TITLE: Same Game: Part VIII - Cross Town Rivalry

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: You always cheer for the home team...don't you?

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.

Once again, I give this to the owners and proprietors of the Chatterer's Gallery, for long midnight coffees and Peep Jerky, and to Buster, for starting this whole thing, querida Susan for keeping me honest and Lady D for sharing with me. Oh, please, Sergeeva, tell me you've forgiven me.

Same Game VIII - Cross Town Rivalry (part 1 of 2)
by Mik

I was toying with it when I heard the door open. I looked up and there she stood, Scully, her poor clipped wing in a bright, silk sling. Actually, the floral silk scarf in a loud print was jarringly out of character for her and I knew by the flush in her cheeks that Maggie had provided the sling for her. "Scully," I began, rising to take her things. "Should you be here today?"

"Yes, of course," she said. There was no affectation to her voice. She was answering quite honestly.

"Well, Saturday afternoon they were digging a bullet out of your arm. I just thought they'd give you a little more than two days off work for that. Hell, I got three days just because I let a killer in my head for a few minutes."

"Mulder, you letting a killer in your head 'for a few minutes' is a hundred times more damaging than this was.

Didn't they tell you? It really just grazed my arm. The surgery was just to debride the wound and give me stitches."

She came to her desk and I pulled her chair out for her. She looked down at the chair, and then at her bag and coat in my hand. "However, if you feel you must make SOME gesture, I'd love a cup of tea."

"Right." I put her things down on her desk and reached for her cup. Talk about X files. She hadn't been in this office since Friday morning, and here, Wednesday, her cup was as clean and pristine as one just taken off the department store shelf. Mine always looks like someone's been slopping pigs--I cut off the thought, because it reminded me of my last pleasant conversation with Skinner.

"Mulder." She put her good hand on my arm. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine." WHY does everyone keep asking me that? "Why?

I'm more concerned about you."

"I don't know. You just don't seem..." She stopped and shook her head.

"Rule number--" Again I chopped the words off.

But this time, someone heard me. "What?"

I shook my head. "What kind of tea do you want? The weird New Age holistic stuff that Holly brings in or the traditional All American Orange Pekoe?"

"Never mind. I think I'll have coffee. What rule?"

I ignored her and went for the door. Damn it. Three days and it wasn't getting better. In fact, I think it was getting worse. Yesterday I saw him in a corridor and I wanted to lunge at him. He kept on walking as if he didn't even see me. Well, maybe he didn't. He was in the middle of a serious argument with one of the other ADs and I did sort of duck into the alcove where the copier was before he passed by. Still, it hurt all day. Ridiculous. I'm a grown man, not a little boy with a crush on his teacher. I can get over this. I will get over this. It was sex. It was a quick fuck. That's all. No romance, no Hallmark cards, no Kodak moments, no...oh, hell, Skinner, fill in the pop culture reference of your choice. I was right. It was about sex.

I brought back what passed for coffee and a couple of her little pink packets, and set them on her desk. She was standing at mine, holding a Darth Maul action figure.

"Eating at McDonald's again, Mulder?" she asked. "The minute my back is turned..."

"No, Wal--" I stopped. How was I supposed to say, 'No, our boss gave it to me as a kiss-off gift'? "No, I wanted one. So I bought it. What can I say, Scully?" I gave her a weak grin. "Boys and their toys."

She fixed a look on me. The one that pins you to a wall.

"Mulder."

I stood there, pinned. "What?"

"Something's going on. You're not yourself. I could understand you being distraught Saturday. I could even understand you being a little anxious and distracted Sunday, but Monday and yesterday...Mulder, you're turning into a zombie before my eyes. Maybe you need more time off."

"A zombie, Scully?" I said, seriously. "You mean a human body which has been robbed of will and soul, raised to do someone else's bidding, usually for evil purposes?"

She put the toy down on my desk. "Fine. Don't tell me what's bothering you."

"Scully." I tried a laugh. It was weak. "There is nothing going on. I had a rough case end last week and then, while I was off on leave, my partner got shot.

