TITLE: Same Game: Part I - Tip Off

NAME: Mik

E-MAIL: mikdok@hotmail.com

CATEGORY: SRA

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.

SUMMARY: To help Mulder deal with the aftermath of a difficult VCS case, Skinner takes him out for a little one on one.

FEEDBACK - Feedback? Well, yes, if you insist...Flames? Send 'em to my brother, he's having a barbecue.

TIMESPAN/SPOILER WARNING: This is an AU, no spoilers. Skinner has always been their boss. And I don't give a damn how many arms Krycek has, he doesn't get to play.

KEYWORDS: story slash angst Skinner Mulder NC-17

DISCLAIMER: Fox Mulder, Walter Skinner, Dana Scully 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.

* This is for Geoffrey, who gave me permission to play with his characters from "What You Want", and for the owners and shareholders of the Chatterers Gallery for their love, support and lifetime supply of "Peeps".

Same Game: Part I - Tip Off by Mik

Ever thought about dying? I mean, just have a moment when it seems there is no point in going on? I was having one of those nights. The bastard not only got another victim but I know he's moved on, now, and there's no way to find him again until he starts leaving bodies behind.

I screwed up good, completely missed a chance to stop him and, while no one has actually verbalized it, I know everyone's thinking I could have stopped him, should have stopped him.

I'll tell you how bad it had gotten. I wandered into the hotel bar, sent my gaze around to assess things and settled on the balding pate of my superior. Sensing my study, he looked up and his eyes locked on mine. I was in his crosshairs, and could feel the little red dot on my chest. Just a matter of time before he pulled the trigger and splattered me all over the tacky wall paper behind me. Suddenly, I not only wanted to die, I had developed a plan for going. This is where any mental health professional would have ordered a twenty-three hour hold, and I'd be in the back of an ambulance wearing a stunning white jacket that was NOT designed by Armani.

I sauntered in the direction of his booth, signaled the waitress for a beer and settled down before him, uninvited. "Go ahead, sir," I taunted, adding insult with an insolent grin. "Blow up and get it over with. I just finished my will."

Nothing.

I looked up. He was looking at me as if he had never seen something like me, not even on Wild Discovery.

My beer came and he pointed, discretely, toward his nearly empty glass.

"I just came from the morgue, Mulder," he said quietly.

"Yeah. I was there earlier," I admitted, not so brash now. It's hard to make jokes about a woman stabbed more than a hundred times, thirty or forty of the blows in the palms of her hands, indicating that she had attempted to fight him off, or held her hands up in supplication, begging him to stop.

Hearing an odd sound, I looked down at the table. The rumble I was hearing was the glass bottom of my beer bottle trembling on the table.

He reached over and locked his fingers around my wrist. "It wasn't your fault, Mulder," he said, and released me.

Released. I was released, absolved, forgiven. I was released, let go, free falling. I bit my lip. "I could have-"

"How?"

One word argument. Brilliant. How? How indeed. "I don't know, I must have missed something-"

"Mulder."

I looked at him. My eyes were burning. Someone must have been smoking in the bar.

"Look there." He was pointing to a mirrored beer ad on the wall next to us.

"It's the water," I agreed, firmly.

"Do you see yourself? Can you see your reflection?"

I frowned at my reflection. "Uh…yes, sir."

"You must be human, after all," he concluded, and nodded his thanks to the waitress when she brought him another scotch.

"Uh…sir," I began, tentatively. "That only proves I'm not a vampire."

He answered with a shrug. A brilliant rebuttal. Couldn't argue with it.

I took a sip. It was bitter on my tongue. I guess I still wanted to die. I just needed a new plan. "Well." I put the bottle down and stood, digging into my pocket. "I guess I'd better-"

"What did you want, Mulder?" He wasn't looking at me. He was just staring off to a better time and place, his fingers locked together to support his glass.

"Want, sir?"

"You wanted more than a single sip of beer." His eyes focused again and darted toward the bottle I was abandoning. "So, what did you really want?"

