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English
Series:
Part 4 of Mexico
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Peja's Wonderful World of Makebelieve Import
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Published:
2020-11-05
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4,366
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1/1
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14
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Sinner's Prayer

Summary:

There may be no fool like an old fool, but there is certainly no one more foolish than a middle-aged man who fancies himself in love.

Work Text:

Mexico Prequel - Sinner's Prayer
by JiM
Jimpage363@aol.com

 

Stupid. That's what he was, plain shit stupid. There may be no fool like an old fool, but there is certainly no one more foolish than a middle-aged man who fancies himself in love. Especially a middle-aged bureaucrat in love with a younger man, a subordinate, someone so driven and obsessed that he teetered on the knife-edge of sanity on his *good* days…hell, Walter, why not just swallow your gun and have done with it?

Such were Walter Skinner's thoughts as he fended off the pretty stewardess' third attempt to save him from the tragedy of flying sober. Getting drunk right now wouldn't solve anything; he knew, he'd already tried it earlier in the week. When he'd realized that Mulder wasn't being skittish, wasn't needing space to sort out his head about their new relationship, wasn't being shy…when he'd finally realized that Mulder simply didn't want to see him outside of working hours and as little as possible within them, that's when he'd drunk himself into a stupor. Wednesday night.

Thursday morning had been hell and he'd welcomed it. Was glumly amused at Mulder's shocked look when he and Scully had met Skinner in the restaurant for breakfast. Walter knew what he looked like; pale, dark-smudged eyes, a greenish cast to his skin that only those who have clocked hours on their knees slumped against cold porcelain can appreciate. There was no conversation at all as he watched them toy with their breakfasts and he drank four cups of black coffee with grim purpose. He had been startled from a reverie by Scully's cool fingers against his forehead.

"Are you sick, sir?"

He shook his head, let her feed him aspirin and didn't look at Mulder. Who didn't say a word to him except as it related to the case for the rest of the day. Just like Tuesday and Wednesday.

Now it was Friday afternoon and they were flying home to D.C. Mulder and Scully sat together across the aisle, talking quietly. Skinner had opened his briefcase as soon as they were airborne and had doggedly begun to work his way through the piles of reports and forms needed to metaphorically crucify the lead agent who'd so mishandled the possessed toy case that had drawn them all to the St. Louis office in the first place.

Skinner figured that she deserved to be at least as miserable as he was. The woman had truly merited summary execution; her refusal to even consider certain types of evidence had led directly to the death of two civilians before they had caught the killers. Skinner didn't actually expect her to believe that a life-sized purple Teletubby was responsible for murdering rent boys in a three block area of the factory district. However, to dismiss the evidence that pointed to the bankrupt toy manufacturer whose factory had been shut down on that stretch was sloppy work, pure and simple. He got a certain vicious pleasure in translating that opinion into suitable bureaucrat -ese in his final report to the Director.

Mulder got up suddenly and strode down the aisle. Walter could feel the muscles in his neck tense with the effort to not turn and crane after him. Shit. He capped his pen and threw it into his briefcase.

"Sir?" Scully's voice was unusually tentative. His stomach clenched. He'd hoped they would all be able to get through this and behave as if nothing had happened. That meant *not* talking about it. He looked up at her with his most quelling stone-face. She blinked once, then visibly gathered her courage and said, "He's just scared, sir."

He took his glasses off and ran his hands over his face, wishing the throbbing behind his eyes would stop. Taking a deep breath, he made his decision. Not looking at her, he asked, "Of what?"

From the corner of his eye, he could see her shrug helplessly.

"Help me out here, Scully. I'm way out of my depth." He looked at her then and was surprised by the gentle sympathy in her eyes.

"He once told me that he 'didn't do love well'," she offered hesitantly.

He snorted. "Show me someone who does." She smiled ruefully back at him and they were silent until Mulder returned, clambering back over Scully to take the window seat again.

The stewardess came back again to ply him with alcohol, and this time he gave in to temptation and ordered coffee and Irish mist. When it arrived, he unscrewed the irritating little bottle and dumped it into the coffee. As he lifted the cup to take his first sip, Mulder leaned forward slightly to look across at him. For a moment, he met Mulder's gaze and was shaken by the wistful concern he saw in them. Then Mulder seemed to close some sort of internal storm windows and he looked away.

