TITLE: Wonder of Wonders

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. Of course if you have four arms you can throw caution to the wind.

SUMMARY: He said...he said.

ARCHIVE: Anywhere as long as my name and addy stay attached.

FEEDBACK: Feedback? Well, yes, if you insist...

TIMESPAN/SPOILER WARNING: This is an AU, very vague spoilers for multiple episodes, nothing current.

KEYWORDS: story slash angst Skinner Mulder NC-17

DISCLAIMER: Fox Mulder, Walter Skinner, 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.

Author's note: To hell with Tradition …

If you like this, there's more at https://www.squidge.org/3wstop

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

Wonder of Wonders

by Mik

Skinner makes me squirm.

I wonder if he knows that?

He must.

Those calculated glances of assessment. The tight line of his lips. That bowstring tautness to his neck. That couldn't be accidental. He couldn't always look that way simply because I'm nearby. Could he?

I wonder.

Well, calculated or unwitting, he's making me squirm now, and I'm not exactly sure what I've done to warrant the scrutiny. I was taken off the case and sent home on Administrative Leave three days ago, because I was told, I was getting too close to the case. I went home, like a dog with his tail between his legs and stewed for two long, miserable nights before going out last night to find a little relief. And I came in this morning, reporting for duty duly chastened, only to find a message that I was to report to the great and powerful Oz as soon as I arrived.

So, for fifteen minutes he's been scowling at me, looking like a gun with a misfire blocking the barrel, ready to explode at any moment. His long fingers are tapping a manila folder, and I don't have to be a psychologist to guess it's my jacket. It's thick and battered.

I made a contract with myself. If I don't squirm I can treat myself to a decent cup of coffee when this is over. But ever the lure of Starbucks can't keep me still in my chair when he points those wire-rims at me. Interesting how they accent his face. As if their sole purpose is to define the angles, planes and curves of that dour demeanor. If his mouth wasn't permanently set into a frown, it could be said that there was a pleasing symmetry to that face.

But he's frowning at me. Why?

I wonder.

Sitting behind his desk, the glare of the mid morning sun creating an areola of fire around him, he really does remind me of the great and powerful Oz. At least the one that they see before that yappy little dog reveals the truth. I wish he would just set fire to me or send me off to get the wicked witch's broom.

His fingers tap the folder again. And he sighs. Oh, dear God, not the sigh. "Agent Mulder," he begins. His voice is an unexpected purr sometimes, but it has the claws of a tiger.

I wait.

He sighs again. Glances toward a door and I wonder if a little man from Kansas is behind it, working levers and pulleys. "Agent Mulder, were you not given a direct order to step down from the Waterson case?"

I blink at him in pure innocence. "Yes, Sir. I did, Sir." The innocence assumes a wounded whine. "I was put on AL for it."

He seems surprised. News to him? I don't think so. He gave me the order himself, holding out his hand for my gun. He glances at the door. Then at my folder. "Is that the position you intend to maintain?" His voice drops decibels like a plane in an air pocket. "I'm warning you, Agent, this could become very ugly."

As his voice drops, my whine ratchets up. "I stepped down. Sir. I spent the AL pursuing my own interests."

That tightness around his mouth tightens. A cord of muscle seems to stand out on his neck. "Would you care to define your personal interests, Agent?"

Tightness in my gut. "No, Sir."

Another look at the door. "This is a very critical situation, Agent Mulder." His voice almost disappears through the floor. "Think your answer over very carefully."

I don't have to think. I know where I was last night. I know what I was doing. Granted, it wasn't the smartest way to spend a Thursday night, but it certainly wasn't anywhere close to disobeying an order, direct or indirect.

Still, I pause, contemplate the situation. Someone has said something to indicate that I've stepped out of bounds. Okay … I did step out, but not on the Waterson case. Finally, I sigh. "My answer stands...Sir."

He looks at me...an odd mix of incredulity and dismay. He rises, goes to the door, opens it, looks out. "No calls," he says tersely.

He shuts the door, looks around the room, crosses to the paneled cabinets opposite his desk, pushes them open, pauses again. I can only see him in the reflection in the window. I'm not sure what he's doing but his hand moves after a moment, and music begins to spill out, floating around 'til it envelops us. Then he returns to his desk. He does not return to his chair. Rather, he perches on the edge of it, right in my face and drags my jacket toward him. He considers it for a moment, then opens it, and pulls out an eight by ten black and white. Me leaving a bar. Louie's.

Everyone knows Louie's. It's an absolute dive just outside the Capitol's perimeter. Not everyone knows what goes on inside. It's where nameless men go to find anonymous sex with other nameless men. I'd gotten restless. I went trawling. I went home alone.

I know my cheeks are burning. Caught. Outed. Here is his chance to bounce me out on my butt. I lower my eyes for a moment and lift them again, hoping he wouldn't know about Louie's. "Yes? So?"

"What were you doing there?" he asks.

"Show me the relevance and I'll answer your question," I counter.

"Waterson owns a piece of this bar. It's a gay bar, Mulder. It's where he gets fifty percent of his material to blackmail people."

Well … shit. I swallow. "I did not know that, Sir." Was it Waterson himself who tipped them off? I'll kill that smarmy little bastard with my bare hands.

He looks at me. His voice is suddenly full of entreaty. "You mean, you did not know it was a gay bar, Mulder?"

"No, I..." Oh, hell. "No, Sir. I knew it was."

"Because you were still working on the Waterson case?"

"No, Sir." I sink in my seat, miserably. "I've been there before."

"Mulder."

Something in the tone of his voice forces my eyes up to his. "Yes?"

"Are you trying to tell me you are gay?"

