The grey zone, part 4: Proximity
By Palinurus
August 22, 1999
He has barely finished showering and changing when the doorbell rings. Unhurried, he applies the finishing touches, and it's a while until he gets to the door. When he peeks through the spy hole, Mulder has assumed his best Gatsby posture, nonchalantly leaning against the wall with one shoulder. His long coat hangs down in graceful folds. Skinner wonders how long he's been holding the posture and the look.
In spite of his studied indifference, Mulder's eyes light up when the door opens.
"Mulder. Give me your coat." He takes the coat and puts it on a hanger, turning it around to make sure it hangs straight.
"Your jacket too." Mulder stares at the wall as he hangs that on a second hanger, then shifts his balance as if he wants to walk on.
"Wait a second."
Mulder waits as Skinner walks around him, sniffs up his scent. Shivers as he licks the back of his neck.
"Step outside onto the balcony."
Mulder goes, unlocks the door, leaves it open behind him. Skinner follows, slowly, and notices with satisfaction that Mulder doesn't look at him when he steps outside; he keeps his eyes on the city lights.
"Put your hands on the railing." Mulder complies. Skinner stands next to him and rolls up one shirtsleeve, then moves to the other side and does the remaining one. He pensively traces a vein below the skin before stepping back into the shadows.
It is chilly; he is wearing a thick woolen sweater, and stuffs his hands in his pant pockets. Mulder, in his shirtsleeves, is visibly cold. Skinner studies him as he considers looking back, and as he decides against it. Mulder's shoulders tense, bunch up. After a few minutes the gooseflesh on his skin can be seen from six feet away in the orange reflection of the sodium lights against the clouds. He starts to shiver, and then, finally, hangs his head.
At that moment Skinner moves over to stand behind him, pulls the tails of Mulder's shirt out of his waistband, and runs his warm hands over the cold flesh below it. Mulder closes his eyes and leans back against him, but he says, "Don't move." He caresses the nipples, hardened by the cold, and then flattens his hands against Mulder's ribs. Mulder's torso moves slightly to maintain the contact. There is another shiver, very deep this time.
He pulls Mulder against him and feels his body relax, then open up to him as he thrusts his hand below the waistband, into the shorts. Mulder groans against his jaw, already half-hard despite the cold. Cupping his hand around the genitals, he pushes his hips against Mulder's ass, and feels the cock in his hand swell, now as hard as his own. Leaning against Mulder, who is now leaning against the balcony railing, he fondles him and breathes his scent until the chill begins to reach through his thick clothes.
"You can go upstairs now." Mulder stands for a second, breathing deeply, before he steps away from his embrace and disappears. Skinner goes inside and closes the balcony door, looks around. He considers browsing through a section of the Post, but decides he shouldn't overdo the waiting game. He drinks a glass of water and follows Mulder upstairs.
Mulder has resumed his Gatsby imitation, now leaning against the bedroom wall.
"Stand next to the bed, face the wall."
Skinner leaves him standing there for quite a while, perhaps because he looked a bit too comfortable with his shoulder against the wall. When Mulder puts his hands in his pockets, Skinner orders him to stand still; then he lets him stand again, in silence, until he starts to fidget.
"All right. Unknot your tie and take it off."
Mulder meticulously undoes the knot and lets the tie drop to the floor beside him.
"Pick it up."
Mulder starts to look over his shoulder, then checks himself. After a second, he bends over and retrieves the tie. He straightens, lets his arms fall by his sides, his right hand holding the tie.
Skinner steps forward until their bodies almost touch. From behind, he puts his hands on Mulder's upper arms and stands still for a while. He asks quietly, "Do you trust me?" and feels Mulder's shoulders go stiff in protest. It takes a while before he finally nods. Skinner takes the tie from his hand, fits it across his eyes and knots it behind his head. Then he runs a light finger over Mulder's jaw, neck, underneath his collar. "I won't frighten you," he promises in return. When he lets go and steps back again, Mulder takes a half-step with him, then stops. He separates his feet slightly for balance and stands rigidly still.
