TITLE: Same Game: Part III - Home Court Advantage

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: Mulder and Skinner continue the relationship that began in "Same Game: Part I - Tip Off" and "Same Game: Part II Ground Rules". The Game has moved back to DC.

TIMESPAN/SPOILER WARNING: The action takes place a few days after "Ground Rules". 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.

* 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 III - Home Court Advantage by Mik

He pushed the door open and stood back, looking at me, questioningly. I looked at him, thought about offering to let him carry me over the threshold and actually was smart enough to keep the crack to myself. I hitched my garment bag over my shoulder and stepped inside.

He'd made some changes since the last time I'd been here. Hung some pictures, put out some things that made it look like a person did more than hang his clothes, drink and sleep here. There was a book, open, face down on the sofa table, and I sneaked a peak at it as I came through. On The Road by Jack Kerouac. I smiled. So, there was a rebel, a member of the Lost Generation, under that starched shirt, and boring tie.

"You want a drink?" he offered, pulling my bag from my fingers. He sounded a little shy.

I shook my head. "Very low tolerance to alcohol. One drink and I'm able to lose all control and pounce on you." Get a grip, Mulder! At least take that lost puppy longing look off your face.

He smiled, but it was a nervous, jerky smile. We still weren't sure what we were doing. A few nights ago, in his hotel room had been the beginning of something amazing, but now, here we were, back in the real world, and neither of us were too sure of the etiquette. All of the rest of our 'getting to know you's' had been sidetracked by finding a killer before he killed again.

"Well, do you mind if I have one?"

The trouble was, even though we never got to spend another moment alone in the race to realize, stop and capture that arrogant asshole, there had been hours of torturous longing, smoldering looks, accidental contact. We were both incendiary devices with unstable triggers, and I for one, really, REALLY wanted to go off. "Wrong answer, A.D. Skinner," I scolded, following him to the bar. "You're supposed to say, 'Well, by all means, Agent Mulder, you must have a drink'."

He looked at me, startled. Startled perhaps by my proximity, or by the directness of my response. He splashed scotch into a glass and sipped. Then he smiled around the glass. "You'll forgive me if I prefer to be the one doing the pouncing."

Okay, my heart started beating again. No, it started pounding. "Are…are you planning to?" Damn it, Mulder, stop stammering.

He smiled a little more. "I'm considering it." He moved away from the bar, glass in hand and paused by his phone, looking down at the machine with the blinking light telling him he had fifteen messages waiting for him. His fingertips danced over a stack of mail. He glanced at his watch. "Why don't we go upstairs?"

Unexpectedly, my mouth went dry, but my hands got clammy. "Ohh….kay."

I looked up the stairs as if there was a noose at the top. Now that he had surrendered why did I regret pursuing this? Or did I?

"Agent Mulder?"

Damn it, his voice was gentle. Why couldn't he bark a command, growl out an order?

I nodded. "Right. Bedroom." I started climbing the stairs.

"Agent Mulder."

I looked over my shoulder. "What happened to no Sirs, Skinners or Mulders in the bedroom?"

"Nothing," he answered levelly. "But, we aren't there, yet. And I think, perhaps, we won't be for a while. Come down here. We'll eat something…talk…there's a game on…"

I cocked a brow at him, a la Scully. "You mean, like getting to know one another? Like a date?"

He shrugged a shoulder. One big, rolling 'why not?' gesture. "Why are you always in a rush to get where you don't want to be?"

"Where I don't…" I stopped. I didn't have an answer.

"Finish the sentence," he reminded me.

"It's not that I don't want to be there." I came down a step or two. "It's just that it's something new, unknown, and if it's scary, I want to get it over with."

He looked at me as if faintly bewildered by my logic. "If it's scary, we shouldn't be going there."

I sighed at him, impatiently. "You missed your calling as a father," I snapped, coming down the last few steps, and stalled. Oh, my God, what did I just say to him?

His eyes were half closed, his mouth in that perpetual down-turn I was so familiar with.

Well, it was nice while it lasted, Mulder. I scooped up my garment bag from the back of the chair and took a turn toward the door.

"I'm sorry."

I stopped. No, I stalled. Like a car on a railroad track, with a train bearing down. I turned, and looked. "S-sorry?"

