TITLE: Same Game: Part IV- All Tied Up

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", "Same Game: Part II Ground Rules" and "Same Game: Part III: Home Court Advantage". Mulder confronts his true enemy. We find out why the rule book may sometimes be unnecessary.

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 IV- All Tied Up by Mik

My friend, my enemy, my savior. How to describe him? Known from the beginning, always there, sometimes within reach, sometimes only within roar, but there. There have been times when I sought to master him. There have been times when I prayed for his total consumption of me. Foreboding, shapeless, black even in darkness, deeper than the biggest holes in space, with red, hungry eyes. I have known him all my life.

When I was a child, I called him my dangerous darkness. I could see him in the corner of my eye before my father could strike. As a jaded adolescent, I jeeringly referred to him as DD, some sort of crony, someone to hang out with when the rest of reality got too real. Then I grew up, I studied, I learned other names for him, but I think I still see him as my dangerous darkness.

He was here tonight. I've been looking for him for days, and he came tonight. I made a mistake, something that I needed to pay for, and tonight he came to collect. That first swipe of his claws, however, came unexpectedly, when Skinner told me we couldn't work together anymore. The second, when he told me it couldn't be a one night stand.

The third time, I was prepared for him. Splayed out on Skinner's bed like a sacrifice, feeling him work his way into me, I heard the pad of paws in my jungle and I waited, almost joyously, for him to pounce. Despite all of the man's study and diligence, it hurt. And I couldn't get him to understand that it was right that it should. The sensation of being entered that way was nothing like I had expected, nothing like entering a woman. There was no smooth glide. It was like being packed full of clay, and then he moved, and my ass became his kiln. He was suddenly glazed and hard and moving and I was burning and purified and my dangerous darkness was finally within my reach, red eyes glowing, white claws gleaming.

Then Skinner did something, moved somehow, shifted some way, and everything changed. A new pain, or perhaps the painful void when pain is removed, held out to me, white in contrast, brilliant white, blinding white. Not pain. No pain ever felt this exquisite. This, Mr. Mulder, is pleasure. Acquaint yourself. And I did. Blindly, faithlessly, I turned away from my old friend, and reached out toward this snow white shade. With a bellow, he turned away. My perfidy was complete when I reached for this specter not once but twice.

And the specter knew me, called my name. Fox.

I laid there for a long time after I felt him fall asleep. He had promised me that I could trust him and I wanted to. After all, you have to trust a man who can make your ass throb to the rhythm of his heartbeat. You have to trust a man who can make you cry like a baby when you come. You have to trust a man who has been known to work for…

I stopped thinking. I laid there, listening to his even breathing, and searched for another sound. Would I hear the footfall come through the darkness for me, now? No, nothing but silence beyond his breath and the traffic outside.

Finally, I inched away from him. The taste of sleeping cradled in his arms was too sweet and I'd been a glutton twice already. That first night, in his hotel room, we'd slept together, after, and I woke, held against him, feeling almost…cherished. Tonight he had pulled me back against him, and molded his body around mine, as if to protect me from the world. It scares me when I feel poetic, and his nearness had me thinking in odes all night.

At the edge of the bed, I looked back at him. Look at that man. A gentle, slumbering giant. Hardly the monster that gave me such grief for so many years. That half smile on his face made him almost…goofy is the word that comes to mind but in an endearing way. His lovemaking (and yes, I'd have to call it that, sex would be too mechanical for what we did), was an odd blend of tenderness and technique. Despite the fact that it was a desire to rendezvous with my dangerous darkness that brought me to this bed, I must admit gratification in knowing he was gratified. Now, then, how the hell do I get out of here?

I stood, and stretched, and winced. Yes, I was good and sore, but the pain didn't have the familiarity I expected. This wasn't a pain I wanted to savor. No, I wanted this pain over, so that I could have the pleasure again.

That scared me.

I limped to the bathroom, made the rounds, noted with some measure of satisfaction that blood had been spilled, and then felt my way downstairs. I didn't want to turn on any lights, and I couldn't turn on the television, so I liberated a small portion of his scotch, picked up On The Road and took it to the window, to read by the street light.

When did I feel eyes on me? I'm not sure. The glass was empty, and I had moved past his place in the book, so it may have been some time later.

Keeping my eyes fixed on the page deliberately, I tried to plan my course of action.

"Can't sleep?"

I admit, I didn't expect him to take action first and it startled me. I nearly lost his place in the book. I looked up at him. I know my jaw fell open slightly and I experienced an unexpected, albeit brief, wave of lust.

Still naked, he stood at the penultimate step, hand braced against the wall, eyes fixed on me. If David had been made of bronze instead of marble, and had been to Vietnam, I thought. Well, no, my memory of Michelangelo's statue was that he was not as well endowed. "Uh…no," I said, stupidly. "I don't…usually."

"Want some tea?"