Walter Skinner put the cup of coffee down untasted and spent the next two hours thinking very hard. He did what he was best at -situational review, analysis, decision making, and planning. By the time the plane touched down, he was ready to put his plan into action.

Arriving at National Airport at 8 pm on a Friday evening is not a wise thing to do. People with sense spend much time and money trying to avoid that very fate. FBI agents are at the mercy of careless and occasionally hostile booking agents and Skinner, Scully, and Mulder were obviously doing penance for some sin. Skinner just sighed and waited for his luggage to make an appearance as the mass of humanity seethed around him and his two silent companions. In fact, it suited his plans very well.

Scully's bag appeared first and she scooped it up with an expression of real relief. Skinner wanted to apologize to her, but there was nothing to say.

"Scully? Can I catch a ride home with you?" The first words Mulder had spoken in three hours.

"Sorry, Mulder, not tonight. I'm supposed to meet my Mom in…half an hour?! I've got to run." She turned and gave Skinner a significant look and he nodded fractionally, suddenly wishing he could grab her head and kiss her the way she had once thanked him. Some day, if this worked out, he just might, he thought, and grinned a little.

"I'll give you a lift, Agent Mulder."

Mulder's face was a study in well-contained panic. "That's not necessary, sir, I'll just get on the Metro…"

"Mulder. I said, *I will give you a lift*." Command voice, as his father had once called it, was a valuable tool. In this situation, it was a gift from God. Mulder nodded sulkily. Scully smiled at him again, said, "See you Monday, Mulder, sir," and vanished into the crowds swirling around them.

Their bags appeared, one after the other, soon after that. Skinner led the way to the parking garage, Mulder striding two paces behind him, trailing his own thundercloud of resentment. Skinner spotted his car and angled toward it, Mulder changing course automatically to follow him. When they reached his car, Skinner opened the trunk and threw both of their suitcases into it, yanking Mulder's off his shoulder without a word.

God, he hated this car. It was sensible, stylish, a conservative blue. Like every other car he'd ever bought, every two years, since his career had begun. For one intense moment, he longed for a beat up pickup truck. Someday, he told himself, and squelched the demon of rebellion that seemed to have been born in him since meeting this man. He slammed the trunk and went around and opened the passenger door, holding it open for Mulder with an expression so neutral that Mulder's protest died on his lips and he got into the car silently.

Mulder remained passive and Skinner stayed silent while they drove out of the garage, merging with the streams of cars, buses, taxis, into one river of red taillights inching along through the evening drizzle. It was only when Skinner drove past the exit for Alexandria that Mulder spoke up.

"Uh, sir? That was the turn-off for my place."

"I know."

"Then, what…?"

"You're coming home with me."

He could almost feel Mulder swelling with righteous indignation. "Who the hell do you think you are?!"

Skinner merely smiled grimly, watching traffic behind them for his opportunity to merge.

"I thought I'd made it pretty clear that I didn't want this," Mulder said from between gritted teeth.

"You did," Skinner said as they slid into a lane on the highway. "I just don't happen to care what you want." Or *think* you want, he added under his breath.

"They have a name for this in the Commonwealth of Virginia, sir. They call it 'kidnapping'."

Skinner pulled out his cell-phone and tossed it into Mulder's lap. "You wanna report a crime, Agent Mulder? Go ahead."

The younger man glared at him, then folded his arms and stared straight ahead. He said nothing for the rest of the journey. Skinner gave him credit for his sulk stamina when the drive home took over an hour and it passed in frosty silence. He hoped he was right about this, because if he weren't, oh, if he weren't…he knew he'd wind up with gunblueing on his lips by morning. Oh Christ, let him be right.

He could see Mulder thinking about balking when he finally parked the car in the garage under his building. Since he wasn't up to wrestling with Mulder, he merely opened the trunk and took both bags and started for the elevator. On any other occasion, he thought he might have enjoyed the outraged expression on Mulder's face. The ride up in the half-full elevator was stone silent, but Skinner was conscious of a certain building tension, a rising pressure of emotion in the man next to him, and he knew that Mulder was primed to explode the moment they were in private.

Which he did. Skinner opened the door, ushered his thunderous companion in before him, closed and locked the door and then Mulder was in full cry.

"Look you son-of-a-bitch, I don't know what you think you're doing, but…"

Skinner placed the suitcases carefully beside the coat rack and took off his coat.

"Why did you dump me?" he asked quietly.