I lick my lips nervously. "Well...not exactly. Bisexual." I glance away. The heat in his eyes was already making my flesh curl and disintegrate. "Not that it really matters, at the moment."

He is quiet for a moment. When he speaks again, his voice is shaky, probably with disgust and rage. "So you just happened to go looking for sex in Waterson's bar?"

"I didn't know it was his bar," I snap. "I was just lonely and I thought I'd find a little companionship for the night, that's all." I stop, realizing I've revealed too much of my pathetic self. "Never mind. You wouldn't understand."

"And did you find any?"

Funny, he didn't jeer as he asked the question. "That's none of your..." I sigh and surrender. "No. I didn't." I sigh again. "You might find it hard to believe, but I do have some standards."

"I believe you, Mulder." He puts my jacket aside and looks down at me, his big fists resting on his thighs. His muscular thighs.

Restlessly, I pull myself up from my chair. "Well, if that's all, Sir, I guess I'll go empty my desk and -"

"Mulder."

I turn.

He's looking at me. His face is unreadable. "There is one thing." He slides from the desk and comes to me. Suddenly, yet with infinite tenderness, his hands slide up to caress and hold my face. He lowers his mouth to mine. His kiss is incredibly soft, and sweet, and full of meaning. I find myself trembling, wanting to cling to him, helplessly. He breaks the kiss and backs away. "I've always wanted to do that," he murmurs, his eyes boring into mine. Then he straightens and shrugs on his mantle of authority again. "That's all."

I step out of his office both shaken and stirred. The old boy kissed me. The old boy wanted to kiss me. The old boy wanted me.

Wonder of Wonders

Miracle of Miracles

It takes something quite remarkable to move me to spluttering speechlessness, but that photograph, slid across my desk by nicotine stained fingertips certainly succeeded. There was no mistaking that long, lanky body, the classic profile, the look of lost intent on that face. And there was no mistaking the name on the door behind him.

Louie's. I'd sooner expect to see Mulder chairing a meeting of the Flat Earth Society than in Louie's, but obviously he had been in, because here was a photograph of him coming out. Well, only in the most literal way.

"I thought you had pulled your little watchdog's leash, Assistant Director...Skinner."

I hate the way he hisses out my name. "Agent Mulder was given very specific orders," I say carefully. I will not give him the satisfaction of seeing me angry.

"Do you really suppose he was there for his own entertainment?" That maddening bottom of the throat chuckle makes me want to push him into a wall until that smug smile is only a distant memory.

"I'll have to investigate." I look meaningfully toward the other exit as I reach for my phone.

He hovers at the desk just long enough to hear me ask to have Agent Mulder sent to me immediately.

Mulder's not long in responding. He looks defensive and frustrated. I indicate a chair and resume my own, his personnel file sitting ominously to my left. He knows it, and he sucks his lower lip in as if to keep objections, arguments and insults from tumbling out. But the effect it has on me is overwhelming. It takes me more than a moment to regain my composure.

The conversation goes basically as I would expect it to. Protests and denials. Right to the end I am ready to suspend him for disobeying my direct order. But then he pulls the proverbial rug from under my feet and leaves me speechless for the second time in as many hours.

I ask him if he went to Louie's, not knowing the nature of the business.

"No, I..." He stops and redirects himself reluctantly. "No, Sir. I knew it was."

I nod, finally prepared to hear he had defied me. "Because you were still working on the Waterson case?"

"No, Sir." He shifts awkwardly and stares out the window behind me. "I've been there before."

Everything I knew to be real and rational shifted in that moment. Beliefs I had long held crumbled and crashed around me. Propriety dimmed and a new light flickered up inside me. "Mulder."

Those remarkable eyes came to me, welling with emotion. "Yes?"

I keep my voice gentle. I try not to plead. "Are you trying to tell me you are gay?"

He licks those voluptuous lips. "Well...not exactly. Bisexual." His eyes dart away. His voice is soft, and faintly defeated. "Not that it really matters, at the moment."

It takes me a moment to regain my equilibrium. A longing I've known so long it's become my bed partner is suddenly wrestling with me to see the light of day. "So you just happened to go looking for sex in Waterson's bar?"

"I didn't know it was his bar," he argues. "I was just lonely and I thought I'd find a little companionship for the night, that's all." He stops and adds, coldly, "Never mind. You wouldn't understand."

Wouldn't understand? Wouldn't UNDERSTAND? Mulder, you just described my entire life. With effort, I manage to ask, "And did you find any?"

He bristles like an angry cat. "That's none of your …" He lowers his eyes and shakes his head. "No. I didn't." A soft sigh, possibly of regret. "You might find it hard to believe, but I do have some standards."

Oh, my sweet boy, if you only knew..."I believe you, Mulder." I look down at him, wondering if I dare tell him what I've been feeling all these years? The concept of 'gaydar' is a myth. You can't always tell. I never knew about him. All I knew was my own longing for him.

Restlessly, he rises. "Well, if that's all, Sir, I guess I'll go empty my desk and -"

No. Don't leave. "Mulder."

He turns.

Decision time. And for once I toss protocol aside. "There is one thing." I approach him cautiously. After all, just because we've suddenly discovered a particular orientation in common, it doesn't mean that my overtures to him would be welcome. Yet...I have to know. I draw him to me, gently, tentatively, kiss him softly. I feel him struggle not to give in, and then, relax in my embrace, open his mouth to my invasion. Victory. He's mine. "I've always wanted to do that," I confess. I back away from him, try to smile with numbed lips. "That's all."

He nods, weakly, and leaves me.

I only barely refrain from a whoop of joy. Mine. He's mine.

It's a miracle.

- END -