TITLE: Sad Lovers and Giants 04/? - Sky is a Glove
NAME: Mik
E-MAIL: ccmcdoc@hotmail.com
CATEGORY: M/Sk
RATING: NC-17. M/Sk. This story contains slash i.e. m/m sex. So, if you don't like that type of thing - STOP NOW! Forewarned is forearmed. Proceed with caution. Of course if you have four arms you can throw caution to the wind.
SUMMARY: A blizzard. A power cut. Finding their way in darkness.
ARCHIVE: Only with my permission.
FEEDBACK: Feedback? Well, yes, if you insist.
TIMESPAN/SPOILER WARNING: Nnnnnnnnnope.
KEYWORDS: story slash angst Mulder Skinner NC-17
DISCLAIMER: Fox Mulder, Walter Skinner, and all other X-Files characters belong to Chris Carter, Ten-Thirteen Productions and 20th Century Fox Broadcasting. No copyright infringement is intended and no profit is being made from their use. I'd rather say that they really are mine, but I've been advised to deny everything. But when I become king...

Author's notes: Sad Lovers and Giants, the two things hardest to conceal.

I happen to think I have a great beta. I happen to think everyone knows who my great beta is. But I am dreadful about giving her credit for all her hard work. Shame on me. Thank you, Susan....the greatest beta in all betadom.

If you like this, there's more at https://www.squidge.org/3wstop

If you didn't like it, come see me, anyway. Pet the dog. 

Sad Lovers and Giants 04/? – Sky is a Glove

by Mik

Those skeptically squinted eyes widened. "Everything?" he repeated.

I knew the eternal sneer of skepticism was a pose. Perhaps the first thing to attract my attention all those years ago was the hopeful wonder and willingness to believe that couldn't quite be disguised by a restless gait and downsloped shoulders. I smiled nostalgically. "Yes." I wanted to kiss him to punctuate my sincerity, but it didn't feel welcome. "Everything."

His fists pressed into the bed on either side of his hips, he shifted. "Okay." He licked nervously at his lower lip. Another endearing trait, but this was laced with eroticism. "I haven't had a lot of experience with all this," he began. "Just some...ah...masturbation and..."

"I wasn't speaking sexually, Agent," I broke in crisply, probably as embarrassed as he was. "And if you've had any experience, you've had more than I."

His eyes narrowed again. "You mean, you've never -"

"Never," I cut him off. "That is, until last night."

His protest derailed, I could see him review the previous night's events. And smile. And blush. "You're a quick study."

"Thank you." There was nothing else to say, really. I reached out hesitantly, and let my hands rest on his shoulders. There was so much I wanted to convey to him, and no amount of field experience, administrative training, or commendations was going to help me convey it.

He seemed to miss the cue to give me some direction. "Then...why are we doing this?" His voice was shaking slightly, as if he was struggling, perhaps even frightened by the moment. "I m-mean, if you've never acted on it before...how do you know you really want to act on it now?"

That was an easy answer. "Because I've always wanted it...and..." well, perhaps not that easy.

He waited a beat and looked up at me. "And?" he prompted.

The answer seemed almost too trite, too treacly...but there is only one moment in life where trite and treacly are not only acceptable, they are the order of the day. "And I've always wanted you."

He reacted physically, as if the words had struck him like my fist. His head snapped back, exposing a column of throat at the roundness of his sweatshirt collar, and the tiniest wisp of dark hair. His lips parted, his eyes shut. A soft sound came from somewhere deep in him; not a moan, not a cry, just a sound.

I took that as some direction to proceed. My fingers tightened on his shoulders as if I felt I had to hold him up. I lifted him just enough that I could set my teeth against that throat. I didn't bite. Well, not hard. I just needed to mark him, brand him while he was vulnerable.

He squirmed slightly. "Ah, no...not there...ahhh," he added as I followed his advice and moved upward, under his right ear. "No, no...no." He was actually shaking in my hands. "Sk-Skinner...no...listen...listen!" He backed away from me. Smiled, sheepishly. "You don't want to start this now. I..." he made another sound, it might have been laughter. "I haven't had a shower in twenty four hours, and after our gymnastics last night...I'm a little ripe."

"Really?" I pulled him back within range. "The perfect time to eat you."