That checked Mulder's headlong plaint for a moment, before he plunged on. "What the hell are you thinking? It was one night and you're making it a federal case…"

"Two nights."

Once again, Mulder was checked by that calm voice. He blinked in confusion and drew breath to argue again. Skinner said, "Was it just some kind of weird impulse gratification for you?"

Mulder only shook his head, mouth stubbornly closed.

Skinner crossed his arms, fixing him with a glare. "I'd really like to know. You go to a hell of a lot of trouble to get me into your bed, make me want…," he stopped, shook his head a little as if to clear it, then continued. "Then you pull this disappearing act on me."

"I was right there all the time, working the case." A weak protest and Mulder's eyes said that he knew it even as he said it.

"You might has well have been in the Antarctic. I wake up, you're gone. You won't talk to me; Scully gives all your reports. You even changed your damned room…what the hell had I done to make you suddenly treat me like a stalker?" Skinner hated the plaintive note that suddenly crept into his voice.

Mulder ran his hand through his hair and wouldn't look up at Skinner. "It wasn't you," he said finally.

"Then what was it, Mulder? Just a one-night stand? Clearing up a little boredom on the road?"

"No." The voice that answered him was low.

"Then what?" Skinner snapped. "I didn't come after you, Mulder. You made it very plain what you wanted and you got it. Was that what it was all about? You wanted something, you got it, end of story?"

"No, dammit!" Mulder's eyes blazed and his fists were clenched.

"Then what was it, Mulder? Tell me, because I really need a clue here."

"I'm sorry. It wasn't supposed to happen like that. It wasn't supposed to happen at all, I guess." Mulder seemed to visibly deflate somehow, losing his anger in a guilty rush. "I'm sorry," he said again softly, and tried to step around Skinner and get to the door.

Skinner's plan went right out the window in a rush of pure rage. He grabbed Mulder by his jacket lapels and slammed him back against the door. "Oh no," he hissed into the surprised man's face. "This isn't how it goes, Mulder. You don't screw me, then fuck with my mind and then just go home."

Something flickered through Mulder's eyes, too quick to be identified, then the anger was back and his hands locked painfully on Skinner's wrists. "What the hell do you want, Skinner?! An apology? OK. I'm sorry you fucked me. Is that good enough?"

Skinner's hands shook with anger; they nearly trembled against Mulder's chest. But his voice was steady and dangerously low. "No. Why did you leave?"

Hounded, scared and angry, Mulder finally cracked. "I don't know! Is that what you want to hear?! I don't fucking know!"

The words were like a cool breeze against Skinner's flushed face. He had been right; his analysis was right. It was going to work. All he had to do was prove it to Mulder now. All the angry tension began to flow out of him. He knew that Mulder could feel it as the other man's grip on his wrists loosened in confusion.

"You're afraid," Skinner said gently. "Tell me what you're afraid of."

Mulder's glance darted around the room wildly, looking anywhere but at Skinner. He shook his head.

"Tell me."

Mulder couldn't, Skinner could see it in his eyes. He felt a rush of tenderness for him, realizing finally that Mulder wanted this, too. It was if he were no more than a half-tame animal, starving, but unable to take food from someone's hand.

"All right then, I'll tell *you*," Skinner said softly. "This," he released the crushed lapels and stroked his hands lightly over Mulder's shoulders. "You're afraid of this."

Mulder shook his head.

"And this…," Skinner's hands slid up to cup the younger man's face, lightly grazing against the five o'clock shadow. Mulder's head was immobilized, frozen in Skinner's grip. His eyes flicked up to look into Skinner's and were trapped there. In desperation, he grabbed at Skinner's wrists again, but the other man was immovable, implacable, unyielding.

"You're afraid I might do this," Skinner leaned forward and nuzzled at Mulder's ear. He nearly smiled at the gasp that was wrung from Mulder. "And that I might say…," Skinner whispered, lips brushing against Mulder's throat. There was a small, terrified moan from deep in that throat and Skinner wanted to soothe that fear. Soon, he promised Mulder silently, soon.

"I love you," he breathed across Mulder's mouth, just before touching his lips to Mulder's.

Lightly, the touch was no more than the brush of a moth's wing, but Mulder seemed to shatter. He made a strangled sound, the parched shadow of a sob, and tried to fold up in pain and terror but only managed to curl himself into Skinner's embrace. Skinner caught and held him easily, rocking him gently.

