Unmasked

by M Butterfly

Category: Mulder/Skinner

Rating: NC-17 for explicit m/m sex, language

Spoilers: None

Archive: Sure! Just ask

Summary: Mulder and Skinner celebrate Halloween in a most unusual way--even for them.

Acknowledgments: This story wouldn't have been possible without the help of one very special person: Lucy Snowe. She not only provided me with invaluable information about Washington, DC--a place I have yet to visit--but also 11th-hour beta services so I could post the damn thing before Halloween 1999 vanished into the ether. Thank you, darling goddess. Your Highlander tape will be in the mail this Wednesday.

Diclaimer: I didn't win the lottery this weekend, so the boys *still* don't belong to me. Alas, they belong to CC, Ten-Thirteen Productions and Fox Broadcasting, and I'm just borrowing them. Again. No copyright infringement is intended.

Unmasked

by m. butterfly

Washington, DC
October 30, 1999

Frankenstein's monster stared, slack-jawed and wide-eyed, at his bride.

"Uhhhhhhhn," the creature growled.

His beloved, a tall figure in white, was equally transfixed.

As were the four others in the room. They were proud of their own handiwork, impressed with each other's, and watched in silence as the principals struggled to communicate.

The monster was the first to find his voice. "Jesus, Fox! Say something so I know it's really you."

"You look--fucking amazing!"

"Yup! It's Mulder," Scully snickered at her partner's elbow. "But he's right, Walter. You *do* look great. You both do."

Skinner lurched forward, still not accustomed to the black platform boots, to get a closer look. Even if he *had* been wearing his glasses, he would have been hard-pressed to recognize his lover. The high-necked gown...the dramatic eye makeup...the pencil-thin brows...the full crimson lips...the blood-red nails...the fright wig with its customary lightning bolts...the curvaceous hips...the high round *breasts*! It was hard to believe that Fox Mulder was under all that paint and padding.

As the monster approached his mate, Mulder had to tilt his head back--way back--to maintain eye contact. Walter Skinner was tall to begin with. But now he was positively huge, thanks to the boots and an extended forehead. At six feet, Mulder was just a couple inches shy of Skinner's normal height. But, in his dainty flat shoes, he was nearly a foot shorter.

Skinner gazed down at his bedmate of more than a year and slowly shook his massive, flat-topped head from side to side. "You are *so* beautiful."

Mulder rolled his eyes, the spidery lashes fluttering. "Yeah, right."

"Insulting my work are we, Agent Mulder?" asked the man who stood at Mulder's other side.

"Uh, no, Terry. It's just that--"

"Listen, sweetheart," Terry chided while adjusting Mulder's floor-length dress. "If I can help a 50-something actress pass herself off as Ophelia or Juliette, I can certainly turn a pretty FBI agent into Elsa Lanchester."

Scully laughed as her partner sputtered, then turned to the pair flanking Skinner. "And *you two* did a great job with Walter."

"Thanks, Dana, but all the credit goes to Rick," said the woman. "All I did was hand him things and try not to get in the way."

Rick frowned at her. "Oh, puh-lease, cuz! You did most of the body paint and the scars." He gave Skinner another once-over and his scowl disappeared. "But the head *did* turn out really well, didn't it?"

Rick Thompson, a one-time Beverly Hills hair stylist, was now the wigmaster at the renowned Folger Theatre in Washington, DC. It was where he'd met his lover, Terry Williams, the company's makeup artist. They both adored Rick's cousin, Wendy Ackerman, so when she'd asked them to help her friend's partner and boss get ready for a charity costume ball, they just couldn't say no. Even if it meant racing over to the Willard Hotel the minute the cast of Hamlet no longer needed their services.

And, they had to admit, it *had* been fun. A bit of a challenge--especially with Fox "I-can't-sit-still-for-more-than-30-seconds-at-a-time" Mulder--but fun nonetheless.

Wendy hadn't minded giving up her Saturday night, either. Like her college roommate Dana, Wendy was single and not currently seeing anyone. Besides, she'd been *dying* to meet Dana's partner and boss, and was touched that this small circle of friends had taken her into their confidence. And the two men's reactions to their respective transformations almost would have been worth passing up a date with the studly junior partner at her law firm. Almost.