I swallowed. "I…"

"I'll tell you." He put his glass down and levered himself up, digging into his own pocket, brushing my money away. He put a hand on my shoulder and turned me, forcefully, with the touch of his fingers. We went through the bar silently, the eyes of a half dozen of our task force team members following, knowingly. Mulder's about to get his comeuppance was almost a refrain throughout the bar.

As we reached the lobby, he paused, looked around and lowered his hand.

My shoulder was suddenly cold where his hand had been. "Sir?" I prompted.

He looked at me, vacantly.

Oh, shit, he's drunk! "You were going to tell me what I came into the bar for," I reminded him.

His eyes narrowed, and his lips pursed. He almost…almost smiled! "I think you came in there looking for someone to beat you up, physically or emotionally, just so you could pay your penance for that woman's death and get some sleep tonight."

I smirked at him. "That's good, doctor. I didn't know YOU were a psychologist, too."

"Actually, I got that from reading all your profiling, Mulder." He started to walk, and when I didn't follow, he turned and looked back at me. "Well, I'm not going to do it. You don't deserve the beating, but I won't convince you of that so I won't waste the breath. "

I was disappointed, and I know it showed in my expression. "Thanks for the analysis," I snapped and started in the other direction.

His hand came down on my shoulder, sharply. "I'm going to find another way to make sure you sleep tonight."

I swear to you, something inside me tightened and let go. It wasn't exactly fear and it wasn't exactly excitement, and it wasn't exactly sexual, but it was as real as his hand on my shoulder. "Oh?" I tried to sound cocky. "What did you have in mind?"

"I'm not sure. Maybe a little one on one."

Oh, that's it, just kill me now. I closed my eyes, drew in a shaky breath. I actually had a sexual fantasy, albeit brief, about another man, about my boss.

"I hear you think you're pretty good with a basketball."

Basketball! Okay, he means basketball. Breathe, Mulder. "I am."

"We'll see. There's bound to be a high school or a park around here.

Let's go shoot some hoops."

I never thought I would ever hear the phrase 'shoot some hoops' come out of that mouth. "And…and where would we find said basketball, sir?"

"There's a sporting good store about a block from here." He started another smile…I think it was a smile, it might have been a sneer. "My treat."

Cold air in my lungs, a chance to move my legs, a little competition, a little distraction… I grinned at him. "I'm going to whip the court with your ass…sir."

He did smile this time. It went all the way to his eyes, and I'll be damned if it wasn't beautiful. "Listen, punk, you may be forty pounds lighter and ten years younger, but I've got moves you've never seen."

I'll bet you do, I thought. "You're on. Shall we make it interesting?"

He stopped and I wish I knew what he wanted to say, because it was clear what came out of his mouth wasn't what he wanted. "Fifty?"

I held out my hand. "You're on."

I met him in the parking lot fifteen minutes later, in running shorts and a tee shirt, my hooded sweatshirt tied around my waist. He was in Bureau sweats, a match set, navy and white, high top running shoes. He looked like an ad for Nike: Just do it--or else.

I considered him again. He looked capable. He didn't look incapacitated, still, I had to ask. "Sir, do you want me to drive? You've been drinking..."

He gave me a weary look. "A glass and a half of scotch on a full stomach is not going to make me a danger to myself or others. Do you want me to walk a straight line, or touch my nose, or say the alphabet backwards?"

I hunched my shoulders forward. "No, sir," I mumbled. We climbed into the car and made for the sports store. He turned and looked at me as he pulled the parking brake. "Do you have any preferences?"

I shook my head. "Round."

He chuckled and climbed out of the car. In a matter of minutes, he returned, with a traditional brown Spalding, spinning on one fingertip.

The man has moves...

He had also gotten instructions to the nearest park. It was open, and empty, and ill-lit, with only one or two lights over the court and one of them seemed undecided about staying on. He shot the ball to me as I was climbing out of the car, and I dribbled it as I walked to the court. My whole body was buzzing, like a junkie just before the needle goes in. I was getting something I needed, needed bad.

For a moment or two, we circled each other, passing the ball back and forth, sizing one another up, and then I snatched the ball from his long, thick fingers and went up to release, and let the ball sail over his head and hit the wire basket. It felt good. I came down and bounced a little on the balls of my feet.