Granted," I rushed on as she started to protest. "It was nothing more than a grazing, but it did scare me. I'm going through my grieving process. It's normal. It's natural." I moved until I stood over her. "Stop fussing."

Impulsively, I pressed a kiss to her brow. "It's good to have you back, partner."

She seemed willing to accept that. She ducked her head a little and nodded. "I missed you, too."

As she turned for her coffee, I reached out to straighten the toy which she had allowed to fall over. She caught my action and smiled at me just as the phone rang. I glanced at the LCD readout, recognized the extension and froze.

Kim, Skinner's redoubtable secretary. "Uh, that's Kim," I said, reaching for my own cup. "I'm sure Skinner just wants to know if you're really up to working today. I'm getting myself some coffee."

I decided I was going to drag my feet about it. I actually carried my cup into the Men's room, and attempted to wipe a few layers of scum away. McElroy and Waters were at the

urinal, Waters complaining once again about his on-again, off-again relationship with a girl at Public Broadcasting, across the street from the Hoover. "So, now she tells me she's going to start dating this guy she met at the Metro stop."

"Let her," McElroy advised. He would.

"I don't know, man. It's not like I don't care about her or anything." I knew what he cared about. He had been bragging about her oral skills for weeks. "She just says I'm not romantic enough."

"Women are always saying that," McElroy commiserated.

"What do they want, anyway? Wine and roses every damned day?"

"It's not such a bad idea. You know, women like to know they're appreciated. Maybe I'll take her someplace nice.

Surprise her," Waters suggested, tucking himself into place. "Get a nice hotel room, wine her and dine her."

"Why waste yourself?" McElroy protested. "There are plenty of women out there."

"Yeah, and you've been married to most of 'em, haven't you, McElroy?" I put in, reaching for a paper towel.

"Fuck you, Mulder. I don't see you cozying up to anyone but the Ice Queen, and I'll bet her idea of a good time has something to do with corpses."

"If that were the case, she'd be all over you, wouldn't she?" I retorted. But his words slapped me. I had had someone to cozy up to. For a few hours, I had been part of a 'we'. And I fucked it up. Big time. I ignored the coffee machine and brought my semi-clean cup back down to our office.

She was just replacing the receiver. "Skinner wants to see us."

No. "Both of us, or just you?" I put the cup down. "I mean, you're the one who needs to debrief. Maybe he doesn't--"

"He specifically asked for both of us." She smiled at me, speculatively. "That's a pretty panicked look you've got there. What happened, Mulder? Did you manage to get on his last nerve while I was gone?" She reached for my arm.

"Come on, partner, let's get this over with, and if you're a good little boy, I'll let you have McDonald's for lunch."

"Geesh, Scully, I'm not a little kid." I pulled my arm free. "Let's go see what he wants and be done with it."

I'm NOT a little kid, I reminded myself. I'm a grown man, and it's about time I acted like one.

We came into his office just as he was shrugging on his jacket. The gesture stretched the front of his shirt tight across his chest, emphasized his shoulders. "I'm on my way to a meeting," he said, abruptly, not even looking my way.

"Walk with me, Agents."

I kept my eyes on neutral things, to avoid drooling, to avoid staring, to avoid the white gleam of his glasses.

"How are you feeling, Agent Scully?" he asked, holding the door for us.

I had to look up to go past him, and felt that white gleam rake my spine. I wanted desperately to make some smart-ass comment about her coming back to work on her shield, because I knew it would be expected of me, but I couldn't make anything come out.

She sailed right over me, anyway. "I'm fine, sir. It was just a flesh wound."

He and I looked at each other. We couldn't help it. We both looked away, quickly.

"I'm relieved to hear that, Agent Scully," he said, gruffly. "I've read the reports. We got some bad information, didn't we?"

She nodded as we reached the elevator. "Yes, sir."

We were silent in the elevator. It was eerie. With the reflective doors, it was like staring at ourselves in a mirror. And we had to stare straight ahead or risk meeting one another's eyes. Still, even without allowing my eyes to shift that millimeter to the left to take in his stern expression, I could feel him, the heat of him, the size of him, the power of him. Worse, I could smell him, taste him, hear him say my name. Fox. Please, Walter, just say my name and everything will be all right.