He was shaking his head, slowly, as he put his drink on the sofa table. Here comes the train. "I'm sorry, but I won't be a father substitute for you. If that's what you're looking for, you'd better keep looking."

Impact. "I don't want…" I stopped, my mouth working helplessly. Damn it, I'm the psychologist, I ought to know when someone is looking for a new Daddy. I certainly ought to know if it's me. "You're right. I guess I'm the one who owes you an apology."

He straightened, looked down at his hands for a second and then came toward me, extending one of those strong, yet gentle paws. "Good luck, Mulder," he said, quietly.

Destruction. I looked down at his hand. It read Goodbye. I looked up at his eyes. They read No Argument. I felt air being dragged out of me. I opened my mouth once, twice, and finally, on the third time, managed to get out a single word. "Why?"

His brows went up. He doesn't do the Spock like brow lift the way Scully does. Both go up, and wrinkle up his dome like a worried pup. Used to scare me when he did that, but at that moment, it was endearing, and something I felt I couldn't lose. "You don't think I can continue to work with you after this, do you?" he asked, far too calmly for my liking.

Not fair, not fair! I wanted to scream. Boy, I really am looking for a Daddy, after all. I swallowed, and took his hand, trying to be a man about it. "No, I suppose not. Thank you…sir."

His grip was warm, and lingering. As if HE didn't want to let go. That was okay. I let him hold my hand as long as he wanted, because it would be the last time we touched. Then, reluctantly, we both pulled away. "Um…I know we neither one will be discussing this with anyone," I added, shifting weight from my stiff knee to the other. "But, for what's it worth…" I stopped, shook my head and turned away.

"Rule number two, Mulder."

I stopped, three steps from the door, from escape, from release. I didn't turn back. I sighed and said, "…it was good."

I never heard him move, I never sensed him coming, but suddenly I was against the door, spun around, in his arms, being devoured whole. And loving it. I let the garment bag fall to the floor and wound my arms around those massive shoulders. I had never in my life felt so completely consumed. His hands were everywhere, and where they weren't, his lips were. "You don't need a Daddy," he breathed against my throat.

"No," I agreed, almost helplessly.

"You need a lover."

"Yessss." It was all I could say.

He backed away from me. Those melted chocolate eyes were now molten lava.

"Upstairs," he said again. "Bedroom." He backed up another step. "Now."

I moved. I didn't even stop to pick up my bag. I had just been given a second invitation to Paradise, and those don't come along every day.

I had never been in the A.D.'s bedroom. It's not something one contemplates.

There are those who don't believe he has a bedroom, or that he sleeps at all. There are those he think he's a machine. Well, if he's a machine, he's a machine who likes creature comforts. His bedroom took the entire second floor, so it was open, and expansive, and the white on white color scheme only made it seem more vast. A huge bed, bedclothes already turned down neatly on one side, as if awaiting his return, a large recliner in one corner, with a good reading lamp, and a Nordictrac in the other. A white washed armoire hid either his casual clothes or a very large television and my fingers itched to go find out which. There were no prints or photos anywhere, which I found significant, and the only real color in the room was in a small book shelf near the recliner, and two rows of books that looked old and cherished.

He came in behind me, carrying his overnight bag. "Would you like a tour?" he asked, urging me forward, until I was at the foot of the bed. "That's the bed. That's the floor. Put your clothes down there and your butt up there."

I turned and grinned. "Radisson would love to have you working for them." I started tugging at my tie.

"Tomorrow night I'll put mints on the pillows," he said, unzipping his bag.

Tomorrow night. There's going to be a tomorrow night! I practically hummed as I tossed my tie to the floor and started on my buttons.

I knew it. He turned, looked at my tie disturbing the feng shui of his bedroom and collected it. He held out his hand and I shrugged out of my shirt and handed it to him. He folded it over his arm. Barechested, I felt a little overpowered by him. "This isn't a free show, you know," I told him, defensively.

He nodded and carried my things over to his recliner. Then, looking at me, very deliberately, he kicked off the Nunn Bushes, and began working on his own tie.

It was very erotic, undressing for one another. His shirt, that white cotton undershirt (who knew how sexy those things could be?), my slacks, his slacks, the sound of keys and change and belt buckles, my socks, his, my black watch plaid boxers with Pooh on them (don't laugh! They were a gift), his white, well fitted cotton briefs. And there we were, standing naked in the brilliant white of his bedroom. And without a clue.