Oh, no, Grandmother Skinner, don't put that image in my head! "Uh…no I just stole some of your scotch." I held up the empty glass.

"Are you all right?"

Something…something in his voice gave me a little hint of pain, like a fish hook in my heart, and I turned toward it. "Oh, yeah, I'm fine." I came away from the window, put the glass on the bar and carefully laid his book back the way I found it. "You should go back to bed. We have to be up in a couple of hours."

"No. We're calling out today, remember?" He held his hand out, inviting me into his space, his embrace, drawing me back to his bed. "And besides, if we weren't, the same would hold true for you, wouldn't it?"

I let myself be pulled along his side, back up those stairs. "No, I'm used to going into work with no sleep."

"And you think I've never wrestled with insomnia? Or pulled an all nighter doing research or on a stake out? What kind of wuss do you think I am, Mulder?"

"Wuss is not a word I would associate with you, ssss…" I stopped. Sir?

Skinner? Walter? What?

"Walter," he said, and damn it, his voice was kind again. "It's okay to call me Walter, here."

"Okay." It was all I could think to say. And there was that enormous bed, bedclothes laid back as if he had only just turned them down, inviting me again.

He hesitated. "Are you sure you're all right? The book said that-"

"Walter, Walter, please. I'm okay." I tried to laugh. "Really. It's not that. I just don't sleep very well."

He smiled at me. An honest to God smile. "Well, come back to bed and keep me company, because tonight I can."

Oh, I think I melted about then. Stood there in my own puddle, watching what a few random shifts in muscle could do to a face, to an image, to a belief. I never thought about a man as beautiful, but that smile, those sleepy eyes without the wire rims…wow. I actually felt my breath catch.

I waited until he was settled into place, and then carefully eased down beside him. He wrapped one of those monster arms around me and pulled me in close to him. I swear he actually kissed the top of my head. His monster arm became a rope, tied around my psyche. I wanted to be here. For the first time in a long time, I wanted to take the risk, be close to someone.

"Relax, Mulder," he murmured, sleepily and gave my shoulder a squeeze.

"You're vibrating, you're so tense."

"Uh…I don't do relax well," I answered and held my breath. Maybe he would fall asleep quickly and I could escape before the rope tightened and I could no longer escape.

"Shh," he whispered. With his other hand, he stroked my cheek. "You can do it."

I closed my eyes, and let my forehead rest against his shoulder. I could smell him, he was filling me again, but this time with the effluvium of his passion. It was dizzying. I found myself struggling to keep conscious. I had to get away.

What are you afraid of, Mulder? That you'll enjoy this reorientation of your personal beliefs? Too late for that, I fear. You tasted sin and absolution all in one kiss. You'll never be satisfied with anyone else, male or female.

Are you afraid that people will mock you for yearning after another man? How could that be worse than being mocked for believing extraterrestrial life? How can it be worse than being mocked for believing your sister was abducted as part of a major government conspiracy? What is it, really, Mulder? Are you afraid you'll never face your dangerous darkness again?

I opened my eyes with a jerk, and listened for the sound of that familiar hiss. No, nothing but the sound of deep, even breathing. He won't come now, I told myself. Not with Skinner here. Skinner will keep watch. My eyes slipped closed again and in my own darkness, I searched for red, glowing eyes. All I found was the memory of warm, chocolate eyes.

XXX

I'm not sure what woke me. Not my alarm. And not the familiar loneliness of my bed. Yet, I was disappointed to find myself alone. Last night, I held him, let him hold me, possessed his body in trade for my soul. And, now, he's gone. I'm not surprised. I told him I didn't want a one night stand. I told him I didn't want an experiment. I believed him when he said he wanted to stay, even though I knew he'd be gone before dawn. I'm surprised he stayed as long as he did.

At two in the morning, I found him downstairs, nursing a couple of fingers of scotch, and reading Jack Kerouac by street lamp. I can't believe how elegant he was, standing there, one long line of careless grace. I wanted to come across the room, gather him up and hold him, but he reminded me of a wild horse my father and I came across when I was a kid. I got close enough that the beautiful thing looked me right in the eye, then tossed his head and raced away. I was forever marked by that look, though I never saw the horse again. I knew I couldn't get that close to Mulder. Not even when making love. There was a part of him always tensed to race away into the foothills, never to be seen again.

Sadly, I rolled away from the pillow he had slept on. I wanted to hold it, embrace it, inhale his scent from it. But that would bespeak a sentimentality I'm not willing to allow myself at this stage in my life. A tiny measure of sentimentality brought him into my bed last night, any more would bring him too deep into my heart to be removed without a knife.

Wounded, saddened, shrugging on my robe, I went downstairs to start coffee, only to be assaulted by the aroma of same. I went to the kitchen door and stared. That long line of careless grace was bent at the middle, feet planted slightly apart, elbows on the kitchen counter, chin in hand, hips rocking slightly to a tune only he heard. His ass was round and ripe and I wanted to catch it in both hands and devour it.

