by Josan
He'd just come out of the shower and droplets of water were making their way
down his muscled body.
He was quite proud of that body, worked hard to maintain it to this level of
quality. No steroids, just plain hard work
on the machines. Couple of hours during the week, good workout on the weekend.
Diet was less important than the genes he'd inherited, though he did watch
what he ate, kept the beer down to a
minimum. And not that horse-piss lite stuff either. If he was going to treat
himself, it was with the best he could find.
Moderation did not mean low standards.
He pulled a towel off the heated railing. One thing to be said for these
expensive hotels, they gave you your money's
worth in the details. Warm towels, multi-head shower stall, whirlpool bath. One
of those nice, thick velvety bathrobes
hanging on the bathroom wall. Even included shaving gear, toothbrush, all the
stuff a regular bathroom would have.
Good thing, too. He hadn't intended to stay past the noon conference. Had
even sent his things ahead to the airport.
He took his time drying himself. Checked himself out in the mirrors.
Decadent sort of thing, these mirrored walls.
Went well with the decadent price of the suite. Not the sort of thing you put
into your own bathroom. But nice to
use, once in a while, if only to support your own idea of self.
He flexed his arms and shoulders. Nice muscle definition there. He pulled in
his stomach. Not that it pulled in much.
Or had to. Rib cage showed well. Upper body was not of the classic proportion
to waist and hips, but hell, no one
had ever complained. He'd gotten lots of remarks from women (and men) about how
small his waist and hips were.
He looked into the other mirror, to view himself from the back. Back was
pretty good, too. Spinal line was
well-resolved. Led the eye to tight buttocks. Good and tight. He slapped
himself, hard, on a cheek. Pleased to see
very little wobble. Repeated the action on the other cheek.
Lightly furred legs. Good, strong legs. Strong thighs.
Arms still firm. No flab.
Pecs. He was quietly proud of those. Filled out his shirts well.
Like his cock filled out his briefs. A little droopy right now, but
something to make a man proud. Not his father's; his
grandfather's. Like some other things that skipped generations. Like hair. His
father had a full head, but hardly any
body hair. He may have inherited his grandfather's receding hairline, but
also his body hair. Some on his arms,
legs; nice tuffs in the armpits; nice bit on his upper chest, smooth line to
the groin, and a good, thick bush to go with
a good, thick cock.
He sent a rather sassy grin at the reflections in the mirror. Assumed a
classic Schwarzenegger pose. Laughed at
himself. Not as good as Arnie, but then Arnie wasn't exactly a classic himself
these days.
He finished drying himself, and went to get into the clothes he'd worn
yesterday. Usually, he hated wearing the same
clothes two days in a row, especially the shorts. But, hell, he'd actually worn
those for only part of the day. He'd be in
DC by mid-afternoon and was going straight home from the airport. He'd change
then.
He finished fixing his tie, put his suit jacket on. Checked in the mirrors
to be sure everything was hanging right.
Checked his watch. He had just enough time to sign out before the airport
limousine was due to leave.
Passing the oversized round bed that was the focus of the bedroom, he leaned
over and swatted two rounded lumps,
huddled under the covers.
"Up and at 'em," he called. "Checkout is in an hour. I'll see you back in
DC."
The door closed as the two lumps began to move. Very slowly. Two different
voices made moaning and/or groaning
sounds as they made their way from under the covers. Two dark heads came out.
Neither looked particularly rested,
in spite of the luxuriousness of their surroundings.
One of them lay still on the bed as other attempted to sit up. It was
obviously very uncomfortable to do so.
"Jesus! Mulder." said the first, "Next time keep your cracks about baldness
and testosterone levels to yourself, will
you?"
"Shut up, Krycek. I'm not the one who called him an old man."
Downstairs, Skinner got into the limousine, feeling quite replenished.
FIN
kinner was looking at his reflections in the mirrored walls of the
ensuite bathroom.
