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EXISTENCE II: THE TAMBOURINE

by Blue Mohairbear

December, 1999

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All our lives we've looked
into each other's faces.
That was the case today too.

How do we keep our love-secret?
We speak from brow to brow
and hear with our eyes.

-Rumi

Mulder didn't remember exactly how he had gotten home. When he came to, he found himself sprawled on his couch, staring in mute amazement at the peacefully bubbling fish tank. Hell, he worked with the X-Files. A lot of incredible things had happened to him in the past. But this... from fantasy to reality in the time of ten minutes... that was a bit much. And Skinner in that damn bomber jacket... he sighed as he felt his jeans growing tight again.

So, what would happen tonight? Dinner, of course. And then? Well, he knew what *he* wanted. Skinner. Lots of Skinner for dessert. Oh yes, a hot Skinner, preferably naked, horny, and at his mercy. When he closed his eyes, he could just see the object of his fantasies in that fucking sexy bomber jacket, open, the big furry chest naked under it, in jeans and... oh yes, barefooted. Skinner had nice feet. Mulder had seen them in the gym. Next to other really nice things he had seen.

He felt his heartbeat speeding up and suppressed the urge to reach down and get his hand into his pants. No use in wasting the ammo, he would need all of that tonight. He *hoped*.

The muted ring of his cell threw him into a frenzy. He shot up from the couch and desperately searched his abandoned jacked for the damn phone. Could that be Skinner? And if it was him, what did he want? Cancel? 'Sorry, Mulder, but at second thoughts, this might not be a good idea'? He grabbed the cell after the fifth ring.

"Yeah?" He cursed himself for sounding so breathless, so... needy.

" Mulder, it's me. Where have you been all day?"

All tension left him in a rush and let his body crumple down on the couch, limp as a dishrag, his heart still galloping with adrenaline.

"Hey, Scully. I was in town. Shopping. Books, a shirt, stuff, you know."

"Ah. I've been wondering... it's almost four, normally you would have called me at least three times by now."

"I called you this morning, Scully. Before I went running."

"That doesn't count, Mulder. That was at seven and I was about to kill you. So, what is it? Tell me what happened."

"What do you mean, what happened?"

"Mulder... come *on*. I know you. I know your voice. Something happened."

His heartbeat, which had just fallen into a leisurely canter, sped up to gallop again.

"Scully, I don't know what you---"

Even through the phone, he could *see* her rolling her eyes.

"Mul-der. Tell. Me. What. Happened. *Now*."

Ouch. That was going to be tough. Obfuscate, Mulder, obfuscate. You know how to do that. You do it in all your reports to Skinner - oh shit. Wrong direction. Dead wrong.

"Mull-derrrr....."

"Ah, Scully... I'm just a bit... beat, you know? Are you aware of what's going on at the malls these days? It looks like war. People are totally crazy. Christmas crazy. Oh - hey, Scully, I've been thinking about this Santa thing and the alien-"

"Okay, Mulder, if you don't want to talk about it, I've got things to do."

Oops. Not good. Maybe she was only PMSing, but better not risk a shitty day at work on Monday. Oh god - Monday, that would be a regular working day. With Skinner. After... well, after *tonight*... shit, wrong direction again. Do *not* think about Skinner now.

"I, uhm, I met Skinner. At Starbucks."

He held his breath for a moment, but all she said was, "So?"

"So nothing, Scully. We had a coffee together, that is, he had coffee, I had Chai Latte, you know, like always, and biscotti, and... and we... talked."

"You *talked*. Uh-huh." He could see her again, folding her arms and raising her eyebrows at him. Of course, right now, she had to hold the phone, so she couldn't really fold her arms, but-

"*Mulder*. What did he do to make your voice sound like that? Did he threaten to burn all your 302's for the next twenty years? He told you he opened his fridge and found an alien? What? Come *on*, Mulder, give."

"Ha ha, Scully. Funny." What could he say? 'He invited me for dinner, Scully'? Yeah, sure. Great. Just what she needed to know.

"He invited me for dinner, Scully."

Ah, shit.

Silence.

Then, deeply satisfied, "Well, finally."