"Mulder, you're in the kitchen naked," I blurted out, for lack of anything else to say in my great relief to see him.

He didn't look at me. His eyes were fixed on a book propped on the counter top. "Yeah, it's the damnedest thing. I keep popping up naked everywhere.

A little while ago I was naked in your living room. Before that I was naked in your bathroom." He shrugged. "It's an X file."

I came into the kitchen, and slid my hand over one of those perfect semi-circles of flesh. "What are you reading?"

"Your cookbook," he answered, still swaying. This close, I could hear the tuneless humming.

I bit into his shoulder, softly, wondering 'Why cook? I'll simply feast on you'. "Oh? What are you thinking of preparing?"

Mulder pressed back just enough to create contact with most of my body.

"Waffles," he said, his eyes never leaving the page.

"Waffles? I didn't know you could cook."

"I can't," he assured me, shrugging. "But, how hard can it be?"

I reached past him and pushed the cookbook shut. "No. I like my housekeeper. She'd quit after you attempted waffles." I took the cookbook back to its place on the bookshelf over the refrigerator.

He looked over his shoulder at me. "It's nice to see you, this morning, too." He pulled open a cupboard. "What some coffee?"

I sent a glance toward the pot. "Depends," I answered carefully. "Have you ever made coffee before?"

He sighed at me. "I've been a bachelor for a while, too, you know." He reached for the pot.

I stayed his hand. "Answer the question."

"Well." He looked at the mug in his hand. "Your pot's a little different from mine."

"Stand back, Mulder." I took the cup from him, poured and sniffed tentatively. "Not bad."

"See?"

"IF I was in the Navy, and IF I was on sub duty, and IF it was in the Antarctic." I poured the entire pot down the sink.

"Don't hold back, Walter."

I slid a hand around his neck and gave him an affectionate little squeeze.

"Thanks for trying."

"Huh." He turned toward my bulletin board, and considered the calendar I had tacked there, reminding me of dentist appointments, and car maintenance, and a seminar in New York. "Helluva social life you've got here, Walter."

"Oh, I keep the date book in the safe," I answered, filling the carafe with filtered water from the fridge.

"In asbestos, no doubt." He was still humming faintly, still swaying.

"No doubt." I took the bag of coffee beans from the freezer and measured some into the grinder. "Would you like an omelet?"

He didn't look at me, although he did flinch slightly as I started grinding the beans. "Can YOU cook?"

"Some," I admitted as I spooned coffee into the basket. "Casseroles, omelets, one pan things."

"Huh." He fingered a photograph of an old Marine buddy tacked next to the calendar. "Who's this?"

A little flicker of pain, a reminder of greater pain in days long gone.

"Friend a mine," I answered stiffly. I could feel Mulder's eyes come around, questioningly, but not quite to me. I flipped the switch. "Knew him in the Corps. He died recently."

"Oh." He turned to me, finally, and there was a depth of compassion in his eyes I didn't think Mulder was capable of feeling. "I'm so sorry."

I shrugged. "Yeah. It's a damn shame." I knew my voice was rough with feeling. "The good ones always die young."

"Which explains why I'm still around," Mulder answered with a chuckle.

Bless Mulder, making a joke out of something so painful. I let my eyes fall over him, incredulous. Here he was, naked, in my kitchen. Hell, it WAS an X-file. "Are you okay?" I asked him, quietly.

His brows pulled together slightly. He nodded, slowly. "You know…I think I am." His eyes came to mine. "You?"

"It was pretty fantastic, Mulder," I admitted.

His nose twitched. "Not bad for sex, huh?"

"No." I reached for him, pulled him close enough to let him wind his arms into my robe. "Not sex. More."

"So…what are we doing here?" he asked, his voice muffled into the shoulder of my robe.

"Dancing?" I suggested again, helplessly.

I felt his shoulders move. I think he was laughing. "Okay, but next time I get to lead."

I reached down and tilted his head up to look into his eyes. "Seriously?"

He was still frowning, but I saw something fall into place in there. "Oh, I meant…well, yeah, I think so."

I felt something in me fall out of place. My gut tightened. It hadn't been much of a leap to be willing to take him, enter him, make love to him. But, to give him the lead, let him take me? But, for those eyes, that face, the sounds he made last night? I drew a tight breath. "Okay."

"That's fair." He pulled away from me, sent his eyes over my face, and impulsively, slid his hand up, over my cheek and then the top of my head.

"Smooth. I always wondered."

I smacked his butt, affectionately. "Go get dressed, will you? You're very distracting like that."

"Thank you." He stopped at the door. "I think. By the way…"

"Yes?"

"Who won the game the other night?"

I tried to remember who was ahead before we ended up in each other's arms.

"I don't remember. What do you think?"

"I think…" His tongue darted out, went over his bottom lip, and disappeared

again. "I think we both won."

-THE END-