"Now strip."
The shoulders move back a bit, there is a brief hesitation before he kneels to take off his shoes. He undresses slowly and stands up again in his boxers, facing the wall.
"You're not done yet."
Mulder hesitates again, then pushes down his boxers, drops them on the untidy heap of clothes next to him, and stands upright, shoulders back.
Skinner, breathing shallowly and again half-erect, watches him admiringly. Again he waits until Mulder begins to shift his weight slightly from one foot to the other before commanding, "Get down on your elbows and knees."
Mulder's back tightens as he considers the prospect. Then, slowly, arms stretched out for balance, he gets down on his knees, remembers the wall in front of him, moves back a bit, and after another second's hesitation, drops the weight of his upper body forward and leans on his elbows.
Skinner feels a bright warm spot spread through his abdomen, like warm oil. He gives himself a moment to enjoy the anticipation, then steps forward and kneels down next to Mulder, laying one hand on the small of his back. He idly caresses a small patch of skin, then asks, "Did you clean yourself before you came here?"
Mulder, head between his upper arms, nods.
"Tell me what you did."
"I... I gave myself an enema." Weak voice.
"Tell me how you did it."
Mulder almost squirms, turns his head away, stays silent.
"Mulder."
The refusal is trying to find a way out, but it remains contained. Stroking Mulder's rigid shoulder blades, he insists, "Tell me."
The shoulder go up a bit higher, then he begins, "I took the enema bag, then I..."
"Slow down. Were you naked?"
"I was wearing a sweatshirt. And thick socks. My feet sometimes get cold because I... tend to hyperventilate when I... do that."
"I know," Skinner says, moving so close their thighs touch, denim to naked skin, stroking the muscles of Mulder's shoulder. "Did you switch off the lights?"
"Most of them, except one. Beside the couch."
"All right, go on."
"I got the enema bag and filled it..."
"Where did you get the bag?"
"Bought it. Mail order."
Skinner smiles to himself, and continued, "And then?"
"I filled the bag with warm water, and then, uh..."
"Did you use any soap?"
"No, I..."
"I want you to always use soap." Anger ripples the muscles in Mulder's back, but he stays silent.
"Where did you go?"
"To the couch... I inserted the..."
"Did you lie down?"
"I lay down on my side, facing the wall, and then I inserted the... tube... into myself..." Mulder is intently looking at the wall, away from his interrogator.
"Where did you put the bag?"
"On the backrest."
"Did you cover yourself?"
"No, I... it was warm."
"What did you think of?"
"I thought of you. Of this." Very quiet now.
"Did you get hard?"
"Yes."
"Good. How long did it take?"
"I don't know, maybe ten minutes..."
"Did you stay hard?"
"Until the cramps started."
"Did you masturbate?"
"No."
"All right. The next time you give yourself an enema, I want you to masturbate. You cannot start before the water is running and you have to finish before getting rid of it. I want you to think of me."
Mulder turns his head as far away as he could, and doesn't reply.
"You will tell me about it afterwards."
An audible swallow.
"Mulder..."
A minute movement of shoulders, then a whispered "Yes."
Skinner leans over him, smells his sweat, and gently kisses the hollow behind his ear. Then he opens the bedside drawer from his kneeling position, and takes out the lube.
"I want you to be silent unless I ask you something. You can't talk, and you have to try not to make any sound at all." He moves behind Mulder and pours some lube on his fingers. "Spread your knees."
Mulder sighs, hesitates, then opens his knees, keeping his feet together.
"Don't move." He gently pries Mulder's cheeks apart with one hand and spreads the lube around his anus with the other. There is a tight little shiver, but nothing else. He pours more, coats his thumb with it. He presses it against the quivering muscle of Mulder's anus, holds it in place for a moment before he forcefully pushes it inside. Mulder gasps, then is silent again. The muscle closes on Skinner's thumb, trying to push it out.
"Don't do that, Mulder. You'll make it hurt more." He feels the muscle slacken a little, but not much. He thrusts again, more gently now. They are kneeling together, motionless except for the slow thrusting, Mulder's rapid breaths loud in the silence.