"There will be a final statement to the press this afternoon," he said, instead, as we reached the lobby. "It would be appropriate for you both to be there."

"Both of us, sir?" she said, because I couldn't get the words out.

Damn it, Walter, what is this? Torture? Punish me for walking out on you by making me be around you even when it isn't necessary? Forget it. I won't be there, and you can't make a case against me for it.

"I think so. You're partners. You should be together."

He took a few steps away from us, and looked back. "Two o'clock. Press room." He kept going.

I scowled at his retreating back. Bastard. Who knew he had a sadistic streak in him? "Come on, Scully, let's go take a walk by Starbuck's, and I'll buy you a real cup of coffee."

We took our coffee to what had become over the years our bench, and sat, staring. She was watching people wander, admiring the cherry blossoms. I was staring morosely into the tidal basin. Fuck him, I kept repeating savagely. I don't need him. Fuck him. And then, out of the corner of my eye, I recognized a familiar stride. The concept of photosynthesis dawned brilliantly in me as I turned toward him. And then the sky darkened as he met and greeted a man in major military regalia. Not merely greeted, greeted with one of those all too rare, all too wonderful smiles.

I felt everything in my body constrict.

"Hey, Scully. Who's the guy with all the shiny stuff on his jacket? The one talking to Skinner?"

She squinted in that direction. "Welcome to the twentieth century, Mulder. That's General Hardy. He's from the Pentagon."

"He's a general?" He looked my age, if that. Blond and earnest looking, pumping Skinner's hand, his other hand on Skinner's shoulder. I wanted to jump up and wander over, inveigle my way into the conversation, just to put space between them. Instead, I sipped coffee, and watched them over the rim of the cup.

Look at that face, I thought. Look how intently he listens. I can predict--yes, he's inclining his head just enough to make it an intimate conversation. I can almost see the bulging cord of muscle in his neck from here.

They're standing too close, way too close. He never stood that close to me, and he's fucked me.

"Mulder?"

I turned sharply, nearly spilling what was left of the coffee in the cup I was practically crushing in my fingers.

"What?"

"You're grinding your teeth." She put her cup down and touched my arm. "If it bothers you that much to go to this press conference, bail. I'll cover for you."

"Are you kidding?" I worked up a weak grin for her. "And miss seeing my partner in the spotlight? I'll be there and proud." I forced myself upright. "Come on. We'd better get back to work before the boss makes us stay after."

I flicked the crumpled coffee cup into the trash as I steered her deliberately toward them. I wanted to get a closer look at this guy.

Skinner straightened as he saw us coming, and we both tossed a nod in his direction as we passed. I wanted him to stop us, call out and introduce us, but he merely shifted position and turned his back to us. "Are you sure he's a general?" I whispered as we reached the end of the tidal basin.

"Oh, yes. Comes from a long line of Westpointers." Scully sneered this. She couldn't help it. Her dad was Navy, Annapolis.

"Scully," I chided gently. "Be tolerant." But, damn it, he looked too young to be a general. He looked like he should be standing in front of an arcade game, sending animated star troopers off to fight CGI bad guys for as long as his allowance could hold out. So why is Skinner looking at him as if he might take him home and tuck him in? And why is it bothering me so much?

I knew the answer to that without even formalizing the question in my head. It bothered me on two levels. It bothered me because I still wanted him, and it bothered me all the more that, after a mere three days, he could shift his attention to someone else. A voice came, uninvited, to my inner ear; the voice of my mother, giving me the advice that she would have given my sister in this situation: A love so easily replaced is not a love worth keeping.

I stalled at the doors of the Hoover, and sent my eyes across the street to the building that was home to Public Broadcasting, and let the conversation between Waters and McElroy rewind and replay in my head. "Scully, would you consider DC romantic?"

"Oh, I suppose it could be." She shrugged. "I wouldn't call it first date material, but maybe if you really liked the lady, a walk under the cherry blossoms would be nice, or coffee on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial. I suppose any place can be as romantic as you want to make it. Why?"

She cast me a sly glance. "Who's the girl?"