He went to retrieve the ball, dribbled it a little, lazily, toying with me. As I charged him, he feinted left, came right, bumped me with one of those massive shoulders, took the ball right up underneath and nonchalantly dropped it in, as if tossing away a crumpled piece of paper. He grinned at me as he snatched the ball on the way back down. "Fifty, Mulder?"

"Well, we're still even," I reminded him, slapping the ball away from him.

"Not for long," he promised, and came after me.

It was a good game. For a while I could forget about an asshole who gets his psycho-sexual thrills from stabbing women while they beg for mercy, and then jerks off over them while they're dying. For a while I could forget about Samantha, and Scully's cancer, and Emily and Scully's sister and and...and…

The guy was good, I have to admit. The lead bounced back and forth between us, only a point or two each way. But each time one of us regained superiority, the other got more aggressive. Within a half hour, we were body checking each other, tripping and ramming. While I had speed and agility on my side, he had force, determination and brute strength on his.

I was four steps from the key, when he came at me from my blindside, and not only knocked the ball from my hands, but took me all the way to the ravaged asphalt. I must have let out a yelp because he backed off of me as if it was a reverse action film. I laid there, gasping for breath and trying to assess damage while he leaned over me, frowning. "Are you okay, Mulder?"

"Yeah, fine," I gasped, and tried to roll to my side and up on to my knees.

One of my knees objected to this plan, and I found myself on my side, my knee tucked up against my chest. "Shit," I said with feeling.

He was on his hands and knees beside me, his hands everywhere, trying to help and not knowing how. "What is it? Where does it hurt? Is something broken?"

"I'm okay, I'm okay," I insisted, rolling onto my back, slowly. "Just twisted my knee or something."

"Let me see." His hands slid over my knee, gently, and all I could remember was how warm his fingers were…

XXX

There was no question about swelling. He had a good sprain at least. I didn't think there was anything broken, but I did know he was in pain.

Mulder wears pain like a cloak sometimes, and he's worn it for so long, it has become a good fit. I wanted to check his knee for range of motion but I couldn't do it with him flat on his back. I sent a glance around and saw a bench near the gate, but it was at least thirty paces. There was no way Mulder could limp that far, even with my support. So, I did what a Marine's got to do. I scooped him up in my arms.

He was clearly disconcerted to find himself being swept along but, being Mulder, he reacted in a typically Mulderish fashion. He draped his arms around my neck, pressed his cheek to my shoulder, and purred (yes, purred),

"Be gentle with me, sir."

I had another one of those uncomfortably warm feelings I get around him sometimes. I've only experienced that feeling two other times that I recall; once in 'Nam, when I accidentally came across two soldiers finding solace with one another, and again when I was on the Force in Dallas, and I was assigned, briefly, to a partner who caused me several sleepless nights. I was young, green, newly back from the war, and this guy was brilliant and funny and had sweet, sleepy eyes. I developed an old fashioned crush. I never acted on my feelings, but I did get to a point where I allowed myself the odd masturbatory fantasy.

Mulder reminds me a lot of him, and there have been times when I've been nose to nose with him and wanted to catch his face between my hands and break all kinds of regulations. There have always been rumors about Mulder, some saying he'd screwed his way through Quantico, others who insisted he and Scully were much more than partners, and still others who felt Mulder wouldn't recognize a sexual urge if it came up and bit him on the ass. I've always felt he might have a strong sex drive and simply tamps it down, one more opportunity to flagellate himself for his perceived failures. He definitely exudes something.

I eased him down on the bench and knelt in front of him, a hand on his ankle, another on his inner thigh, just above the knee, twisting and turning gently.

There was something strangely enticing about the sweaty flesh of his leg, and the idea that I was within reach of something, if I just spread my fingers a bit wider… "How's that feel, Mulder?"

"S'okay," he gasped.