Well, we both had some clue, clearly. We were both sporting the beginnings of fine erections. And we were both breathing hard. But we stood there, looking at each other's eyes. I could feel his eyelashes brush across my skin every time he blinked. I could feel his breath on me. I could almost hear the urgency that whispered in his brain.

Finally, he came to me, took my face in his hands, and kissed me very tenderly. I could feel his cock meet mine, as if duelists, touching swords before battle, and for a moment, I nearly missed the sweetness of his gift.

I opened my mouth, and accepted his words as he whispered them into me. "I love you."

Love? Where did that come from? Who asked for love? I didn't. I don't need it. People I love die. People I love get cancer or shot or abducted.

I started to shake, I know I did. Not this time. Please. Not this time.

"Fox?" His fingers slid from my face to my shoulders, trying to hold me up.

"Agent Mulder?"

I fixed on his words, his voice, his concerned frown. "Can't this just be about sex?" I asked him, begged him.

"No." He said it almost regretfully. "No, it can't be." He turned away from me and began to carefully collect my clothes. "And if that's all you want, you'd better go now."

"But, I-"

"No." He held out my shirt. " "I don't ever want another one night stand, Agent Mulder. I don't do 'just sex'. This is an amazing turning point in my life, and if I turn this way, it's a commitment. If you can't handle that, then this isn't the place for you. I won't be an experiment."

"But, I-"

"Please." He went to a louvered door in the wall, and opened it, pulling a black robe down from a hook "Just go." He slid into it, and covered himself as if pulling on chain mail. He looked up from the sash to find me there, still naked, at the foot of his bed, my shirt in my hands. "I think I've embarrassed both of us enough for an afternoon."

"But, I don't want to go."

"Agent Mulder." He said it in that very tired voice he gets when he talks to me. "Do I have to make it an order?"

"No…sir." I sat down at the foot of the bed and began fumbling around for my shorts. So this is what abject humiliation feels like. Funny, I thought I'd been exposed to it a thousand times, but nothing had ever felt this bad. To complete my mortification, I actually felt tears sting my eyes. Well, that's just great, Mulder. You've made an ass out of yourself, made a pass at your boss, and now you're bawling like a baby. Well, hell, what could be worse?

He could still kill me.

I sneaked a look up at him. He was staring at the Nordictrac as if he'd never seen one before. I put down my shorts, stood, drew a deep breath clear to my balls, and crossed that infinity that was the six feet between us.

Catching him mid-reverie, I slid my hands under his robe. "I don't want to go," I whispered against his ear. "I want to stay here. With you."

His skin was hot. And hard. And I wanted to feel every inch of it, but he caught my wrists and pulled them free. "I don't do 'just sex'."

"I don't do relationships," I answered, with a sad smile. "One of us is going to have to give."

"I think…" he said, meeting my eyes, creeping inside me.

"Rule number two, Skinner," I reminded him, gravely.

"I think, it will have to be you, this time."

XXX

This time. I remembered him saying that so softly in my hotel room. And I remembered wondering what I was trading for that concession. I saw the same wonder in his eyes as I backed him toward the bed. He was practically trembling as I guided him backward, into a prone position. He started to say something, and stopped, shaking his head. I couldn't invoke rule number two to finish a sentence he didn't even start. I dropped the robe and stretched out beside him.

I ran an experimental fingertip from his collarbone to his navel. I had plenty of opportunity, over the years, to view the male body in various forms, but I had never had the luxury of one like this. It wasn't perfect, but it was exquisite in its flaws. Lean, and far more muscular than his well fitted suits would acknowledge, evenly pale gold, with the merest hint of hair along that trail I had followed. He was scarred; a testament to his quest. He was Don Quixote. And I would never be his Sancho, that would be Scully, but I was probably his donkey.

I was right about his sexuality. It simmered in him. It bubbled up under the veil of his eyelashes, in the purse of his lips as I caressed him. It stirred in his cock as I let my fingers dance down his side and over his thigh.

It was fascinating to me, his cock, his penis, his male member. Like him, lean, and long, thickly veined, with a proud, ever purpling crown, it rose up, shakily, searching for my touch. I'd never been this close, this intimate with one, and I wanted to examine it, explore it, taste it.