I guess I was ignoring her. Skinner was basically an old-fashioned, morally upright guy. To pull him back into a relationship with me, I'd have to a) prove I really wanted him and b) make him really want me. That sounded like a job for wine and roses.

"Mulder, is that what's going on?" She sounded shocked, and giggly. "You've got a GIRL!"

I scowled down at her. "Of course I do, you."

She scowled back. "I'm swept away by your passion."

I made myself laugh and drape my arm across her tiny shoulders. "Dana Katherine Scully, you will always be my best girl. Let's go. We've got work to do."

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

"Scully, who IS that guy?" I hissed as we tried to run the gauntlet of reporters and get out of the press room alive.

The overgrown Boy Scout was back, standing at the back of the room, murmuring things to Skinner while Scully showed reporters how sharp terrier teeth can be.

The questions thrown at her went from the inane to the insipid, and some of them bordered on ill-advised, suggesting that the show of force had been unnecessary. I had been so lost in my own well of misery, that I hadn't even been aware of the cries of 'ATF lives at the FBI' swelling up in the aftermath of the shootout. It wasn't until that afternoon that I saw the cartoon showing Hoover, in summer frock and jack-boots, mowing down hapless armed gunmen trying to run away with money from the Federal Reserve Bank.

Scully showed them, though. She reminded them of the two armored car drivers who were killed during the robbery, and the five children who were now fatherless. She knew exactly how any bullets were fired on each side, indicating that there was a greater show of fire power on the side of the bad guys, and a greater show of restraint on ours. In short, she did the Bureau proud, and she looked good doing it.

I really didn't appreciate the show, though. I was behind her, rocking back in my chair, arms folded over my chest, obsessing on General Hardy Boy, standing back there talking to my boss, my ex-lover, my Skinner.

"I know I've seen him somewhere," I persisted. "My Spidey-sense is tingling."

Scully didn't get a chance to answer me. Skinner and the military boy wonder were disengaging themselves from the back of the room and moving to head us off. Up close, the little shepherd boy looked even younger, more earnest; blond, blue-eyed, all American.

He also looked vaguely familiar to me.

"Agent Scully," Skinner growled, using his arms to herd us all out a side door. "You handled that very well."

"Thank you, sir," Scully said. Her face was still flushed with barely concealed contempt.

"That was quite a display in there," GI Joe said. "Who would have thought a little thing like you would have managed to whip all those wolves into submission."

Uh oh, Soldier Boy, I thought. Prepare to feel the sting of this wasp's tongue.

"Thank you, General," Scully murmured, glancing at her watch.

"I'm giving a small reception at the Henley Park this evening," he announced brightly. "I'd be honored if you would join me." He lifted his eyes and let them take me in, assess me and dismiss me in a moment. "And you, Agent Moulsen."

I bit my lip. Let him screw with my name. Why not? He's probably screwed with everything else that matters to me.

"I don't think--"

"Mulder, Sean," Skinner put in. "This is Agent Mulder."

His eyes widened. "This is...?" Skinner nodded.

"Well, you absolutely must be there," he told me.

"Is that an order, sir?" I asked, trying really hard not to sneer. I did not look at Skinner, I would not.

Everyone laughed. Hell, I didn't mean to be witty. "If you want to consider it one," 'Sean' chuckled. "Then, yes.

It's black tie. Six o'clock. Sharp." He patted Skinner on the shoulder. "See you later, Walt."

Walt. That constricting feeling was back. I felt Skinner look back at me. Or maybe both of us. "It's not a mandatory appearance, Agents," he began. "But it wouldn't hurt either of you to be there."

"Yes, sir," Scully answered the way only Scully can; that amazing mix of 'I can't think of anything I'd love more' and 'Oh, yes, I can, to see you with a stake through your heart, having an enema with a cattle prod.'.

"Yes, sir," I mumbled, grudgingly, and followed Scully away from the Press Room door. "Shit."

"Oh, come on," Scully teased, as we entered the elevator.

"Here's a chance to get dressed up and eat a meal that doesn't come in a styrofoam box, and do it all on Uncle Sam's dime."

"Hey, styrofoam is high in petroleum, goes through your system faster than fiber." The last thing I want to do is wander around looking like I missed my date with the undertaker, watching the Golden Child fawn all over Walt.