I wondered if my touch disturbed him. Shifting slightly before him, I maneuvered myself between his knees, and forced them apart, further testing his range of motion, further satisfying my need to touch his thigh. Now I had my palm resting on his thigh, just below the hem of his shorts. His flesh was hot, muscled, sticky. I closed my eyes for a moment, trying to imagine what I would find beneath those shorts. "How's that?"

He didn't answer and I looked at him. His eyes were closed, his head tilted back. "Mulder?"

He opened his eyes. "Fine, sir," he said, quietly.

"I think you've got a bad sprain there. Shall I take you to an Emergency Room?"

"For a sprain, sir? I don't think so." His eyes dipped to my hand. "I think I should just stay off of it for a little while. I'll bet Scully can put an Ace on it and I'll be fine."

I moved my hand, lowered his foot to the ground and stood. "We'll start with ice and heat, and then see what you need. Do you think you can walk to the car?" 

He nodded, but I wasn't convinced so I caught him under the arms and tried to pull him up, even though he had become dead weight in my hands. I tugged.

When he came up, he was nose to nose with me again. He opened his eyes wide, and stared at me. I stared back, wanting to dive into those pools of moss and wood bark. I slid an arm around his waist and held him to me. His hands came up to my shoulders, and tightened. For a moment, it seemed, the fate of the entire world hung in the balance of that awkward embrace. "Sir," he said, softly, and I could feel his breath on my lips. "What are we doing?"

"Dancing?" I suggested, trying to cover an embarrassing need to kiss him. "And I get to lead. Come on." With a grunt I stooped and pulled him back up into my arms.

He draped his arms around my neck again, and this time pressed his cheek to mine. "Have you ever…" the words died.

He didn't need to finish. I knew what he was asking me. "No," I told him.

I wanted that to be the end of the discussion, but more words tumbled out of me. "You?"

He shook his head faintly against me.

I stopped and twisted to look down at him. "Have you ever wanted to?"

Those wide eyes got impossibly wider. "I…" He stopped, licked at his bottom lip and began again. "Not until now." He closed his eyes and I felt a tremor run through his body. He reminded me of a man about to put his head on the block.

I stopped in front of the car and eased him to his feet. "Look, Mulder, what are you playing at?"

His eyes popped open. "Nothing."

"I know what you're trying to do," I said, gruffly. "You figure I won't beat you up for what happened today, so you're deliberately trying to be provocative so I'll take a swing at you for something else." My voice got rougher still. "Well, I've got news for you, Mulder. I'm not going to play your game."

He continued to stare at me, stunned. "What makes you think…" He stopped, surrendered, shook his head. "I want to go get off this knee," he murmured and tried to hobble away from me.

I caught his shoulder. "Why did you ask?"

He didn't meet my eyes. "I don't know," he said, and he sounded so bewildered I believed him. "Why did you?"

"Because I've always wondered about you," I confessed.

"Ah, yes, everyone wonders about Spooky Mulder," he said grimly. "It's my video library, you see. I'm an equal opportunity voyeur."

"You mean, you've watched gay porn," I concluded, mildly titillated. I could never bring myself to rent one.

"Yeah," he admitted.

"And do you…" I stopped, helpless.

"Get off?" he asked with a wry twist to his mouth. "Sure. Why not? When you're alone, who cares what does it for you, right?" He was fumbling, trying to find the door handle behind him.

I had embarrassed him. I never thought it could be done. "Mulder." He wouldn't look at me. "Mulder." I caught his chin with my hand and forced it upward, letting my eyes sweep over his face as if I was caressing it.

Beautiful face, I had to acknowledge.

I've heard the expression and then time stopped but I've never believed it. Not until that moment, holding his face in my hand, holding his eyes in my gaze. His lips parted slightly, and his breath was warm and quick and shallow against my face. He looked at me and I looked back. No, I told myself. It's insanity. It's against all the rules and regulations I fight to uphold every day. It's instant fuel for any conflagration they would want to start in his life. No, I told myself again.

He trembled again, sucked his lower lip into his mouth for a moment, and released it on a sigh of warm air. His eyes were nothing more than the black depths of his pupils.

"If there was no chance at recrimination, no danger of backlash, no way to receive the penance you so desperately seek, would you still want this?"

