First Date

Pairing: Skinner/Doggett.

Rating: R, I think

Status: New, complete

Series/Sequel: Wellll - I probably shan't be able to resist doing a sequel... or two

Disclaimers: Not my characters - no copyright infringement intended

Notes: Oookay... I thank Teri, Jami and Peach for the beta's - um, it's been pointed out to me that Doggett's house is most likely built from brick... I have decided to ignore that fact. First Sk/JD attempt, so please be patient with me

Summary: A short little snippet involving Saturday, painting, Cheerful!Teasing!Skinner - VERY Confused!Doggett - oh, and some mild smut. <g>

First Date
by Jennie

Here he is again. Not really sure why. He just... seems to turn up with increasing regularity these days. I suppose I don't mind - hell, there's no 'suppose' about it. He's good company, comfortable to be with.

Away from work, of course - there, it's a different story. There he's the AD-with-an-attitude. And I'm with the X-Files. Thankfully, he doesn't treat me with the same skepticism with which he always treated Mulder.

We've both seen too much for that.

Anyway - here we are... Saturday morning. I'm only half awake, mumbling and stumbling as I lead him into the kitchen. "Make coffee," I direct. "I need a shower."

He shrugs his agreement and I take off. No need to tell him where the coffee is - this is a regular thing these days. Every weekend he shows up - disgustingly cheerful considering the ungodly hour at which he arrives.

After my shower, I head back down to join him. I'm starting to wake up now. Coffee should help me along my way. I pass through the living room - he's got the TV on, watching cartoons.

Who'd have ever suspected?

Returning with a cup of steaming coffee, I sit at the other end of the couch from him. Silently, we watch the TV while drinking our morning caffeine.

"So," I finally venture, "what's on the agenda for today?"

"Your porch needs a new coat of paint," he informs me.

I groan. "I HATE painting, Skinner."

"So I've noticed."

Oh? What does THAT mean? "You complainin'?"

A small smile appears on his face. "Nope - just offering to help. I don't mind painting - actually, I miss keeping up a house."

Oh. This is a first... he NEVER mentions - or even alludes to - his marriage. The home they shared. Their life together.

I hope he doesn't expect ME to talk about my marriage!

"Right," I grumble. "Porch - paint... I think I have some leftover paint in the basement."

He shakes his head. "No," he says. "I think a new color for the trim on the house is needed - white is... boring."

Yeah? Then it occurs-

"The trim? ALL the trim?" I ask, somewhat horrified at the thought.

He nods solemnly. "Yes, John. New color on the trim... Sage Green, I think. And while we're at it, the whole house could use a coat of paint. A yellowish-brown, maybe."

Fuck ME!

"Jesus, Skinner - can't I just hire someone to do it?"

"Nope," he says cheerfully. "C'mon - finish your coffee and we'll go to the store to pick out colors."

"You," I accuse, "sound like my wife."

Then I sink down into the couch and cover my face with both hands. He's gonna kill me - if I don't die of embarrassment first, that is. Thankfully, he ignores my lapse and concentrates on Tom and Jerry.

After a second cup of coffee, feeling at least mostly awake and having resigned myself to - <shudder> - painting, I turn to him. "We might as well go now," I tell him in a voice that leaves no doubt about how I feel about what he's planned for the day.

*****

Christonacrutch! All my very justified reasons for hating this kind of work come back to me vividly. Standing in the shower, letting the hot water ease my sore muscles, I wonder WHY I gave in - even more, why doesn't it seem at all odd that I've accepted his presence in my life so easily?

He's still here - waiting for his turn in the shower. Down in the kitchen starting dinner.

A rather frightening thought occurs... are we dating?

Do I WANT us to be dating?

SHIT! Impatiently, I get out of the shower, dry off and dress in a comfortable pair of shorts. I'm not gonna think about it.

Before heading downstairs, I search my drawers for something that might fit him. Ah ha! A baggy pair of sweats, boxers, and a t-shirt. That should suffice. I leave the clothes in the bathroom, get a fresh towel out for him, and then go down to the kitchen.

"Your turn," I announce. "I found something clean for you to wear - go on and clean up."

"Okay." He turns down the heat under the rice, checks the chicken baking in the oven, then gives me directions re the rice before leaving the room.

Beer in hand, I go to the living room and collapse on the couch. TV on, I let my mind wander. He's upstairs... in my shower... NAKED - slippery - DAMN.

Yes, I realize, I DO want us to be dating. In fact, I want it badly. He's so - his presence in my home, the easy way we seem to fit together... shit. I'm not - HE'S not -

Is he?

Am I?

Sure, in my misspent youth I experimented with other guys. So, I suppose, did he. But. So many years ago, that was. And, I'd decided that I liked women - preferred them - right?

Then why, all of the sudden do I find myself considering...

By the time he rejoins me - looking mighty fine in those sweats and that tight t-shirt - I've turned the heat off under the rice and set the table. And am well into my second beer.

He checks on the chicken again, grunts and sets the timer for another 15 minutes, grabs himself a beer and walks in to sit on the couch. I watch his every move. Closely. Then, I shrug and join him in front of the television.

"Are we dating?"

Oh my god! WHO said that?

Skinner glances at me from the corner of his eye. "Not as long as you persist in calling me Skinner."

Huh?

"I make it a firm rule never to date people who call me by my last name."

Okay. "Um... do you WANT us to be dating... Walt?" I shift uncomfortably as he turns the full force of his attention on me. "I mean - are you even um... do you even DO that? Date men, I mean."

"Not for many years now - since before my marriage."

