Work Text:
Home
by JiM
Mellow jazz filtered throughout the house as Mulder let himself in. His suitcase hit the floor with a thump and slumped against the wainscoting. He shook the rain off his overcoat, then hung it on the coat rack beside the door. After a moment's consideration, he hung his holster up as well then slipped off his soaked shoes and slid out of his suit jacket with real relief.
He could smell wood smoke and hear the snappings and mutterings of a well-fed fire, so he headed toward the den.
He paused in the doorway, just to look. It was a comfortable room -- floor to ceiling bookcases lining the walls, golden wood floors covered with rich rugs, comfortably shabby furniture with good reading lights scattered about. The center of the room was the large brick fireplace with its whimsical black andirons wrought in the shapes of moose antlers. A long, lean black cat was stretched before it, toasting its belly fur, paws in the air with ridiculous dignity. The fire crackled cheerfully and mellowed the light in the room to a gentle gold. A long leather couch faced the fireplace. One large foot, covered in a navy blue sock was propped on the arm.
Mulder crossed the room and laid his hand lightly on that foot. Walter Skinner was sleeping lightly, in a curiously controlled sprawl. His glasses trailed from one hand, the other was loosely curled on his chest. Mulder took in Skinner's long legs in denim, the slightly rumpled pink oxford cloth shirt, unbuttoned halfway down his chest, the thick gold band on his left hand reflecting sparks of light from the fire... and fell completely and helplessly in love again, for the thousandth time.
The cotton beneath his hand was warm, the bones of that foot elegant and sculptured. He stroked gently up and down the high instep, delighting in the familiar geometry of his lover. Walter's face was open and unguarded in sleep; no worries showed themselves, no seriousness twisted those generous lips or tightened that squared jaw.
The muscles under Mulder's hand twitched, and Walter Skinner slid into an easy wakefulness. His sleepy gaze fixed on Mulder's face and a slow smile curled into life in his eyes, spilling down to those lips. Mulder smiled back, touched with gold in the night, and slipped down to sit on the rug beside Skinner. He laid his head on Skinner's chest and sighed happily as he felt those strong fingers begin to stroke his hair, brushing it gently back from his temples. Walter's other hand began rubbing away the tightness at the base of his skull. His own left hand was curled in the strangely intimate warmth just inside Walter's collar, at the point where the strength of the shoulder flowed into the column of the throat.
"Welcome home," the deep whisper warmed him more than the fire at his back. He lifted his head and looked into Walter's sable eyes.
"Home," he repeated, and smiled, then laid his head back on Walter's chest to listen to his heartbeat again.
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