I could see him weigh it; wonder, curiosity, hope, need. Then his hand came up and his fingers curled around my wrist, easing it away. With effort, balancing himself on one leg, he brought his lips to mine.

Terror. My first reaction was terror. It was an intense flame that raced through me, and then, within the ash was another fire, deep banked, smoldering. Desire. I caught his shoulders and held them, lest he back away. He opened his mouth for me and I slipped inside and found the taste of beer, and the salt of sunflower seeds and ancient coffee and…and need.

He came alive suddenly, bringing his hands up to my face, forcing himself into my mouth, making a small sound of impatience and hunger and that need.

I could have drowned in that kiss. I could have devoured him. I could have thrown him over the hood of the car and found some way to make us both exhausted, sticky and sated. But I eased away from him. "Let's take this back to the hotel," I murmured, shakily.

He swallowed tightly and nodded. I eased him into the car seat and went around to my side. He stared straight ahead as I started the car, pulled out into the darkened, abandoned street and headed for the hotel.

We were all the way up to my room before I realized that we did not even have the most rudimentary essentials for this sort of play. Well, hell, I went out and bought a basketball, I can go out and pick up condoms and lube.

"Take a soak in some hot water," I told him, pointing toward the bath. "I'm going to run down to the drug store."

"That's okay. That's not necessary," he said, and there was a strange, urgent flush to his skin. "We'll be all right."

"No."

He surprised me with the swiftness of his movements, the force of his determination. He had me back against the wall in seconds, his mouth moving over my lips, chin, throat, while his hands started working at my sweats.

"Come on, Walter," he said, and that purr was back. "Let's just do it."

"If you've never done this, you could get hurt," I protested. "A virgin is a virgin, Mulder." I tried to push his hands away, but I had to admit, I liked what he was doing in there. I was harder than I had been in years.

"I'll be okay," he promised, pushing my sweats down, releasing my erection so that it bounced between us. He looked down, considering it almost lovingly.

He let one fingertip caress it from balls to glans. "That's quite impressive, sir," he said, starting to grin, but there was just a hint of something in his voice; fear? Dread? Hope?

I eased his hand away. "No, Mulder. I'm not going to play your game. There are plenty of things we can do just to satisfy our curiosity. If we want more, we'll go forward at a slow, practical pace. I won't let you use my desire for you to punish you, either."

"You…desire me?" He seemed surprised.

I glanced down at my cock, still bobbing between us. "Isn't it obvious?"

"Is that…" he paused. "Is that all, sir?"

And then it hit me. It wasn't all. There was something else, something greater and deeper and overwhelming. I pulled him toward me and kissed him, softly. "No, that's not all, Mulder."

I could hear it break, whatever it was that shattered inside him. He pulled his mouth from mine, and rested his forehead against my shoulder, whispering something, over and over.

I turned to him. "What, Mulder? What is it?"

When he lifted his eyes they were overbright. "I don't deserve this," he said, and backed away from me. "I could have stopped him. I could have saved that woman. I don't deserve to be happy tonight." He stumbled toward the door.

I had to tug and tuck before I could get to him but I stopped him from going through the door. "You deserve it. You deserve kindness, tenderness, romance, love, whatever it is you need. You want it. You deserve it." He began to struggle against me. "You deserve it, Mulder," I said, getting an arm around his waist and holding him against me. "And I'm going to give it to you." With my free hand I stroked his hair. "I'm going to hold you, and take care of you, and do whatever it takes to get you to sleep tonight, and I'm doing it because you deserve it."

He struggled again, in a great display of futility. "Let me go, sir." Then he added, raggedly, "Please."

I kissed the back of his neck. "No. Tonight we are going to play the game my way." I sucked at his neck. The flesh was hot and tender and salty with perspiration. "Mulder, it's up to you. We can part ways right now and pretend none of this ever happened, or we do it my way. Which will it be?"

He tilted his head back, giving me more access to his throat, and he sighed.

"Your way," he conceded with a sigh, but I know I heard him add, oh, so softly, "This time."

-THE END-