"Will you stop?" Scully complained. "I haven't been to the Henley Park in years. I'm actually looking forward to it."

"Yeah, well..." I paused as we reached the basement.

"Where's it at?"

"YOU forgot something? Mulder, now I know you're not well." She moved as if to reach up and put a hand against my forehead.

I waved her off. "Cut it out. I didn't forget. I wasn't paying attention."

"The Henley Park. You know, that venerable old inn just a few blocks from here? You should take notes when we get there, Mulder. It's very romantic. And you were looking for romance, earlier, as I recall."

"Yeah..." I focused on her. "Well, if I've got to do this, I'd better get out of here at a reasonable time and chase all the moths out of my tux jacket."

XXX

A rose.

He left a rose on the table next to me. Dinner was ruined, and there was no hope of me enjoying the hundred year old brandy that Sean wanted me to taste. It was hard enough to see him walk in, Scully on his arm, looking like royalty.

This guy epitomized the concept 'dress to kill' in his Armani suits, but he is undeniably lethal in a tux. And, Agent Dana Scully is not exactly an unattractive accessory, even in a sling. Especially in that blue strapless thing that turned her eyes into two blue lasers.

Sean seated them at our table, Scully to my right, Mulder to my left. There was very little table talk during the dinner. Well, Sean and I engaged in a little military theory, and Scully politely answered Sean's blitzkrieg of questions about the shootout. Mulder was silent, but managed not to sulk. He actually seemed amused about something, and kept sending his eyes around the dining room, noting details like the lead glass ceiling and fountain with approval.

As the dessert cart was being wheeled through the room, and Sean got up to get me some of that brandy he had been raving about all evening, Scully rose to excuse herself. I had a moment of actual panic. Alone at the table with Mulder? To my surprise, he stood with her and came around to help her from her chair. As she moved away, he turned back to the table and produced the long stemmed, red rose from within his jacket and laid it on the corner of the table. My first thought was how did he sit through the entire meal without crushing it, and my second thought was what do I do now?

I raised my eyes slowly, but he was gone. I glanced around, and saw him heading in the same direction Agent Scully had disappeared. Scully. The rose wasn't for me.

It was for Scully.

"Sighing, Walt?" Sean returned with two glasses. "Over the redhead? She's some piece of work, that one."

"Sean, if you want to live to see Brigadier, I suggest you withdraw your fangs," I said, not gently. "If Mulder doesn't kill you, she will. And don't think you've ever come up against an enemy stronger, smarter, or more determined than that redhead." I reached for my snifter, nodded at him and let a little bit of the rich, warmed liquid slip down my throat. Smooth. Just like Mulder's kisses. Damn it, the ache was back.

I thought I'd be okay, when I didn't see him for three days, but I was deluding myself. The hole he punched in my gut the day Scully was shot only continued to grow until it now threatened to absorb me, whole. And there I was, sitting next to him in a romantic restaurant, longing to reach under the table and caress his thigh, and he was completely unaware that I existed. Well, it was my decision, and it was the right decision, for him. He needs to break this cycle of punishment for perceived failures.

"I don't know, Walt." Sean was surveying the horizon, searching for an enemy to engage. "She looks like she'd be fun in a tussle."

"Sean," I said around the rim of my glass. "I didn't know you had a death wish."

Scully came floating back to us, and Sean and I both rose to meet her. She nodded at us, settled into her chair, glanced at the rose and gave Sean a very sweet little smile. I knew that smile well enough to know that General Sean Hardy was a dead man. She looked at me. "Where's Mulder?"

"Right here." He had returned with two flutes of champagne, and presented Scully with one. He surprised me by tipping his glass toward Sean. "Thanks for inviting us.

This is a nice old place." He looked down at Scully.

"Kind of romantic."

Roses. Scully. Romantic. Well, I was the one who said it had to be a relationship. It never occurred to me that the reason he was resisting anything more than sex was because he couldn't love anyone but her.

"It must be," Scully murmured, picking up the rose. She sniffed at it. "Who's your admirer?"