He might have put up more protest, or he might have surrendered. We'll never know. There was a loud knock on my door.

We broke apart and looked at each other. Suddenly he was on his feet. "I'll be in my room," he whispered, and darted toward the door.

"Agent, no, I -" There was another knock. I looked to the source of the knocking and when I looked back, Mulder was pulling the connecting door to. Damn it, did I just call him 'Agent'? With a huff of frustration I turned and went to the hall door and yanked it open. "Yes?"

It was the desk clerk. He was cradling a large thermal air pot the way the Renaldo would clutch the World Cup. But his eyes were darting beyond me, as if searching for something. "I ..."

"Yes?" I repeated impatiently.

"There was a pot of coffee left after lunch. I thought..." he shoved it at me. "Here."

I accepted the pot, feeling only slightly contrite. "Thank you." The situation required more diplomacy. "How are you holding up?"

He forced a smile. "Oh, fine. Great."

"You've done a yeoman's job the last few days. I hope you get some recognition for it." I backed up a step. "Could you use a cup of this?"

The smile seemed as if it was near crumbling. "Oh, man...no, I don't want to interrupt."

"Interrupt what?" I stepped back all the way. "Let me invite my agent in, do you mind? He's got a serious addiction, but I don't feel like doing need intervention 'til we're back in DC and he can be put in full restraints." I put the pot down and went to the connecting door. I rapped sharply. "Agent? The desk clerk brought us some coffee. Would you like a cup?"

He came to the door a moment later. His eyes were hot, but his face was composed. "When have I ever not wanted a cup?" he replied. He managed a very genuine smile for the clerk, or maybe it was the paper cup in the clerk's hands. He reached for it. "Thanks." He held out his free hand. "Mulder. Nice to meet you."

The clerk's hand shot out eagerly. "Stanton. Danny. Nice to meet you." He took the chair Mulder had been sitting in

Mulder eased down at the foot of the bed, cradling the paper cup in both hands. "Hot coffee today is a modern day miracle. The person responsible should be canonized." He was so deliberately not looking at me even a blind man could see it.

I felt that jolt of jealousy again. I wanted Danny Stanton gone, and I wanted Mulder back in my arms, where we could finish the conversation we'd begun. More than a conversation, it was a whole new way of life. But there they were, two personable, attractive young men, discussing the merits of coffee and clerics and, even though Danny had made certain that coffee was poured and delivered to me, I felt left out.

I wasn't sure if the desk clerk was attracted to Mulder, and I could tell Mulder was not interested in him as anything more than the bearer of his lifeblood, but still that jealousy roiled within me. I didn't want anyone or anything to possess Mulder's attention. And this was a bad thing. How could I stand him working with Agent Scully, his personal morning and evening star? How could I tolerate his complete absorption by any case he undertook? How could I allow him any more freedom than the path from my bed to my coffeemaker? I had to get myself under control and right now.

I emptied my coffee in a gulp and checked the pocket of my sweats for my card key and mini torch. "While you two are putting the petition together for the local diocese, I'm going to walk off lunch." I patted my stomach as if I'd overindulged in something other than the forbidden fruit of fellow man. "Thank you for bringing the coffee, Danny." I gestured toward Mulder who was still not looking at me. "If he'd gone into withdrawal later, I might have had to shoot him." And I left.

I really didn't know where I was going ... I didn't want another nature stroll through the blizzard, and I didn't bring ice skates so the swimming pool was out. I saw the emergency light over the gym and remembered Danny had disappeared through that door earlier. I pushed it open and went in.

I would have been pleasantly surprised by the extensive amount of equipment available if there had been any electricity to utilize them. No less than ten stationary bikes, six joggers, an impressive assortment of free weights, training bags, and resistance machines. The room had the sharp smell of recent cleaning still haunted by the sweat of more than one body seriously taxed in recent days. The sweat reminded me of Mulder and I felt part of my anatomy dance a little in protest. Sitting down heavily on a weight bench, I closed my eyes and tried to picture him on his back between my legs. Waiting, needing, as hungry for me as I was for him. Impossible. I opened my eyes and sighed. The whole thing's impossible.