Skinner moves back, undoes the fly of his jeans, and frees his erection, suppressing a sigh of relief. He uses a puddle of lube on himself, then kneels behind Mulder again.
"This will be painful. It will hurt every time until you learn to relax. Try to keep silent."
He uses one hand to guide his cock into position, then leans forward a bit, and feels the tension in the body beneath him. "Open up for me," he whispers, and pushes on. Mulder bows his head until his forehead almost touches the floor; his biceps contract. Skinner slowly pushes on, as gently as he can against the agonizing resistance. Mulder's breathing changes to rapid, shallow gasps; he rounds his back, the muscles standing out.
"Don't fight me, Mulder."
The rasping breaths become muffled as Skinner pushes in another inch, then stops. He leans forward, careful to not to move his hips, and looks sideways at Mulder's face. He can't see much of it. He reaches forward with his left hand and wipes away a drop of sweat that is trickling down from Mulder's sideburn, underneath the blindfold. "I love making you sweat," he whispers, and feels his cock twitch, and realizes that Mulder feels it too.
He kisses the side of Mulder's neck, rests his head on the damp skin between Mulder's shoulder blades and reaches down around his chest to languidly caress his nipples. His touches cause tiny movements in the muscles in Mulder's arms, which now also support the extra weight of Skinner's upper body. He traces Mulder's ribs with the finger pads of his right hand and feels the caress ripple through Mulder's torso. Then he moves his hands down over Mulder's stomach, follows the contours of the body until he arrives at the crotch; there his hands separate. He waits until Mulder spreads his knees a bit further before letting his hands disappear between Mulder's upper thighs. He reaches further back until he feels himself, embedded halfway in the flesh of Mulder's still-resisting ass. He strokes the hot flesh around his cock, and feels a small moan originate deep inside the body beneath him. Then he slowly pushes in all the way, against the protesting spasms of the sphincter, until he cannot go further. He pauses again, listens as Mulder's ragged breathing deepens and slows down.
His thumbs stroke the skin of Mulder's sac, the place where it attaches to the body, marveling in silence at its softness, moving back a bit, then forward a bit, continuing the caress until he sees Mulder's back lose some of its arch, his neck some of its ridges. Then he slides the tip of his index finger along the length of Mulder's rock-hard erection, and again, until Mulder shifts slightly to push against him, abruptly stilling himself again when his rectum protests. Then, finally, there is a desperate groan.
"Do you need the gag, Mulder?"
A sharp gasp, then a shake of the head, and Mulder is silent again. Skinner continues his subtle torture, and feels tremors go through the back he is resting on in response to what he does. When he finally rights himself, Mulder is panting like a pack mule, his back shiny with sweat.
Skinner carefully moves his knees a little, so he will be able to support his own weight. He pours a small puddle of lube into the palm of his hand and waits, watches his cock disappear between Mulder's buttocks; the sight makes his stomach clench with lust, and he closes his eyes for a moment. When the lube has warmed a bit, he lowers himself again, relishing the renewed pressure of Mulder's warm back against his damp shirt. He wraps one arm around Mulder's midriff, and grabs his cock with the other, spreading the lube over the thin skin. Mulder holds himself very still; even his breathing is now shallow and almost noiseless.
"Keep still," he says into Mulder's ear, then tightens the grip of his hand around Mulder's cock and begins to move it. He feels the muscles in Mulder's body change tone, from nervous defense to hesitant acceptance, then full-fledged surrender, while the arch of the back slowly changes from convex to concave. Mulder barely moves, but he pushes his face against his arm to stifle his sounds, and carefully begins to push his hips back against Skinner's. When Skinner pulls out of him a little bit, then thrusts back in, there is a sudden hitch in Mulder's breathing, and he feels the sphincter tighten against him. But while the rhythmic motions of his hand continue, Mulder rocks with them, oblivious to the pain.