"It's not--" I cut the words off. Suddenly I felt something swell in me. Hope? Relief? Joy? Passion? "I'm not sure, Agent. I assumed it was yours."

She turned the rose around, and I saw a tiny white ribbon, and even tinier letters: W.S.S.

I wanted to look at Mulder but I didn't dare give him away.

I merely smiled, knowing full well I was blushing. I didn't care. I was only a heartbeat or two away from grinning like a fool. "I wish I had been paying attention," I said.

"Well, it's a lovely gesture." Scully snapped the stem expertly, and tucked it into my buttonhole. She patted my lapel, gently. "That looks very nice."

I wasn't at all charmed by her actions. I knew she was only putting Sean on notice.

And Sean noticed.

I finally risked a glance at Mulder. He had settled down into his chair, and was sipping champagne, and humming tunelessly. I could feel him in my brain, in my nerves, even in my cock. The rose was for me. Mulder gave me a rose. No wonder women like getting them. That rose gave me some sense of meaning again.

Sean stood. "I should go around and perform my duties as host," he said. "There will be dancing in the other room after dessert."

"I like dancing," Mulder said, to no one in particular.

"I'm especially good if I get to lead."

I nearly broke the stem of my snifter of brandy.

Sean sent him a bewildered look. Scully laughed. I chuckled politely. What I wanted to do was dive for him and drag him under the table. I felt my ass clench.

Mulder. Rose. Me. Dancing. I was now reduced to thinking in one word sentences.

"Well, then you should dance," Sean said, and excused himself with a nod.

Scully was looking at Mulder as if he'd grown another head.

"Mulder, do you want to dance?"

Mulder shook his head and put his glass down. "No, I promised you I'd get you home early, so you could get some rest." He stood, tucking his hands into his pockets in

search of car keys. "But this was nice. I'm glad I came."

He reached out and offered me a hand. "Thank you for insisting, sir."

At first, I wanted to protest. Had I misunderstood? What the hell was going on? Then I felt something being pressed into my hand. Something hard and cool. I didn't need to open my hand as he withdrew his. I knew it was a room key.

I knew it was stamped Henley Park. The little prick got us a room. That wonderful little prick decided to seduce me under the nose of one of the highest ranking members of Pentagon and all his cronies. Only Mulder would have the balls to pull something like that. Which is why I am so hopelessly in love with him.

Mulder moved around the table to draw out Scully's chair.

I stood with them. "Don't you want dessert, Agent Scully?"

I asked, indicating the cart that was now being rolled to our table.

She looked at it for a moment. "No, I really shouldn't.

Thank General..." she paused, politely. "Please thank the general for inviting us." She let Mulder take her arm and maneuver her out of the dining room.

I dropped the key into my breast pocket and settled down with my brandy and erection. Sometimes a cigar is not a cigar.

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

It was twenty two hundred hours, and still no Mulder. I had debated taking a shower and letting him find me in bed, but I decided only to remove my jacket and tie an settled in one of a half dozen plush chairs around the sitting room. Mulder had reserved a suite.

There was champagne icing in a bucket on the bar, but I didn't want to open it without him. There was, however, a decent scotch and I had helped myself to that. For a while, it was pleasant to merely sit and contemplate the evening ahead, the journey we were taking, the flavor of his kisses, the warmth of him. I had missed him.

It had become, in such a short amount of time, my greatest pleasure throughout the day to pause, momentarily, and recall the feel of his head on my shoulder, his arm draped over me as he slept. These last three days, however, I had been thinking of the rage and loss that played in his eyes as he walked out on me. I watched the door, waiting for him to walk back in.

I knew a lot about Mulder, and I had learned a great deal more when he let me near him. I had expected his need for punishment, and I had known that sending him away was for his own good. I had known he would go. I never expected he would come back.

He didn't just stumble back, either. He had calculated it, planned it. Here I was, at the scene of the crime, a suite, wine waiting, the scent of a single rose wafting to me over the scotch, reminding me that this was a seduction.

He made an effort. He wanted me back. My ego swelled.

But, two hours later, it was moderately deflated. No sign, no sound. Maybe I did somehow manage to misunderstand.