But, Don Quixote was on a new quest tonight, and this saber of his was tilted at a new windmill, me. So I stroked it, almost roughly, and he groaned against me. "This isn't just sex," I reiterated.

"No," he whispered back, groping, reaching, finding my cock, to match my movements.

I found his mouth again, forced my way inside. Again I tasted salt, and this time it was from his tears. "I want to make love to you," I said, licking my way up his cheek.

He groaned again in reply.

"I want to be inside you."

"Yes," he agreed, stupidly, drunk with need.

"I won't hurt you."

"Yes," he repeated.

"No." I pulled away from him. "Listen to me." I waited until his sleepy eyes opened and focused. "I won't hurt you."

He shrugged and gave me a very sweet, understanding smile. "You're bound to. It's the nature of the beast. We've never done this before. It's okay."

He released my cock to stroke my cheek-an even more powerful caress.

I caught his hand and held it against me. "No. I…I've done some reading on the subject. I bought…a book and…some other things we'll need."

He snorted in surprise. "You researched this?" He struggled away from me and sat up, rested his arm lazily on an upraised knee. "You went out and bought a book on gay sex? You?"

"Yes." His incredulous stare irritated me and I sat up, beside him. "It wasn't meant to be just sex, Mulder, and it wasn't meant to hurt you. That's what I was trying to prevent. I wanted…I wanted to do it right," I finished.

To my surprise, he wrapped his arms around me. "Oh, man, Walter, I do love you, you know."

The confession was so totally unexpected I thought I might burst into tears; tears of joy and relief. But, I didn't. I don't. I accepted his embrace, ruffled his hair, and growled, "Did you just call me Walter?"

"No Skinners, Mulders or Sirs in bed," he quoted with a grin. "And you broke your own rule. What sort of penalty do I get to mete out?"

"No penalties," I told him firmly. "No paybacks. I'll give you something else in return." I thought about it. "A backrub?"

He smiled at me again. "A backrub? Really?" He caught one of my hands and considered my fingers as if he was analyzing alien footprints. "I'll bet you give a hell of a backrub."

"You'll find out. Lay down." I got up from the bed, went to my overnight bag and returned with a book, a tube of lubricant and some condoms. It was probably five years of my life laying in that neat little pile, for it cost me that much in nerve to make those purchases.

Mulder ignored the book and picked up the lubricant, read the ingredients, opened it, sniffed it, spilled a tiny drop onto his finger and tasted it.

Made a face and put it down. He examined the condoms, grinned to himself and then, almost hesitantly, picked up the book. It was pretty standard, as far as how-to books go, but it had a chapter on virginity which I felt was important. The spine was already broken to open to that chapter, and I had made some notes in the edges. He read these, cocking his head to one side to follow my script around the corner of a paragraph. "I like a man who is thorough in his research," he said, at last.

"You know we don't have to go all the way tonight," I offered, stroking the small of his back, longing to follow through to the rise of his ass. The women of the fifth floor were right. He had a great ass.

"'Go all the way'?" He looked over his shoulder, smirking at me. "Isn't that just a bit…high school?"

I smacked his great ass. But with affection.

He rolled over, sat up and caught my shoulders. "Listen to me, Walter Skinner, sir. I want to go 'all the way'. I want you to make love to me. I want you inside me. Can I make it any plainer? I've wanted this for a very long time, only I didn't know it." He shrugged and smiled, weakly. "I know, I know it sounds corny, but it's truth. You've been an unexpressed obsession of mine for years. If I wasn't finding reasons to hate you, I was finding reasons to believe in you. But, mostly, I was finding reasons for you to know that I existed. And I do. And you know it. And you love me." He pressed a quick kiss to the end of my nose. "And, as weird as it seems to me, I love you."

"Then why…" I stopped. Don't ruin a good thing, Walter.

He was stretching out on his stomach but he flicked a look over his shoulder and held up two fingers.

I sighed. "Why did you want it to be just about sex?"

He lowered his hand, and then his eyes, and toyed with the box of condoms laying next to him. "Can we table that topic for a while?" he asked, quietly.

"Sure." I patted his bottom. "Backrub. Relax."