When Skinner suddenly stops there is a gasp, then trembling, sweaty silence. He takes his hand away from Mulder's cock and listens to the shaky breaths, sees the corded muscles on the back of his neck, the shoulders pulled back in anxious anticipation. Skinner kisses his neck, licks at the salty skin, runs his hands over the skin of Mulder's inside thighs and belly. When he accidentally touches Mulder's erection he feels it jump, the muscle in his ass tightening in concert. Mulder whimpers; the sound seems to escape in a split-second of opportunity. "Shh!" he hisses into Mulder's ear. A deep sigh, then only heavy breathing.
Holding Mulder's thighs, he slowly pulls out more than halfway and watches Mulder's jaw muscles clench. He is careful, thrusts very slowly, not moving more than he has to, stroking Mulder's thighs with his thumbs; and it helps. The grip on his cock grows less tight as he pulls out, then pushes in again, and Mulder doesn't tense up against him any more. He lets his hand slither back to Mulder's cock, holds it tightly, and issues a warning growl when Mulder moans.
Skinner tries to catch the counterpoint of his movements and Mulder's, fails, stills his hips and concentrates on the way the landscape of Mulder's back changes with his growing arousal. Mulder is panting wildly now, still pushing his mouth against his forearm to stay quiet, his back hollow, muscles moving to find a compromise between the desperate need to thrust against Skinner's hand and the pain this causes. When Skinner bends over him again and puts his ear against Mulder's neck, he can hear large surges of air rushing through his windpipe. His racing heartbeat is visible in the jugular next to it.
Then Mulder can no longer hold his hips still and pushes against the fist wrapped around his cock. He grunts briefly with the pain, then thrusts mindlessly into the hand that holds his pleasure, his fate, with animal intensity, still silent except for his heavy panting; and a few seconds later he convulses. Skinner feels him coil, and the sudden pressure on his cock makes him groan. Then Mulder's hot semen spurts over his wrist, and the urgent, muffled moans slowly die away as Mulder's body turns to jelly in his arms and threatens to roll sideways on the floor.
Skinner moves his arms to hold Mulder's hips up, the rest of him slung helplessly on the floor, and slowly starts to fuck him. The thrusts are long and slow at first. Mulder forgets to keep quiet, and grunts when the air is pushed out of his lungs. He struggles weakly to get back on his knees, then gives up and hangs in Skinner's arms. The rhythm speeds up gradually, the thrusts become shorter, sharper, and Mulder's grunts become more urgent. Skinner moves one arm below Mulder's chest and pulls him up higher, holding the body in place against the forceful movements of his hips. He curls up, forces his cock into Mulder as far as it can possibly go, and buries his face between Mulder's shoulder blades while he empties himself deep inside. His hips continue to move in tiny thrusts that gradually subside.
The complex statue of their bodies slowly disintegrates to a heap of limbs; it's a while before Skinner lifts his head and slips off Mulder's blindfold. "Get on the bed," he says in the gentlest tone he has. When Mulder has finally picked himself up and moved, Skinner gets up and walks to the bathroom. He returns with a damp, warm towel and kneels behind Mulder, who has curled up on the bed and appears already asleep. Skinner wipes the semen and lube off as much of the slack body as he can reach. That's when he notices the bite marks on Mulder's lower arm: even, double crescents of angry red indentations in the flesh. The skin doesn't appear to be broken, but the marks are deep. He shakes Mulder's shoulder until he's half awake, and asks, "Did you do this?" and on Mulder's nod, "Why?"
"I wanted to stay silent."
Leaning over Mulder, Skinner lifts the arm and strokes the marks, then kisses them.
"You didn't do it," Mulder reassures him.
"I made you do it."
"I think you overestimate your influence," Mulder answers quietly.
Skinner looks down at him speculatively, then drops the towel on the floor and pulls up the comforter to cover them. He switches off the bedside light.
When Mulder stirs, he pulls at his shoulder to roll him over. He rearranges limbs until Mulder is draped over him, one arm around his neck, the other around his waist, hanging on to him limply, warm face on Skinner's chest. Skinner finds the bite marks again by touch, more fascinated than he should be, and strokes them absently until he feels Mulder go slack.
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