Mulder could have any man or woman he wanted. Why would he want me? If his protests of sexual ignorance were true, and why should I doubt him, then he's never wanted anyone. So...what did he want? There had to be an answer. Had to be. And I had to be the one to give it to him. Had to be.

"Hey."

I looked up sharply. He was pushing the door closed behind him. It looked as if he'd taken time to comb his hair and change into a clean long sleeved tee shirt. "Why did you abandon me? You broke poor Danny's heart." He was smiling as he moved through the equipment.

"Me?" I don't know how the word got out, I didn't think I was capable of saying anything, and foolish protest would be the last thing I meant to say. "No, Agent, I believe -"

"Yeah, I know what you believe." He straddled the bench in front of me, and sat, his knees touching mine. "And you're out of your mind."

That close, even in the near darkness of the room I could see the green flecks in his eyes. Like oxidation in a flame. "Mulder, I..." I didn't know what else to say. I leaned forward and kissed his parted lips. God, I want you, my mind was screaming. But that I could not say.

I felt a little ripple run through him. His fingertips rested on my thighs as he moved into the kiss. I wanted to push him back and take him right there on that weight bench. I could feel my muscles lock in my struggle not to grab him, and not to betray myself with trembling.

He broke the kiss finally and sat back, panting a little. "I haven't been with a guy since Oxford," he said huskily. "And even then we never..." he paused, and I think he was starting to blush. His eyes came back to mine and he began to gather himself together. "If you weren't speaking sexually, what did you mean?"

It took me a moment to catch up with his memory. I rubbed a hand over my brow and then back over my scalp. "I meant ..." How could I explain that I wanted to consume him, physically, emotionally, spiritually? That I wanted to be him and let him be me? That I wanted us one in every aspect of our lives? That in twenty-four hours I had gone from a pleasantly unrequited longing to a deep and ever thirsting passion? "I meant...everything."

"You want..." he paused, licked his lips, "to...fuck me," he concluded.

No, at that moment I wanted to slap him. "No. Well, yes, I do, but..." now I was blushing. "Love, Mulder. I want to love you. I want to have a relationship, a lover, a partner, a mate."

"Me?" He sounded exactly as I had only moments before. "You want all that from me?"

I shook my head at his incredulous tone. "Is that so fantastic to you? That someone could love you and want you to love them?"

"No," he countered, "just that you do. I always thought..." he glanced away and back again, a nervous habit I had never noted in him before. "I always thought you didn't like me."

I felt a fission of feeling within me; compassion, affection, guilt and that paternal need to 'fix it' for him. This was a side of Fox William Mulder I had never seen. While I had known it was there, he had always hidden his vulnerability behind obsessive conviction, and wisecracks. For him to make this confession, he had stripped himself to his emotional bones, and offered to let me pick him apart like a Thanksgiving turkey on Saturday morning. "Oh, Mulder." I reached up and slid my hand through that mop of thick, dark hair. "I went beyond 'liking' you a long time ago." My fingers knotted in his hair and I pulled him forward. This time my kiss was not restrained. I invaded him almost violently.

One hand tangled in his hair, the other pushing at his chest, I got him backward on the bench. He didn't fight me. In fact, except for his tongue, which was dancing on the most delicate synapses of my brain, he remained still and compliant. I shoved and pulled at him until I had his shirt up under his chin and his chest and belly bared to my hands, and then my mouth.

He moaned and twitched as I discovered sensitive places on his body that he didn't even know about. I felt like Magellan, Columbus and Armstrong all in one, with a new world spread before me. Working one hand under his sweatpants I found his cock, already thick and hot, not quite stiff, and my fingers sliding around it elicited a sound from Mulder that was almost inhuman. His back arched off the weight bench and his hands, balled into fists came up, pressed against my sides and fell. I lost all reserve then and started to yank his pants down. I was going to fuck him right there in the weight room of a hotel in Buffalo, New York.

And I would have done so, if not for the sound of voices in the hallway just outside the door. I looked up, saw shadows passing in the hallway. I knew they couldn't see us, unless they actually came in, with torches, and looked around, and that wasn't very likely. But I wasn't going to take any more chances. I looked down at Mulder, who was watching me for cues. "Don't move," I whispered huskily. I swung myself off the bench and off Mulder's body, and went to the door. I did a quick peek out and saw the hallway was clear. I flicked the small steel lock into place and turned around. And realized that Mulder was half naked in front of a full wall of glass looking out over the garden and lobby.