What else could he have meant than this? But this was Mulder, and rules for the ordinary need not apply.

I heard a soft chirp, recognized my cell phone and got up, grudgingly, almost dreadfully, and collected it. Had he been rushing back from Scully's apartment and been in an accident? Had he been waylaid by one of his myriad of enemies? Was he lying wounded in a gutter? Unconscious in a local ER? Dead? It took almost superhuman strength to flip open the cell and bark, "Skinner."

"Is the coast clear?"

"Mulder? Where are you?"

"In the lobby. I was waiting for soldier boy to leave."

"'Soldier boy'? You mean Sean?"

Mulder's voice was unexpectedly tight. "Yeah, Sean. You know, when I reserved that room I sort of thought it would be for the two of us. I didn't know I was setting up a comfortable trysting spot for the two of you."

"...trysting spot...?" Lord, the man was jealous! "What makes you think Sean was here with me?"

"Because when I got back here an hour or so ago, you were both gone and someone said he'd gone upstairs. He hasn't come down."

"He's probably with a waitress or some other wolf bait."

My amusement didn't last. He didn't come back for want of me. He was jealous because he thought I'd found someone else. "Sorry to disappoint you, Mulder, but Sean is not interested in me. He prefers women."

"Oh?" Mulder was quiet for a moment. "Then I suppose I'd better get my butt up there before you start preferring women again."

"That would be nice."

He was at the door less than five minutes later. From the flush on his face I knew he hadn't bothered to wait for the ornate but ancient elevator and had taken the seven flights of stairs on a gallop. I wanted to pull him into my arms and crush him against me, but I couldn't make myself move toward him. Wanting me back only because someone else might have wanted me wasn't a good reason to be wanted.

Well, I decided, it was time to put the scotch away. Even my inner voice was slurred.

He stood against the door, looking at me. It wasn't exactly a diffident expression. He just looked uncertain.

"You like the room?" he asked, tucking his key into his pocket.

"Very much," I assured him. I waited but he seemed disinclined to say more. "Why are we here?" I ventured.

He avoided my eyes. "I was trying to be romantic. To tell you I...I was sorry, and that I..." I think his lower lip quivered, but I can't be sure. "You said I could come back when I was ready to accept what you could give me." He sighed, heavily. "I'm ready."

I rose and came within an arm's length of him. "Are you sure, Mulder? I'm not going to hurt you. I won't--"

"Damn it, you did hurt me," he blurted out. "You threw me out."

"Mulder, I told you to go for your own sake."

"Why is it whenever someone says they're doing it for your own sake, it always hurts you more?" he wondered.

I smiled at him. "Are you sure this isn't about Sean? Maybe a little jealousy?"

"Maybe a lot of jealousy," Mulder corrected. "But, no, I was trying to figure something to do before I saw you with him." He moved toward me, got close enough that we could have kissed, but he didn't touch me. "Don't do that to me again, Walter. Don't throw me out. It's cold out there."

I lifted a hand tentatively, and brushed hair back from his eyes. "I missed you, Fox."

He leaned against my touch. "I missed you." He whispered, low, "I missed you so much."

Then I kissed him, drew his face upward with my other hand and kissed him, deeply. He tasted of champagne and sunflower seeds and a hint of peppermint. I knew him well enough to know that at some point on his way back, he'd stopped to brush his teeth, and then stood down in the lobby, pandering to his addiction until he was finally driven to call me. He slid his arms around me, and pulled me against him to finish the kiss.

When we broke away for air, I looked at him. "Well? What shall we do now?"

"We don't have to do anything," he said. "It's enough that..." He lowered his cheek to my throat. "This is enough."

It was. "But, I thought you were going to teach me to dance?" I teased him.

He turned his head enough that he could look up at me.

"Are you sure that's what you want?"

"Very sure." And now, finally, I was.

He stepped back, chuckling, and pulled things from his pockets; condoms and lube. "Trained field investigator and former Boy Scout," he said.

"Somehow, I have trouble seeing you as a Boy Scout," I laughed.

"If I were you, I wouldn't be making fun of the person who holds the fate of your ass in his hands," he warned.

