fingers through the fur and stroke the soft warm skin over his strong arms and the broad shoulders, awed by the powerful elegance of his body. He actually blushes under my adoring looks as I greedily try to feel him everywhere at once. Funny. I didn't expect him to be shy. My hands follow the V-shape of his sides, from the wide shoulders down to the slim waist and the narrow hips. His skin feels wonderful, like hot silk. He is beautiful, all taut and lean. I stroke over the hard washboard of his belly. From there to the bulge under the black denim.

A rumbling groan and a buck into my hand are my immediate reward. With trembling fingers, I open the button and the zipper, and his hips move up in a fluid movement to help me get rid of the unnecessary jeans. He's breathing hard now. My head is still clear enough to let me push his briefs down, too. The Shutting Down Of The Grey Cell Factory follows the moment I get to see his cock.

Oh. My. God.

This is all for me?!

I touch him.

He moans and grabs my arm, his head rolling back. He bites his lip.

And he is hard, so hard.

And so close.

A ragged moan, he looks at me. I watch his beautiful chocolate brown eyes glazing over and I know he's going somewhere I can't follow, maybe it's the same place I just came back from...his lips are parted now and moist and so beautiful and I kiss them... and when I stroke that big iron cock in my fist I can tell I don't have the time to get down and take it into my mouth because he's coming, *now*.

A loud groan, his fingers dig deeply into my arm and that hurts like hell and I know I will bear these marks for at least two weeks and I *love* how it hurts me and then he gives a throaty shout, the volcano erupts and violently shoots wave after wave of hot lava over my hand.

Then I just sit there, watching him until his breathing slows down. I look at him and I know I could do this forever. Just sit here and look at him.

You're one lovesick puppy, Mulder.

Yeah. And I'm not even embarrassed about it.

He sighs. His hand blindly reaches for me. I take into mine and kiss it.

"Are we back?"

He opens one eye. I grin. I'm sure I'm looking totally stupid, but I feel *so* damn good.

"Brat." His voice is hoarse.

"Yeah." I kiss him. He grins, too.

I lean out of the bed, grab my shirt from the floor and clean us up. He raises an eyebrow at me. Oops. Forgot. Ex-Marine. Even in the condition he's in now, he can raise one of these eyebrows. Amazing, that man.

Then he sees the marks from his fingers all over my shoulders and on my arm. He instantly sobers, his eyes widen, he gets up and pulls me near him to examine me.

"Shit, Fox. I'm sorry."

"Hey, Walter. Shhh. It's okay, really."

"No, it's not. This is not ok." He is sincerely dismayed.

"Well, first, you *are* rather strong, and I *don't* complain about that, and second, you were mad at me, weren't you?" He stares at me.

"Fox." He shakes his head. "Fox - what sort of crooked logic is that? Being mad does not give me the right to hurt you. Come here."

He pulls me into his arms and leans back against the pillow. I snuggle up beside him, my head lies comfortably on his shoulder.

So we are back to reality. But reality doesn't look so bad anymore, at least not from where I'm lying, with acres of warm, furred chest to snuggle against.

"And, besides, I wasn't mad", he says. "Or, yes, I *was* mad. At you for bringing yourself into trouble again, but more at the Smoker for assaulting you like that." He strokes my head. Feels great.

"But it was more. When I listened to that tape for the first time, I was..." His voice trails away. I look up at him. He bites his lip and... he blushes. This is a remarkable evening. I don't know what is stranger, me having the world's greatest sex with my boss, or seeing him blush. Twice in an hour.

"You were...?"

He doesn't look at me.

"I was jealous."

I stare at him. I feel totally stupid with happiness. "Oh", is all I can say. He clears his throat and pulls me back against his chest so I can't look into his face anymore. But I have to know.

"You were *jealous*? I mean - you really didn't know *who* he was talking about? That it could only be you?"

He kisses my hair. "How should I have known? You haven't exactly behaved like you had feelings for me. Except wanting to knock me down or shoot me." That comes out gruffy, but with a tender undertone. I stroke my hand lightly over the fur on his chest, let it tickle my palm, my fingers, my wrist.