"Umm…"

"Backrub," I repeated firmly. "I want you relaxed."

He sighed. "Very well."

He was silent throughout the massage. But, I knew he was enjoying it. I could feel the steel coils of his stress and frustration melt under my fingers. Yet, I could also sense impatience, and a hunger that matched mine.

I was shocked to learn just how much I wanted him, and thought I ought to feel shame, but he was here, he was amenable and, for the moment, that was all the mattered.

Kneeling somewhat awestruck between his parted legs, as if before an altar of this new and amazing desire, I tried to remember the exact instructions for preparing someone for initial penetration, but all my brain could do was skip to the part where I would actually enter him. I made a mess with the lube, squirting it all over him, my hands, the bedclothes, but he cleverly refrained from laughing. He just shut his eyes and bit down on his lower lip.

I considered his opening, doubtfully. It seemed far too small to accomplish what we had planned, but I probed it, tentatively, and got an appreciative hiss from Mulder. One finger, stroking gently, got a soft moan, and a slight rocking of his hips. Two fingers got a different sort of moan, and I panicked.

The book lay open near where his head rested on his folded arms, and I strained to read the tiny print without my glasses. Glasses. They were sitting, within reach, on the bedside table, if I could just lean over and…

"Umm…I don't think you're suppose to achieve penetration through my hip with your elbow," he drawled.

I looked down. He was wincing. I straightened, but with my glasses in one too slick hand. Trying to put them on with one hand, I felt Mulder roll slightly to one side.

"What the hell are you doing?" he demanded. He reached up, pulled the glasses off and put them back on the bedside table. Then he picked up the book. "When sex becomes homework, I don't want to do it anymore." He threw it across the room. "Now." He caught my free hand and tugged, rolling expertly under me as I came down, my cock nestling between his over slicked cheeks. "I subscribe to the Nike theory, Walter," he whispered. "Just do it."

Hours later, even though he was quiet against me I knew he was still awake. I worried that, despite all my precautions, I might have hurt him. I stroked his shoulder, gently. "Are you all right?"

I felt him sigh. "Fine."

"Rule number nine. No lying."

I felt him force a chuckle. "In that case, we're really only at rule number eight. I skipped one."

"Are you all right?" I repeated.

"You called me Fox."

"When?"

"Earlier. When you…ummm…you know…came."

"I'm sorry."

"No, it's all right." He shrugged, jerkily. "It was just weird to hear a man say my name. You did it once before, years ago, when I first started working for you. You were probably the first person to make it sound like a name, instead of…a profanity. My dad used to sort of bark out my name, the way someone else would swear. And my mother always made it sound like a sigh of disappointment."

"I won't do that again," I promised, lifting my hand to caress his face. "I could call you William," I offered.

"Oh, no, that's worse. That's his name." He turned slightly in my arms and I could tell he was grinning. "Besides, when we go to the gay clubs in Aruba, you don't want them calling us Wally and Willie, do you?"

"God forbid!" I said fervently. "And who says we're going to gay clubs in Aruba, anyway?"

He twisted his head slightly, and I could see a wounded pout in profile.

"You mean we're not? Don't I get anything out of this?"

"I seem to recall you getting something out of this," I reminded him, indignantly. "Twice."

"Yeah." He sounded slightly awestruck. "I've never come twice so close together before. I may have to call in sick tomorrow."

"Well, I don't know," I said, pretending to give it thought, even as I envisioned an entire day with him in my bed. "You'd have to get it cleared by your boss and you know how he is. He's a pretty big-"

"-prick?" he offered, and rubbed at his backside. "Don't I know it," he said with a wicked little chuckle.

I gathered him against me, and held him. "Are you ready to answer the question?"

He was quiet for a long while. "Everyone I love I lose," he said softly.

"That won't happen with me, Fox," I promised, gently.

"How do you know? Can you prove it to me?" He twisted around, catching my shoulder. "Can you give me a guarantee?"

"No," I answered, evenly. "You'll just have to trust me."

"Ha," he said, falling onto his back, heavily. "Don't you know my motto?"

"I want to believe?" I suggested.

I felt his narrowed gaze slash at me. "Trust no one."

I shook my head. "No, Mulder. This time you've got someone you can trust.

You can trust me."

-THE END-