Now the monster and his bride were examining each other's fingernails--Skinner's were painted black to match his lips--but Wendy believed it was just an excuse to hold hands. She noticed the simple gold bands they were wearing on their ring fingers and sighed to herself. God, they were so cute. Just like Terry and Rick.

"Hey!" Everyone turned to look at her. "Does anyone have a camera? We should get some pictures of these guys."

"Great idea!" Scully enthused. "Terry? Did you--?"

"But of course! Believe it or not, I used to be a Boy Scout. And while I never *did* get the knack of tying a sheep dip knot--"

"That's sheep *shank*, darling," Rick supplied helpfully.

"All right, then, *shank*, whatever--at least I took the Scout's motto to heart. Voila!" He'd walked over to a bag he'd left near the door of the luxurious suite, reached in, and pulled out a Polaroid Land camera with a flourish. "Be prepared, I always say."

"Christ! This is as bad as my wedding," Skinner groused to Mulder as Terry snapped shot after shot. Then, to the group, "We really appreciate everything you've all done for us tonight, but shouldn't Fox and I be going?"

Scully checked her watch. "Relax, Walter. You've still got 10 minutes to get downstairs. Afraid that Mulder's going to turn back into a pumpkin at midnight?"

Mulder was about to say something extremely rude to his partner when Terry handed him the first photo. "You make such an adorable couple! So in love."

Skinner would have turned scarlet if not for the sickly green body paint that stained his hands, forearms, neck and face. Mulder, however, couldn't hide his discomfort. And Scully took full advantage.

"Look! A blushing bride! I never would have guessed you were still a virgin, Mulder."

He burned even redder. "Scully, I swear to God--" Then he realized she was giggling--Dana Scully was *giggling*!--so he just wagged a perfectly manicured finger at her. "I'm going to get you for this, you know. And stop smiling, Walter! Whose side are you on, anyway?"

Skinner captured Mulder's outstretched hand and brought it to his lips. "As if you have to ask."

"Oh, that reminds me," Terry said. "Mulder, do you have the lipstick I gave you?"

The agent tore his eyes away from Skinner's face and found Terry's. "Uh, yeah. In my, um--" He patted the little drawstring pouch attached to the front of his gown.

"Very good. Remember, you may need a touch-up if you eat anything."

"Or any *one*," Scully added with an evil smirk.

Terry jumped in to distract Mulder from attacking his partner. "Actually, Dana has a point, Fox. This stuff is supposed to stay on no matter what. Like the stuff Rick and Wendy used on Walter. But I'm a bit sceptical, so how about a little test?"

"What *kind* of test?"

"Well, I suppose you could drink a glass of water and see if you leave any marks, but that's so boring." He draped an arm around Rick and grinned. "I think a kiss would be a lot more fun. Don't you?"

"What? Now? Here? In front of everyone?" Mulder looked at the room full of nodding heads and snorted. "No fucking way."

"No one said anything about *fucking*, Mulder." Scully again. "Just kissing."

Mulder gaped at her. "What are you--the female reincarnation of Lenny Bruce? Don't give up your day job, Scully." He turned to Skinner. "Come on, Walter. Let's go down to the party before I do or say something I *may* regret later."

Skinner's eyes were sparkling with amusement and affection. "Okay, babe. Okay. But I want to see something first." Gently, he took Mulder by the shoulders, cocked his head, then looked at his lover with a slightly puzzled expression.

"Walter? What is--?"

Before he could finish, Skinner stepped in and kissed him. Square on the mouth. Mulder protested for all of half-a-second, then parted his lips and melted into a sizzling clinch.which ended in a flash of light.

"Terry!" Skinner mock-scolded. "You didn't!"

"Oh, but I did!" he crowed, waving the photograph in the air as it developed before their eyes. Then he walked forward and scrutinized their faces. "And not a trace of lipstick! I guess the stuff works after all."

Pleasantly woozy, Mulder leaned against Skinner. "Uh-huh."

Terry winked at the bigger man. "Okay, kids. It's almost show time. Mulder, if you need to pee, I suggest you go now."

Mulder righted himself. "Why?"