Mulder blinked.

"What do you mean, well finally, Scully? Well finally I told you, or well finally Skinner invited me?"

"Both, Mulder." Scully sounded amused. "*And* finally Skinner had the wits to act. I thought he'd never get it. Or do something about it. He's an amazing man, but I *was* beginning to think he was awfully dense."

"Get what? Do what? About what?" Mulder winced at the panic in his own voice.

"Mulder", Scully said, very patiently. She sounded like a Mom explaining something to her kid.

"You've been in love with the man for... well, long enough. It's been a year, at least. I may be catholic, Mulder, but that doesn't mean I'm stupid. Or old-fashioned."

"Uhm," was all Mulder was able to get out. He felt himself blushing.

"Is it that obvious?" he asked meekly.

"To me, yes. To others, I don't think so. You don't have that many close friends, Mulder."

"Yeah. Yeah, right. Uh, Scully, what should I do now? I mean, should I-"

"Mulder?"

"Yeah?"

"Feel. Don't think. Use your instincts." The underlying laughter didn't make it better.

"Oh, come on, Scully, don't go Qui-Gon on me here."

"It was you who dragged me to that movie, Mulder. But, seriously - just let it happen. Believe me. It will be ok."

***********

The mystery does not get clearer by repeating the question,
nor is it bought with going to amazing places.

Until you've kept your eyes
and your wanting still for fifty years,
you don't begin to cross over from confusion.

- Rumi

Scully had been right - it was ok. Well, something almost resembling ok, if one didn't count several panic attacks, two full hours of changing clothes over and over again, and buckling knees. It was ok until he actually stood outside of Skinner's apartment, ready to ring the bell, a bottle of champagne in one hot, sweaty paw. Champagne, because he didn't have a clue what went with Persian food.

The door opened before he even had decided to lift his finger to the bell. What was the man, a damn Sentinel?

The damn Sentinel smiled at him, stood back and waved him in. He wore jeans, and a simple grey t-shirt. And still no glasses. Mulder swallowed nervously, while Skinner closed the door behind him.

"Just put your jacket over there. Sorry, I've got to watch this pot." Skinner went back into the kitchen. Mulder followed slowly. The food smelled delicious.

"Ah, champagne", Skinner said with relish. "That's great, Mulder, thanks. Would you put it into the fridge?"

He acted as if having Mulder in his kitchen was completely normal. Mulder was grateful for that, he slowly felt himself loosening up. Leaning against the counter, he sniffed appreciately.

"Smells great," he said. "What is it?"

"Koreshe Kadoo Bademjan. With Pollo."

Mulder grinned. "Sounds dangerous."

Skinner smiled, dipped a spoon into the happily burbling brew, blew on it, and held it to Mulder's mouth.

"Here, taste it."

Mulder stared at the steaming spoon in front of his mouth, then looked at Skinner. Skinner stared back, his eyes a deep dark brown, and nodded. Mulder closed his eyes briefly. Opened his mouth and let Skinner feed him the brew. It was hot, and thick, and spicy, and very good. And Mulder thought that this was probably the most erotic thing anybody had ever done to him. When Skinner took the spoon back, he slowly let it glide over Mulder's lower lip.

"Good?" His voice was rough. And Mulder... Mulder was hard. Achingly hard.

"Yeah," he rasped. "Good."

Skinner nodded.

"So..., " Mulder fought for control, "what does 'Koreshe Kadoo Bademjan' mean?"

Skinner stared at him in surprise, then grinned.

"That memory of yours is a dangerous thing, Mulder. The name means a stew with lamb and lots of nice exotic spices. It has been simmering for two hours now, and I think it's ready. I'll just have to add the eggplants and the zucchini."

"And... Pollo? In Spanish and Italian, that's chicken."

Skinner grinned. "Not in Persian. Pollo is rice."

Mulder nodded. "Is there a dessert?" And, at the same second, remembered the kind of dessert he had been thinking about earlier. Blushed.