Mulder stood and trembled against Skinner for a long time and it seemed that he did not hear what Skinner was murmuring to him, over and over. "I've got you now, it's OK. It's all gonna be OK. You're mine, I've got you. Shh…" He didn't repeat the fatal phrase, but he knew that Mulder could hear it in every word. /I love you/

Stupid, he grinned to himself, shit stupid, that's what you are, Walter Skinner. Mulder shifted slightly in his arms and there was a light touch of lips against his throat. Oh yeah. He liked stupid, stupid he could do. "What the hell do we do now?" Mulder whispered.

"Now, " Skinner whispered, brushing his lips against Mulder's forehead, "we eat." This time, he did laugh at Mulder's bewildered expression as he regretfully unwrapped himself from around Mulder.

"You're hungry?!"

"Yes," Skinner said firmly. "And if you had any sense, you would be, too."

"I thought we'd already established that I don't have any," Mulder said wryly, following him to the kitchen. "But I'm hungry, too. For some reason, I haven't been eating too well this week."

Mulder set the table while Skinner microwaved something from his freezer which turned out to be homemade lentil soup. Skinner noticed that Mulder kept watching him move around the smallish kitchen with a faintly perplexed look on his face. The look deepened to something akin to bewilderment as they ate in a companionable silence. Skinner made Mulder eat a second bowl by using the simple expedient of filling his soup bowl as soon as it was empty and scowling until Mulder picked up his spoon again with a sigh.

"Are you always going to be this bossy?" Mulder asked with a grin, but there was a deeply searching look in his eyes.

"Nope. Tonight is a special case."

"So I shouldn't plan on being kidnapped on a regular basis?"

Skinner grinned, but he sobered as he answered Mulder's real question very carefully. "No, I don't plan to make a habit of it. I'm no one's Daddy and I won't be a one night stand. I want something more from this."

There was pure terror on Mulder's face for just a minute. "So do I," he said, then looked shocked at the sound of his own voice.

Skinner nodded and they finished eating in silence.

Dinner over and the dishes rinsed, Mulder looked expectantly at Skinner, who didn't fail him, saying, "Let's go to bed." But the bewildered expression trickled back into his eyes when Skinner led him to the bedroom, then handed him a suit hanger and shoved some of his own clothes out of the way so that Mulder could hang his suit in the closet. As a seduction technique, it obviously lacked something for Mulder. He wasn't visibly impressed by the brushing of teeth, although he seemed to appreciate it when Skinner handed him a fresh toothbrush.

Back in the bedroom, his expression brightened when Skinner took hold of him and kissed him very gently. Mulder's mouth was minty and cool and his hands were warm and strong as they slid up Skinner's arms. It felt so good that Skinner almost didn't want to stop, but he lightly pushed Mulder away, laying his forearms on Mulder's shoulders so that he could lightly massage the back of Mulder's neck. The muscles beneath his hands quivered with weary tension and the hazel eyes were panicky as they met his.

"What…?"

Skinner shook his head, hands still stroking, soothing. "Tonight, we just sleep."

Mulder's head dropped as he looked down in confusion and his forehead was suddenly braced on Skinner's chin. His evening beard rasped against Mulder's skin when he next spoke. "We need time, Mulder. And sleep. There'll be time for everything, but let's take it a little slower than we have, OK? Besides, I really do have a headache." Skinner's grin was rueful when Mulder finally looked up.

"Me, too," he confessed with a small grin of his own.

Skinner tugged on his hand and drew him toward the bed. They both settled down with the groans and sighs of exhausted men. So tired that he was dizzy with it, Skinner felt himself nearly liquid with something so unfamiliar, so unexpected that he hesitated to name it. He turned out the light beside the bed and put out his right hand. With a whisper of cotton, Mulder was sliding into the curve of his arm, settling his head onto Skinner's shoulder. Mulder's scent flowed over him, musky and dark, the scent of a tired man at the end of a long day. God, it was good. Then Mulder threw his arm across Skinner's chest and tucked his feet in between Skinner's.

"This is good," Mulder said softly.

"Yeah, it is." Skinner started stroking his fingers through Mulder's hair. Mulder shifted a little, shrugged the sheet up a little higher over his shoulder, then gave a contented little purring noise. Skinner didn't know when he fell asleep.