"You're a *woman* tonight," Terry sighed. "If you have to take a leak during the party, will you remember to use the ladies' room?"

"He could always come back up here," Rick pointed out.

Mulder touched Skinner's arm. "I'll just be a minute."

"Take your time, babe. I'm not going anywhere without you."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

As it turned out, Mr. and Mrs. Frankenstein's Monster arrived at the Willard's chandeliered ballroom at the stroke of midnight, just as the doors were being opened.

"Happy Halloween, Fox," Skinner whispered into his lover's ear as they entered the magnificent room, lavishly decorated for one of the biggest events of the season: a gala fundraiser for cancer research. Mulder had mentioned it months ago, joked about going as a couple, and Skinner had shocked the shit out of him by getting tickets and booking a suite for the weekend. But he'd figured they'd be safe enough. After all, it was a costume ball limited to 500 guests, so the chances of them running into someone they knew were slim to none.

Still, Mulder was slightly nervous--yet, at the same time, exhilarated by the sheer audacity of what they were attempting to pull off. He and Skinner had never gone dancing in the DC area before; it was just too risky. And, the few times they *had* hit the dance floor, it was always at a gay club, either in Key West or Provincetown. The idea of infiltrating this straight environment, of posing as a *woman* and trying to get away with it, was giving him a perversely huge rush.

Skinner, meanwhile, was more concerned about keeping upright than being outed. The Frankie boots made walking treacherous, never mind dancing. He wanted a Scotch to calm him. But just one. Getting even mildly tipsy in four-inch soles was tantamount to suicide.

"Babe, how about something to drink?"

Mulder looked up, and wondered if his neck would be sore in the morning. "Sure! I could go for a beer."

"Uh-uh. Wine. Or a cocktail."

"But I want a *beer*."

A greenish hand stroked Mulder's closely shaved cheek. "That's not very ladylike, Fox."

"Oh, all right. I'll have wine, then. Shit."

"That's my--" He smiled sweetly. "--girl."

"Walter--!"

They'd come to an empty table, and Skinner pulled out a chair. "You wait here. I'll be right back."

Mulder grabbed his lover's arm and dug in his fingers. "What?!? Oh, no! You're not leaving me here by myself!"

"Look at the line for the bar, Fox. It's mostly men, getting drinks for their wives. We don't want to call unnecessary attention to ourselves, now do we?"

"I--I guess not. Okay, go. But hurry! I'm scared shitless as it is."

With exquisite tenderness, Skinner put his hand under Mulder's chin and tilted the exotic face up for a brief kiss. "You having nothing to worry about. You're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen."

*Thing*. Not *man*.

Mulder sighed. "Yeah, yeah. Go get me my wine. Red. Please."

"Anything for you, gorgeous."

He watched Skinner shamble over to the bar. Focusing on the broad shoulders and back--all of it pure Skinner; no enhancement was needed--was a comfort. And the reason why Mulder didn't notice Superman until he was already sitting next to him.

"Hello, pretty lady," said a somewhat flabby Man of Steel.

"Uh, hi," he said as softly as he could. //Shit! Shit fuck shit!// He got to his feet, labouring to find Skinner in the crowd. The panic began to bubble up inside as the stranger also stood and gave him a predatory look.

"Wow! I just love tall women. You must be a model or something."

//Nice pickup line, asshole. Who let *you* in here?// Mulder laughed shakily. "No, no. I'm a c--police officer."

Instead of being frightened off, the caped lothario moved in a little closer. "A beautiful gal like you a *cop*? How about that! My name's Brad, by the way. What's yours?"

Mulder touched his left hand to his hair. //Check out the ring, you moron.// "Well, I let my *husband* call me Fox."

"No shit! What does everyone else call you?"

//Jesus, buddy! Take the hint!// "Officer."

He whooped. "Oh, I like you! And I really like your voice. It's so deep. Very sexy."

"Too many male hormones, I guess."

Brad fixed his eyes on Mulder's ample bosom. "Oh, I wouldn't say that."

Mulder was about two seconds away from flattening the guy when Skinner appeared, carrying their drinks. He handed Mulder his glass of wine, put a possessive arm around his shoulders, then nodded curtly at the pseudo-superhero. "Who's your friend, sweetheart?"