I flicked my maglite off and marched toward him. "Get up," I commanded. "Get dressed."

He gaped at me. "I...but...wha..."

I grabbed his face roughly and turned it ninety degrees to his left and held it there 'til reality registered. "Let's go."

His face went hot in my hands, even as his hands went scrambling for the sweatpants I'd left around his knees. Yet the bastard was chuckling as he retied the drawstring and followed me back to the door. "Well, if Danny thought he had a chance with you before ..."

"Shut up."

He was still chuckling. "Yes, Sir."

Life fell back into perspective in that moment. I opened the door, almost wishing I had a gun. I checked the hall and looked at him. "Wait a couple of minutes before you follow."

He nodded, but even in that light I could see amusement in his eyes. He wasn't embarrassed by the possibility that we'd been putting on a show for two-dozen bored employees and stranded guests.

I slipped out the door, tried to adopt a nonchalant demeanor and strolled toward my room. I couldn't help being grateful that the security cameras in the hall were unable to record my flushed expression and sweaty hands. I almost fucked a male subordinate, in public. I had to get this under control.

I dragged the key card through the slot out of habit, even thought it was a useless gesture. The electronic lock was disabled still. I pushed the door open and stepped inside, leaning back against the door. If it had not been for the blackness of the sky hiding our indiscretions the way a glove hides fingerprints, I could have easily ruined both our careers in one careless, desperate indulgence of my own lusts.

The obvious answer was to end this now. End the sexual advances. Dismiss the declarations of love I'd already made. Deny myself all access to him. Leave him alone. Leave him, alone.

I could hear him come into his room. I did not go to the connecting door, even though I wanted to. I drew a deep breath. I couldn't end it like that. I couldn't hurt him. I couldn't hold out an offer of love and jerk it back just as he was reaching across the chasm for it. I couldn't send him spinning down into nothingness. But I wouldn't hold it out any further. I would make no more advances, no more declarations. If he wanted this, he would have to cross the valley to me. And he wouldn't. I knew him that well. He'd stay on his side and wait.

I made myself sit down with a newspaper, my torchlight flickering over the pages because my hands were shaking. I tried not to listen to his restless movements just beyond my door. I tried not to remember the expressions that had played over his face throughout the day. I tried not to feel the needs contained within me; the need to feel him, the need to heal him, and to feel him heal me.

The minutes passed. They became an hour. I could close my eyes and see him silhouetted against an eternal sunset on a distant cliff, waiting for me to reach for him. I did not.

The hour brought another, then another. The sounds from his room faded. But the echoes of laughter and pleasure remained. I tried to tell myself that this level of angst was worthy of daytime dramas and teenaged girls, and unworthy of a man of my years and human experience. But there are times when you are placed in the middle of a hurricane, and you have no choice but to experience the dizzying wind and duck the flying cows.

Word came, in the form of a giggly girl I'd seen in the restaurant earlier, that there would be food ready in about fifteen minutes. I thought about knocking on his door, thinking it was a good safe reason to speak to him, but as I levered myself from my chair, I could hear that the giggly girl had already made her way to his door and informed him.

I watched the minutes tick by on the face of my watch and got up, slowly, carefully, listening for some sound from his room, but there had been no sound since he'd closed his door on the giggly girl. Reluctantly, I went out, alone ... wishing he'd follow.

The food was a little less lavish this time. Tinned soups, frozen burger patties that obviously had thawed prematurely and were therefore overcooked for our safety. Muffins and other pastries left over from the last meal. Cartons of once frozen juices, and really bad coffee. Bags of chips. Still, it was there, it was food, and it was a chance to see Mulder. But he never came.

We did have some additions to our little party, however. Two state troopers, like triumphant heroes arrived just as we were working our way through the buffet. Their announcement that the weather front seemed to be breaking up and roads could be cleared by the next morning were met with resounding cheers. I managed to put on a hearty smile and clasped the hand of the nearest trooper in a congratulatory manner, even though something inside was sinking in disappointment. God had heard me. It was over.

End 04