"Sooo - why me?"

A wicked grin curls his mouth. "Because you're hot, John-Boy. And cute."

Hot? Okay, I can live with that, but... CUTE?

Who is this guy and what has he done with my boss?

"I am NOT cute," I tell him sulkily, arms crossed on my chest.

"Uh huh," he says. Humoring me now. What have I gotten myself into?

"I'm NOT - no way, no how. Not cute. Handsome," I tell him firmly. "Manly."

He snorts.

Somehow, I think that he'll now take every opportunity to tell me I'm ... CUTE.

Why don't I mind all that much?

A couple of swallows of beer give me a much-needed chance to regroup. Yeah... retreat and regroup. I set the bottle aside and look at him - really look at him.

How the hell can he be so fucking calm about this? He's so... CALM. Staring back at me with placid chocolate eyes, a slight smile on his lips... NOT breathing noticeably hard like I am.

"What... ah - "

That would be me - unable to string a coherent thought together.

I frown and swallow. Open my mouth for another try - then groan...

Fuck this!

With more confidence than I'm actually feeling, I move right next to him, put my arms up around his neck, and kiss him. He freezes for a beat. Then - damn! - THEN he unfreezes.

His arms close behind me, he growls - yes, GROWLS - and opens his mouth to mine.

Becomes octopus-man. I'm telling' ya - if that guy only has two hands, I'll eat Mulder's tie. Not that I'm complainin'. No, definitely not complainin'.

Cooperating.

Enthusiastically.

Pressing my hips - my cock - against him.

Gasping at the fiery pleasure.

Hands push at my shoulders. A voice keeps repeating my name.

Don't bother me now, dammit!

"John!"

The voice breaks into my haze. "Wha- What is it?" Dragging my eyes open, I stare blankly at Skinner.

"The chicken is done."

Chicken? He's interrupting this over CHICKEN?

My outrage knows no bounds. I glare at him.

Fucker laughs. Rises to his feet and walks to the kitchen. "I'll at least turn the oven off - wouldn't want the fire department interrupting us, now would we?"

Uh. I... Yeah. I mean, no... I mean - does this mean what I think it means?

Apparently we're not only dating - we're about to fuck.

Oh boy. Nervously, I listen as Skinner moves around in the kitchen... What the HELL is taking him so long? If he doesn't get back out here soon I'm gonna - well, I'm gonna lose my nerve.

He walks back in and stops just in front of me. "Where?" he asks softly.

Where? What? I just stare at him without comprehension.

Finally it hits me. Where... "Um - I don't - what do you? - SHIT!" I ignore his grin and THINK. "Upstairs," I say weakly. "Yeah," my voice strengthens. "In bed - my bed."

"Uh."

I got him! Resisting the urge to dance with triumph, I take one of his hands in mine. "Come with me," I say.

"Right. With you."

Still pleased that I've actually managed to give him a taste of his own medicine, I lead the way upstairs and into my bedroom. Stop just inside of the doorway. Stare at the bed.

Skinner gives me time.

I stare some more.

"John," he rumbles in my ear, "we don't have to-"

WHAT? DON'T HAVE TO?!

Is he crazy?

"Oh, yes," I say with conviction. "Yes we do."

"I don't want to rush you."

Shit, rush me, already!

He laughs. Fuck - I actually said that out loud. Lord, take me now... Taking me at my word, Skinner moves toward the dreaded bed, pushing me along in front of him. Numbly I allow it - as if I had a chance in hell of arguing right now. As if I had any INCLINATION to argue...

The world spins and I gasp as I land on the mattress with a bounce. I stare up at him, reveling in the look of dazed admiration on his face. Teasingly, I stretch, still meeting his gaze.

He growls.

Damn, I like it when he does that.

He climbs into the bed and drapes himself atop me.

Oh... yeah - I like that, too.

He kisses me.

I stop thinking.

Somehow we're both naked. I assume Skinner managed to accomplish this - I'm lost in admiration for his dexterity. I tell him so.

"Hate to disappoint you, John-Boy, but YOU undressed us."

I did?

Wow.

"So... " I challenge him, "must be your turn to do something."

Mental note - NEVER challenge this man in bed.

Before I know what's happenin', my cock is in his mouth. And, what a talented mouth it is! Squirming under his attentions, I find that I want-

"Walt!"

He ignores me.

"WALT!"

That doesn't work, but a tug on his ears does the trick. "What?" He's not sounding happy at my interruption.

"Turn around," I say roughly. "I want to... I need to-"

No protest at that - no, with a grunt, he shifts until we're in the classic 69 position. Then he takes me in his mouth again.

Oh god!

I have no recourse - I must... Opening my mouth, I return the favor. Damn, he tastes good. Salty - a little bitter - and his skin... the FEEL of his cock.

I won't last. Not a chance in hell! Already I'm on the verge - and so is he. The head of his cock swells in my mouth and he freezes for a beat. Then - oh yeah - he's coming, pulsing in my mouth, pouring himself down my throat.

At the first pulse - the first load of semen delivered into me - I lose it. I honestly don't remember ever coming so hard in my life...

I collapse, my head resting on his thigh, and concentrate on breathing.

Eventually he stirs. "'m hungry," he mumbles.

"How romantic," I grouse.

"We'll have plenty of time for that later - right now, I need sustenance."

Later?

MORE?

Hell - I'm gonna need my energy for THIS! "Okay," I agree reluctantly. "Food now. Then..."

He smiles at me with promise. "Oh yeah," he says, "THEN."

With that promise in mind, we dress and walk down to eat our dinner.

end