"Walter, this is Brad. Brad, Walter."

"Nice to meet you folks. Have fun tonight." And then, faster than speeding bullet, he was gone.

"You okay, Fox?"

Mulder sank into his seat and threw back half the drink. "Fucking idiot was *hitting* on me! Staring at my boobs! Now I know what Scully means about feeling like a piece of meat half the time."

"I'm sorry, babe. I won't let you out of my sight again."

"Goddamned right you won't."

"At least we know you make a very desirable woman."

Mulder poked Skinner in the chest. "Yeah, well, if hell ever freezes over and we do something like this again, *you* can be the girl."

"Now *there's* a scary thought," the giant snickered, but his expression mellowed when the live band began to play a romantic ballad. He took Mulder's hand. "May I have the honour?"

They were careful getting to the dance floor, and even more so on it. It was awkward at first, but Skinner neither fell off his elevator boots nor crushed Mulder's toes with them. That helped them relax, and they were soon enjoying themselves, touching and smooching like most of the other couples. Before they knew it, it was two o'clock, at which point an announcement was made to turn watches back one hour to mark the end of Daylight Savings Time.

The night was still young.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The party was scheduled to last until dawn, but by four in the morning--which was actually five--Fox Mulder and Walter Skinner were ready to go back to their suite. More than ready.

The last few songs the band had played were quite sultry, and the lovers' bodies had been getting closer, their kisses longer and deeper. Mulder led Skinner off the dance floor, his erection invisible behind the folds of his voluminous skirt.

By the time they reached their suite, it was all they could do not to rip the costumes off each other. They kissed madly as Mulder struggled to remove Skinner's squarish black jacket, while Skinner reached around Mulder's back to unzip the gown and get it off him. Reluctantly, he detached himself from Mulder's lips to free the younger man's arms from his sleeves. And nearly came in his pants as he watched the dress fall to the floor.

"Oh, my!"

Mulder was wearing women's undergarments: a white satin corset and tiny briefs, and lacey stay-up stockings.

"So beautiful!"

He had no cleavage to speak of, of course; it took a pair of falsies to fill out the corset's C cups. But it was definitely Mulder's flesh that was filling out the briefs so nicely.

"Want you, Fox. Want you so badly." He pulled Mulder back into his arms--out of the pool of fabric surrounding his ankles--for more searing kisses, sliding his hands into Mulder's silky briefs. Strong fingers kneaded the muscular buttocks before scrabbling like spiders toward the cleft between them.

Meanwhile, Mulder was getting nowhere with Skinner's clothing. The jacket was finally off, but he was too mashed up against the big man's body do much more than pull the black t-shirt out from the back of his trousers. He was desperately trying to get a hand down Skinner's pants when his own briefs were literally ripped away--thank God for velcro!--and the coolness of satin against his cock was replaced by the heat of a wool-covered groin. His frustration was mounting, and he moaned into Skinner's busy mouth.

But Skinner was too consumed with subhuman lust to notice; the guttural sounds coming from deep in his throat would have made Boris Karloff proud.

They were groping each other in the middle of the room, and all Skinner knew was that he needed a wall, couch, bed--something to push Mulder against so he could fuck him. He shuffled forward, stopping when Mulder's ass hit a heavy wing-backed chair. Breaking the kiss, Skinner spun his startled lover around and began fumbling with his fly of his Frankenstein pants.

"Walter!" Mulder tried to get away, but was trapped between Skinner's hip and the back of the chair. "Lube! Need lube!"

Skinner didn't just growl; he *roared*. He knew they needed the Astroglide. Of course he knew it. But it was too far away, goddamnit! On the night table in the bedroom. Mulder, however, was right here. At his mercy.

Mulder had never been so simultaneously turned on and frightened in his life. Skinner would never take him without preparing him first--would he? And Mulder wouldn't want him to--right? Then he was being lifted, bent over and spread open, and knew what he had to do.

"Walter!" he barked, competing with his own ass for Skinner's attention. "Listen to me! We have to--" But the next words died on his lips. He reached down and grabbed the bag sitting on the chair. Yes! He was right. It was the stuff that Terry and Rick had given them to remove their makeup and nail polish. He fished around in the bag as a thick thumb tried to worm its way into him.