Skinner looked at him, and suddenly Mulder had the feeling that those eyes weren't brown anymore, they were black, and they were... dangerous. Skinner grinned, a feral grin, and he licked his lips. Mulder shuddered. Why was breathing so hard, suddenly? He knew that it was exactly the kind of dessert Skinner was also thinking about now, and that made him flush with embarrassment and fiery lust at the same time. Oh god, those eyes... -

"Chole Sard."

Mulder blinked. "Huh?"

Skinner smiled, a kind smile this time. A tender smile. Gone was the hungry tiger that had pierced him with his eyes a few seconds ago.

"Chole Sard. Our dessert. Chole means loose, and Sard means yellow. It's a kind of rice pudding, but much more delicious than the western kind you know."

"Ah." Mulder nodded, as if some darn kind of rice pudding was all that interested him at the moment, while suppressing a moan at the dark rich sound of Skinner's voice.

"And... the drink? I mean, do we keep it 'muslim', without alcohol?" He desperately tried to get his brains clear, clear of the fog that seemed to be lingering everywhere up there in his head since that look Skinner had given him.

God, he really had it bad.

"No..." Skinner said absently, stirring the brew again and looking for the halves of zucchini and eggplants that were gently simmering in another large pot. The smell from a third one told Mulder that the rice was boiling in there.

He watched with fascination as the AD moved around the stove with catlike grace, muscles moving slightly under the grey cotton that covered the big body. He started when his boss continued his sentence.

"No," Skinner still spoke to the pots, "I have some Dugh, that's a carbonated yoghurt drink which usually goes with Persian food. It's very good, and refreshing. But we can have red wine, if you like. Would you serve yourself? I've got to watch here."

"Uh - sure," Mulder stammered, reaching for the already open bottle that stood on the counter beside the stove, barely able to pry his greedy eyes off the magnificent body before him, when Skinner turned around.

They collided slightly - and the touch sent a brushfire through Mulder, and let his knees buckle. He looked at Skinner... watched those dark eyes become black again... he sighed, gave up all pretense... his eyes drifted slowly shut... and he leaned forward, into the heat that enfolded him.

************

I am a tambourine. Don't put me aside
till the fast dancing starts.
Play me some all along.
Help me with these little sounds.

- Rumi

"Fox..." The whisper was rough and hot and breathless in his ear. He wasn't able to answer, already aroused beyond any clear thinking.

"You know, I *was* planning to have dinner with you..." And warm lips wandered slowly over his cheek, while big hands began lightly stroking up and down his arms. Mulder gasped at the waves of shudders that rolled through him.

"So?" he managed. "Let's eat later, then..." And he put his hand behind that strong neck and turned his mouth to Skinner's. When their lips touched, Skinner's grip on his biceps tightened. Mulder sighed - oh, that felt so good, this first kiss, so unbelievably sweet and good - and he felt the hot tip of Skinner's tongue tickling his lips and he opened his mouth... and Skinner tasted so nice, of wine and foreign spices, so warm and good and sexy...

... and Mulder asked himself for a short, anxious moment what *he* might taste like for Skinner, and he remembered having brushed his teeth before he had come here, he had brushed them at least three times --- and then Skinner moaned into his mouth, and strong arms fastened around his shoulders and his waist, and all thoughts deserted him in a rush.

The feeling of their bodies touching and pressing together was incredible. Finally feeling that big, hard-muscled body flush against his own almost pushed Mulder over the edge. Both men were breathing hard already. Mulder drew back and looked into a handsome face that was flushed with desire. A face he had known for years and which was so new to him now. Skinner stared back, with a hot, wanting look. Then he kissed Mulder's ear, and let his lips slowly trail down.

"God, Fox," he murmured. "You don't know how long I've been wanting to do this. You have no idea." And he bit gently down into Mulder's shoulder. A sharp jolt of lust shot through Mulder, and he thrust his hips forward. Only to meet hard resistance. Skinner hissed.

"Wait," he mumbled. He turned around to the stove, and turned all burners off. Mulder stood behind him, slipped his arms around the slim waist and let his hands wander over the taut stomach and the big chest, enjoying the feeling of the defined pecs under his palms. Skinner sighed and leaned back into him.