I sent my eyes over him, hungrily. He looked so damned edible in that tuxedo, I wanted to remove it with my teeth.

"Somehow, I'm not too concerned about my ass."

"Huh." He leaned over the chair where I had draped my jacket, and plucked the rose from my lapel. He sniffed it, gently, and tucked it into his breast pocket. "It's official," he murmured. "You've been deflowered."

I wanted to scowl at him, but I could see a twinkle in his eyes behind that shy smile. I reached out and tugged at his tie. "Agent Mulder, may I have the honor of this dance?"

We did dance. Naked. Our bodies pressed against one another, the rhythm a slow seduction that left me wanting to go on and on and at the same time, made me want to throw him on the bed and ravish him. And then, when I thought every nerve in my body would start screaming, he sank to his knees, kissing me randomly; shoulder, nipple, navel, hip and then, with one of those sleepy sell-my-soul-for-one smiles, sucked my cock into his mouth.

No, it wasn't merely the most amazing wet dream of my life. Mulder did know what he was doing and he did it well. I wanted to protest, to remind him we had made other plans, but I could not make my mouth form words. All that came out were inarticulate grunts and moans and then a near bellow of release as I came, fingers clenched in his hair.

He rocked back on his heels, and dragged his hand across his mouth. "Good?" he asked, slyly.

"What happened to the dancing?" I mumbled, incoherently.

"Oh, that was just the first set." He struggled to his feet and put his hands on my shoulders and started backing me to the bed. "It's a well known fact that orgasm relaxes you," he continued, in a soft, matter of fact tone, as he arranged me, on my back, on the bed. "Since we're contemplating penetrating several rings of muscle which respond via involuntary reactions, I thought it might help if you were a little relaxed."

"I am relaxed," I promised. I was. Totally, completely sated by his mouth work and utterly at peace by his presence.

"Good." He crawled up over me, and kissed me. His face was solemn. "Listen, Walter. I love you. I want to make you happy. If this isn't the way to do it, just say so. Okay?"

I caught him and rolled over, pinning him beneath me.

"Fox. I love you. I want you to be a part of me, just the way you let me be a part of you. I seem to recall you telling me about a week ago that you wanted me in you.

Well, now I'm asking you to return the favor. I want you in me."

"Bossy, bossy, bossy," he tsked at me and pushed until I moved back on my back. "Okay, let's see how relaxed you really are." He knelt between my legs and encouraged me to pull my knees up almost to my chest. I felt a little silly, but one palm brushed between my cheeks and I didn't care, anyway. He held up his hands. One of his fingers was well lubed. "This will be a little cool," he warned.

I felt him open me a little with one hand, and then I felt the shock of the cold lube and the hot pressure of his finger. I clenched against both.

"Shh," he soothed, and ran his fingertip around my anus, gently, spreading the lubrication, and pressing against me until his finger finally slipped inside. He stroked in and out slowly.

For a few minutes, it was merely an uncomfortable invasion and I was starting to doubt if I could let him go on.

Then, as I began to relax and accept one finger and then two, I started to find it enjoyable. The third finger hurt, and I clenched again, but just as I did, he crooked his fingers upward, and brushed against my prostate. For one, star spangled moment, all was well. "Oh, God," I groaned.

When I opened my eyes, he was grinning at me. "Liked that?" he asked, and did it again.

To my utter amazement, I was beginning to respond. I could feel my cock start to stir, and then felt the fingers of his free hand, slip around it, and squeeze it, softly, in rhythm to the dance his other hand was doing. "Please, Mulder," I gasped. "Fox, please, just...please..."

He leaned forward, and ran his tongue over my glans. "Rule Number Two," he prompted, grinning.

"Please...just...fuck me," I implored.

Looking back, I suppose that was the magic word. He seemed to lose all sense of control then, and was pushing himself inside me a moment later, both hands clasped around my knees for balance. "Oh, my...Walter," he groaned, sinking all the way in.

It hurt, but it hurt in such an amazing way I thought I would willingly be wounded this way daily. "Good, Fox," I panted. "It's good."

"Oh, yeah," he agreed. His eyes slipped shut and his hips began to rock.

And we danced.

-THE END-