"Walter!!!" Now he was yelling, shoving a jar over his shoulder at Skinner. "Here! Take it!"

"Huh?" Skinner opened his eyes and took Mulder's offering with a grunt. "Wha--?"

"Cold cream! Use it, for fuck's sake! I'm not a real woman!" As if to prove his point, he yanked the wig from his head and hurled it across the room.

"Jesus, Fox!" Skinner wrapped himself around Mulder and pressed his face into the smaller man's upper back. "I'm so, so sorry."

He batted away the powerful arms. "Fuck me now. Apologize to me later."

Skinner straightened and twisted the lid off the jar with trembling hands. The thick cream was undeniably icy, and he did his best to warm it before touching Mulder's anus. When Mulder sighed, he slid the finger in carefully.

"That's better! Much better. More."

"I love you, Fox," Skinner said in a thick voice, still mortified by his own savage behaviour. He added another finger and rotated both of them gently, stretching the small hole, readying its protective muscles for the real thing. With his other hand, he coated his cock with the white goo, coaxing it back to the way it was before he nearly--

"I love you, too! Now get this goddamned corset off me!"

Without thinking, Skinner wiped his hands on the side of his pants and started trying to get Mulder a little more naked.

But then Mulder felt his ass cheeks being parted, and something big and slippery gliding between them. Skinner's fingers flew to Mulder's chest, pulling uselessly at satin ribbons in their futile attempts to find bare flesh. Then one hand dropped and grasped Mulder's erection, began pumping it as Skinner pushed himself into the body he held against him.

When Mulder pushed back automatically, aching to be completely filled, he vaguely realized he wasn't even standing on the ground, but on the tops of Skinner's boots.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

They expected the rap at the door to come any minute. A phone call. A bang on the ceiling from the room below.

But there was nothing. Just the sounds of their own dying moans and heavy breathing. Their neighbours must have still been at the ball.

They both shuddered as Skinner's depleted cock slipped out of Mulder, trailing a thin white thread down his thigh to the top of his stocking.

With another kiss to the back of his neck, Skinner eased Mulder down to the thickly carpeted floor. "Stay there, babe. I'll be right back."

The younger man nodded and clutched the chair, staring down at his feet. Jesus! He was still wearing his shoes, along with the corset and stockings. No signs of cum stains on the black leather flats, though. He toed them off and waited for his legs to give out on him.

He was starting to sag to the ground when Skinner returned and caught him, then swept him up in his arms and took him into the bedroom. He set Mulder down on the mattress, guided his head onto a pillow, and cleaned him up. Mulder kept his eyes closed during the entire process, silently following Skinner's instructions to lift his hips or spread his legs.

Once he was finished with Mulder, Skinner got to work on the lingerie. He rolled the stockings down and off Mulder's legs, and dropped them beside the bed. He'd wash them in the sink later. It was the corset that was his main concern. He wiped Mulder's semen and his own cold cream fingerprints off it, then dabbed at the delicate fabric with a slightly soapy cloth. The final results were much better than he'd expected.

"I think it'll be okay," he mused. He put aside his cleaning aids and touched Mulder's elbow. "Roll over, babe. Let's get you out of this thing."

Mulder let himself be turned onto his stomach. After what seemed like an eternity, he felt warm lips inching their way up his back. His *bare* back. He pushed up and got to his knees, finally naked. He was about to head back to the outer room to find the cold cream when a hand on his forearm stopped him.

"Fox? Talk to me."

Mulder shook off the hand. "There's nothing to say. I just want to wash this shit off my face and go to sleep."

He hadn't heard that tone in Mulder's voice for a long, long time. He knew he was in deep trouble. He followed the nude man out of the bedroom.

"Babe, I said I was sorry. You know I'd never hurt you! I would've stopped in time. I swear." He ran a hand over his head and cursed. Except for the jacket, he was still in full costume.

Now Mulder was in front of the bathroom mirror, slapping cream all over his face. His hair was plastered to his head from being stuck under the wig, and he felt like an aging drag queen. He stared straight ahead, ignoring the giant standing behind him.