"And I was afraid you would catch me staring at you in the meetings", I confess. "I've had so many wet dreams about you I sometimes believed I was thirteen again." He chuckles.

"You'll have to tell me about these dreams. Maybe we can make some of them true." I gasp. But before I can answer that one, he gets serious again.

"So - why did he send that tape to me? It was cut, wasn't it? There's more for me to hear?"

"Yes, but nothing you don't already know ", I say. And I tell him the whole story. How that bastard called me in my apartment and politely suggested I stop going after those fucking bees. At the word "bees", I feel Walter shivering. He keeps seeing those children in the hospital and the postal worker's body, I guess. I bet he has nightmares about that.

"And then he told me he knew I was in love with you and that I had filed off that number from your gun because I love you. And he's right", I add.

He breathes deeply at that statement and presses me fiercely to his chest. I sense a kiss on the top of my head. Do you know that feeling - just this pure, stupid happiness? I'm aware that I'm grinning like an idiot again. But I want to get over with this tape thing. There's important stuff to do. The important stuff lies not too far away from my hand and it is half erect again. I tear my eyes away from that.

"I guess he cut the part where your name was mentioned because he didn't want you to know too soon *who* he was talking about. I guess this was something like 'the first step'. He probably just wanted to show me that they're serious about their threat. Like a warning shot, you know? And, what's more important: I think he wanted you to get disgusted with me. To withdraw your protection. They seem to see you as a serious obstacle, standing between me and them."

"You mean, if you don't knuckle down, the next step will be sending the complete tape to me to really piss me off and make me shunt you?"

I grin and prop myself up, kissing his nose.

"Yeah. Too bad I spoiled their fun and told you already, huh?"

He chuckles and gives me that boyish grin again. "Yeah, what a pity. I guess *this* here was not what they would have expected. The plan itself wasn't so bad - they just didn't count my feelings in."

Oh. I prick up my ears. "Feelings?"

He chooses to ignore that. Swallows. Looks away and says:

"Well, they'll soon find out that their threat isn't a real threat anymore. We'll have to be extremely careful with this relationship, but I don't see what we can do about all that at the moment, except watch them closely. And don't worry, we'll find a way to fight them, whatever they do." He draws me close again and begins to stroke my back.

A prickling little wave ripples its way from my neck down to my groin. The words "relationship" and "feelings" tumble through my head, eliciting happy little echoes wherever they bump against the cranial bones.

I get back up on my elbow. Stroke his face and kiss his eyelids, his nose, his cheek. Everything in my reach.

"Feelings?" I whisper into his ear, nibbling the earlobe. I *have* to hear it.

He doesn't answer. He just looks at me and again I sink down into his eyes. His hand glides to the nape of my neck, he pulls my head down and kisses me. It's one of *those* kisses - I'm losing my mind already, my brain goes all mushy. Walter grabs me and drapes me over his big chest. This is *so* nice.

"Fee...lings?" I mumble. Hard to concentrate when these big tender hands stroke up and down my back. I press my groin into his, hear him moan and feel his hands gripping my ass, pressing me down on him. Oh god. I whimper at the sparks that flash from my balls straight up into my cock. One of his hands comes up to my head, pulling me down again to his mouth, the other one circles my buttocks while a finger... OH. GOD.

"Hey..." I barely remember that there was something I had been asking him... With a last effort I shake my head free and stop the maddening circular motion of our groins that has made both our cocks already hard as rocks.

"What feelings, Walter?" I pant.

He stills under me. Tries to escape with a joke.

"Even now looking for the truth, Agent?"

"Always, sir --- oh god, *GOD* - Walter, *stop* that and *answer*, dammit!" He's doing that finger thing again. I try a threatening look.

He takes a deep breath, his jaws begin to clench - then he holds me tight and rolls over, burying me under him again. He grabs my hair, none too gently, presses his lips against my ear and whispers harshly:

"I love you... *brat*." And he bites my lobe. I accept it with a yelp, understanding that that was for making him say it. He's not good with the l-word, obviously. Neither was I, before. But I just *had* to hear it. That doesn't mean I can believe it. Believing it will take a while, if not forever. But for now, I'm just happy to be here, with him. *Under* him. That's the best feeling of all, this big, heavy, hot body above me, covering me from head to toes. I feel safe.