Mulder nuzzled the soft skin on the inviting neck before him, then returned the favor and buried his teeth into the strong shoulder. Skinner groaned and arched up. He spun around, grabbed into Mulder's hair, and kissed him, hard and demanding now. Mulder moaned helplessly under the fiery assault, his brain completely mush.

The kitchen counter pressed painfully into his back. He wanted... *needed* to lie down, he wanted this big body over him, under him, whatever, and he was dizzy and close to exploding and overwhelmed with feelings, touches, smells and tastes.

As if he had sensed it, Skinner slowly steered him backwards, and in the direction of the couch, still kissing him, while his hands were busy pulling the t-shirt under Mulder's pullover free. Reaching the couch, he let himself fall backwards and pulled Mulder over him.

Oh yes. Oh, yes, yes, yes, someone in Mulder's head chanted, over and over. Yes, yes, yes. This was it. What he had been wanting all the time.

Mulder opened his eyes and looked down. There,lying under him, hot and panting, was the man of his dreams, the beautiful brown eyes glazed over with love and lust.

"I can't believe this," Mulder whispered. Kissed Skinner, tenderly biting the soft lips under his, and said fervently: "Make me, Walter. Make me believe."

And Skinner, from under him, pounced.

************

If anyone asks you
how the perfect satisfaction
of all our sexual wanting
will look, lift your face
and say,
LIKE THIS.
...
When someone asks what it means
to "die for love", point
HERE.
...

When lovers moan,
they're telling our story.
LIKE THIS.

- Rumi

From that moment on, time seemed to pass in flashes for Mulder, but they were like weird slow-motion flashes. He didn't really remember how his shoes and socks had come off, or his pullover and shirt. He felt the leather of the couch against his bare back and realized that Skinner was on top of him, kissing and stroking him everywhere at once.

Another flash, and he was naked, and Skinner was naked, too, deliciously naked, and, oh sweet Jesus, the feeling of a hard, hot Skinner over him, big paws buried in his hair, that was really, really Skinner, his lover now, his *lover*, God yes, kissing him like his life depended on it, rocking his steely-velvety hardness gently against Mulder's own - and Mulder suddenly understood the term "dying of joy". He was sure he was going to do just that in a few moments.

He desperately tried to hold on, which was hard with all that delicious friction of hot skin and hardness against his. Tried to avert his concentration from the rapidly building tension in his groin, concentrating on Skinner's kisses, Skinner's hands, the movement of his lover's hard muscles under the warm, silky skin. He managed to hold on perfectly well for a few minutes more, dragging out the sweet torture - until Skinner began to make the noises.

They were little short moans, or a mix of moans and whimpers; Mulder was sure that Skinner wasn't even aware of making them, but they drove Mulder crazy. He gave up, began to meet Skinner's movements, became faster in unison with him, letting himself be guided by the deep breathless sounds Skinner made into his ear, so cute and hot --- and as the big muscular body in his arms stiffened, and Skinner pressed his face into Mulder's neck and moaned his name, and the sound vibrated through Mulder's whole body --- then Mulder just let go and let himself tumble into his own painfully sweet release with a shout of joy.

************

What is the body? That shadow of a shadow
of your love, that somehow contains
the entire universe.

- Rumi

He opened his eyes to meet the happy, chocolate brown gaze of the warm, sleepy, sated beast in his arms.

"So," Skinner sighed contentedly, and nuzzled his cheek, "are you hungry now?"

"Oh *yeah*," Mulder said dreamily, grinning like an idiot, and he kissed Skinner...,

"...very hungry," he said, and he licked the spot behind Skinner's left ear, a spot he had just found out about, and the licking and sucking of which caused really interesting reactions in his lover...,

"...absolutely hungry," he purred, as his lips wandered down the strong neck and left another mark on the hard-muscled shoulder...,

"...you were my starter, and you're going to be my main course and my dessert, too," he softly sang into Skinner's ear. "For the rest of my life."

************

The minute I heard my first love story
I started looking for you, not knowing
how blind that was.

Lovers don't finally meet somewhere.
They're in each other all along.

- Rumi

***THE END***

The poems are from "The Essential Rumi", Castle Books 1997, translations by Coleman Barks.