Skinner reached out tentatively and touched Mulder's shoulder blade. His heart lurched when Mulder flinched.

"Please, Fox! You have to believe me. I love you! I wouldn't have--forced myself on you."

Using a wash cloth, Mulder viciously wiped the cream off. "I know."

"It's just that I got--you *know*? If you know, why are you so angry with me?"

Mulder splashed his face with water, ducked his head under the faucet to wet his hair. Eyes closed, he grabbed for the towel he instinctively knew Skinner was holding out for him. He dried himself off and reached for his toothbrush.

"I'm not angry with you. I'm angry at myself."

"Why? I'm really confused here."

Mulder squeezed some paste onto his brush. "I got cocky. Thought I was it. That you wouldn't want anyone else."

"What the hell are you talking about? You *are* it, you dumb fuck! What the hell happened here tonight that makes you think I want someone else?"

"Ush a ninnit." He finished brushing his teeth, spat into the sink, rinsed, and wipe his mouth on the towel. "You miss being with a woman."

Skinner's green jaw dropped. "What?!?"

"Don't deny it, Walter. You were ogling me all night, and I saw how you nearly creamed yourself when I took off that fucking dress."

Skinner slapped his massive forehead. "I *always* ogle you, whether you're wearing women's clothing or not! And it wasn't the fake breasts that almost gave me a heart attack. It was the way your dick was practically bursting out of that sexy underwear." He sat down on the toilet seat with a groan. "Jesus H. Christ! I'm married to an idiot."

For the first time that evening, Mulder looked down at Skinner. "If the tits weren't turning you on, then how come you wouldn't take the corset off when I asked you to? And how come you were grabbing at them while you fucked me?"

Skinner raised his head and gazed into his lover's tormented eyes. "Fox," he said softly, "I tried to undo those hooks, but my fingers were slippery from the cold cream. I thought there might be some way ofthat thing from the front, but there wasn't. And as I was trying to undress you, you kept rubbing your ass against me and telling me to fuck you. So I did. I *made love* to you. And not for one second did I think or pretend or fantasize I was with a woman."

His face still angled up, he slid off the toilet to kneel before Mulder. "I'm sorry I ever took you to this party. I knew how important cancer research is to you, and thought it would be a great way to go dancing without being persecuted because we're a couple of men who love each other. I guess I was wrong."

Mulder dropped his hands to his lover's shoulders. "No, you're right. You're married to a fucking idiot."

Skinner knee-walked forward and splayed his fingers over Mulder's hip bones. "I love you. I love your body. I love your cock. I love touching it, tasting it, smelling it, and feeling it in me. I don't want you to have a sex change. I don't want you to have boobs. I don't miss being with women, but I would shrivel up and die if I couldn't be with you."

Then Mulder was in his face, in his arms, hugging him, kissing him, begging forgiveness, professing love.

And Skinner was hugging him back, kissing away tears of contrition, returning love. "Babe," he finally panted, "would you do me a favour?"

"Anything, lover. Anything."

Skinner smiled. Not "Walter" or "Seymour" or even "big guy," but "lover." Hmmmm. "Would you help me get out of this stupid costume?"

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

They stepped out of the shower--squeaky clean and human again--as the sun was rising. But the suite's thick curtains kept the light out, and they tumbled into bed.

"Thanks for bringing me here," Mulder whispered, his lips brushing the side of the older man's neck. "I'm sorry I let my insecurities fuck everything up."

"Hey! Hey!" Skinner rolled them over onto their sides. "You didn't fuck anything up. Didn't we have a great time at the dance?"

"Yeah, but--"

"And aren't we having a great time now?"

"Sure, Walter, but--"

"Then stop apologizing."

Mulder sighed. Happily. He was secretly glad that Skinner was insane. "Okay. Oh, Walter?"

"Yes, babe?"

"Do you really love my, uh, cock?"

"Worship it."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Would you like some proof my devotion?"

Of course he would. "It's late--well, early--and you're probably tired..."

"We don't have to check out of here until tomorrow morning," Skinner reasoned, "so I can catch up on my sleep later." Then he dived under the covers.

And the former monster and his bridegroom proceeded to act like honeymooners for the rest of the weekend.

Fini
October 31, 1999