A hand glides down my side while his tongue takes an excursion in my mouth. His hips move a bit to one side, the hand gently pulls my leg up - and the finger is *there* again... oh god, this is good, this is *so* good... I moan and hear myself saying things to him, inarticulate, even for me, and his finger softly presses... and he doesn't stop kissing me while he's doing that and he is rubbing his big cock over my stomach, making fluid circular movements like a bellydancer and setting my cock under fire with each stroke. I cling to him in a haze of lust and need, scratching his back deeply and giving a shit about it.

I want, I want -- I don't know *what* exactly I want except I want *him*. Him and *everything*. If I only knew what "everything" meant. But *he* seems to know what I want because he catches my wrists, takes them effortlessly into one hand - come on, I'm not *that* small, am I??? - and presses them firmly, but tenderly into the sheets behind my head.

"No, Fox", he says kindly. And kisses me. Damn, these kisses drive me crazy, even more crazy than I already am.

"You don't want me to release the tiger right now. Not for your first time, believe me. I've been waiting for this too long. I need a few rounds to cool down first, ok? Later, we can do whatever you want, I promise."

Tiger? Did *he* say *tiger*? How does he know -- I can't think straight and -- shit, I'm drowning in his eyes again. I try to protest, but it's just pro forma.

"Walter, I-"

The dark eyes become slits and a big hand covers my mouth.

"Fox." Calm, silky, low.

"Shut. Up."

Ooooh.... nice. Very nice. There's a part of my AD prowling around the corner, and something yellow-golden shimmering about him again, with black stripes... wide, black eyes... *really* big paws... and then, with a growl, he comes down on me and drags me away into the jungle.

Walter-jungle. Walter-and-me-jungle. Wonderful. Damp air, hot bodies, slick with sweat, touching everywhere, gliding, rubbing, pressing, the heavenly friction of two rock hard cocks together on well-muscled stomachs, harsh voices moaning, gasping, encouraging each other to go harder, faster, the blood singing in our ears like giant swarms of cicadas.

"Walter... Walter..."

Slowly, I get through to him. He stops. Looks down on me with half closed eyes, moist lips, breathing heavily. A face full of lust and arousal. So beautiful.

"What, babe?"

God, I *love* this man.

"Bite me."

Hey, wait. *What* was that?! Did I just ask him to *bite* me??? I don't believe this. Am I drugged or what? Oh yeah, yeah. I am. I am definitely drugged and this is gonna be a long, long trip, maybe one for life. I'm drugged by these eyes which look down into mine, trying to understand what I said. I'm lost again, just from his staring at me with this aroused and already half-gone gaze.

He shakes his head in refusal, but isn't able to talk anymore.

I whimper, expose my neck, begging.

That does it for him. With a feral snarl, he digs his teeth deep into the spot where my neck meets my shoulder.

The painful pleasure hits fully and my universe stops. Every star - shit, every damn galaxy, begin to twist and to swirl in a mad rush, around and around, dragging me up and then down with them, until they all burst out of me. I can dimly feel my hips arching up against Walter and I come and come and come, shooting everything my universe includes into the tight space between our heated, slick bodies. Almost at the same second I hear Walter's muffled shout against my neck, the big cock twitches and convulses, Walter's body presses me back down into the mattress with powerful jerking stabs. I feel his semen flowing in hot rushes over my skin, mingling with mine. Then he just collapses on me and I'm still gone too far to be afraid of suffocating.

A million years later, I hear water running in the bathroom, hear splashing as he cleans himself and then he comes back with a washcloth and a towel. Still without any brain functions, I let him clean me up, the washcloth is warm which I appreciate immensely. Then, like a magician, he holds a glass of water and hands it to me. I empty it greedily. My throat feels sore. I slump back on the pillow.

"I can't believe this", I croak. "I never scream when I come."

His eyes lighten up, he grins, happily and, yeah, a bit smugly.

"Tempi passati", he says and strokes my face. "I'll make you, from now on. Every single time."

And he kisses me. Again and again. And again. And as I pull him into my arms, I realize in a mix of fear and lust that behind these tender, passionate kisses, the tiger is still waiting for me.

*******

The End

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