He wasn't certain when he awakened, either. At first, it might almost have been a dream, the light stroking of warm fingers against his face. Two fingers traced his brow line, circled his temple, then slid back across his cheekbone to chart the lines of his nose and mouth. A thumb caressed his lips, the near-tickle causing a long slow shiver to roll through him. He opened his eyes to find Mulder leaning over him, propped on one elbow. There was a muffled 3 a.m. quality to the darkness that seemed to whisper around them.

"Mulder?" The weak moonlight revealed only the suggestion of Mulder's face above him.

"Shh. Let me…," he didn't finish his request, and Skinner didn't care. There was something new in Mulder's voice, not tentative, but tender, like the whisper of newly unfurled leaves. Closing his eyes, Skinner gave himself into Mulder's hands unquestioningly.

There was a shifting as Mulder sat up, then those warm hands began to map his body, starting at the crown of his head and flowing down the sides of his throat. They stopped for a moment at the point where neck became shoulder. Mulder's thumbs rested in the hollow of his throat, stroking softly. Then they dragged down the center of Skinner's chest, drawing warm palms after them. Mulder seemed enamored with the structure of his rib cage, shaping it again and again between his hands. Then his touch lightened and he was barely skimming the hair on Skinner's chest with his palms, as if fascinated by its springy texture.

Those warm hands slid down to Skinner's hips, thankfully still narrower than his shoulders, then ran back up his sides to curve and flow down his arms and hook underneath his triceps, as if testing their solidity. Mulder drew his hands down Skinner's forearms. Skinner flexed his hands up and their fingers meshed. They stayed for a moment, palm to palm, then Mulder took a deep breath and loosened his grip, putting Skinner's hands back on the bed, palms down.

Fingertips trailed back up Skinner's arms, then curved back down his chest, brushed lightly over his nipples and continued down the sides of his body, pushing the sheet before them, onto his thighs. Mulder's hands shaped his thighs in the darkness, circling and spiraling lower, tracing the large muscles as they rippled down to his calves. With a firm touch, Mulder learned the arch of Skinner's foot and cataloged the calloused bottoms then cupped his heels before sliding back up the tendons to his calves, gently pulling his legs apart so that Mulder could kneel between them.

It had been so long since someone had touched him with such gentle attention. The very innocence of Mulder's explorations was seductive. Skinner could hear his own breathing, harsh and hot, the only sound beneath the hum of the air conditioning and the whisper of Mulder moving among the tangled sheets. Only now did he become aware of his own trembling. Only now did he realize that he was hard, aching and trying not to writhe with it.

Those gentle hands slid up the inside of Skinner's thighs until Mulder's thumbs rested just below his balls, where they drew tiny circles on damp skin as Mulder sat back on his heels and looked down at him.

"Mulder…," he pleaded hoarsely.

"Shh," Mulder reassured him, his hands sliding up to grip Skinner's straining erection. He caressed, stroked, rubbed, feathered and kneaded with a single- minded concentration that left the older man moaning, hands tangled in the sheets. And then he settled down between Skinner's thighs with another sleepy purr and began his explorations all over again, this time using his lips and tongue. No teasing, just a slow, steady drive toward the edge.

Oral. The man was decidedly oral, the Bureau shrinks had that right. Mulder might not have had much experience giving head, but he had obviously been paying attention. Skinner managed to bring one hand down to stroke Mulder's head, carding through his hair, trying desperately not to yank on it when the younger man began sucking harder. He came with a soundless roar that seemed to echo in his bones long after he had collapsed limply back onto the bed.

When Mulder moved to slide back up the bed, Skinner shivered at the coolness of the air hitting his overheated skin. Then Mulder was covering him again, kissing him deeply, letting him taste the cinnamon and salt of his own ejaculate mixed with Mulder's own rich flavors. Then Mulder was rolling them over, letting Skinner sprawl across his chest. Lips touched Skinner's sweaty forehead and hands moved lightly across his shoulders and neck. Eventually, he gathered together enough energy to say, "Give me a minute here, and I'll make you feel just as good as I do now."

"Don't worry about it," Mulder whispered. "I'm fine."

Skinner's hand slid down to brush lightly across Mulder's erection. "Feels like you're better than 'fine'," he coaxed. Mulder's hand came down and gently grasped Skinner's wrist and drew his hand back up to rest on Mulder's shoulder.

"This time was just for you. Like you said, we have time."

And Skinner, understanding finally, said softly, "I love you, too."

 

end

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