A Sound of... (Mulder), by Witch in Winter (XF)

For the first time since our game of seduction began, he has asked me out two nights in a row. He showed up in the parking garage as I was leaving work with an invitation to dinner. He followed me to the apartment and we drove in his car to an inn over in Virginia. This is someplace special for him; I see his pleasure at sharing the elegant serenity of this very old place.

For a moment I wonder if this is some sort of a test, a test that has become very important for me to pass. That is what my life has seemed to be so far; a long series of tests, exams, tasks, games. Yes, games, set in motion by my hand that become more valuable in the winning, the taking of the trophy, than in the game itself.

So tonight I am charming, laughing with him. We are away from the confines of the office, the restrictions of the job. I find myself wanting to make him smile, make him enjoy this special place even more because we are here together.

He sits there, almost in shadow, limned by the flames in the massive colonial fireplace behind him. I have come to appreciate just how still he can be, self-contained within the bulk of his large frame. Sitting, holding the brandy snifter in one hand, watching me with a slight smile on his lips. I have found ways to make those lips open for me, both in laughter and in desire.

Then he does his "Skinner thing;" he's still sitting there, but his mind is somewhere else.

He rumbles at me. Remembering what? Surely he can't be thinking of someone else.

- I was remembering how you looked last night. And felt. Heat floods through me; in its rush I can find no charming words, no witty response.

Last night we had gone to see the Wizards play. There, caught up in the crowd, the game, we allowed ourselves an evening of fun. We were just us, two guys enjoying a night at the basketball game.

I was pleasantly surprised at how Assistant Director Walter S. Skinner could become someone else in Levis and Nikes, someone who I could spill beer on and steal popcorn from. I noted that using a sports event could be an interesting way to move this game of seduction along. Something for the next time, perhaps. For me this had gone on much too long, and was moving much too slowly.

With each of the other times that we had gone out, he walked me back to the apartment, stepped inside...and for a few, oh so brief, moments allowed me the freedom I wanted with him. With taste and touch, lips and hands, I have explored, studied his body, his breathless reaction to my attempts to seduce him. While there are times when I am not sure how I want to be fucked, Walter seems to be very sure just what it will take to move him into that act.

He wants it though, I can tell from each tiny shivering signal his body sends back for my observation. He wants it. Twined in with that wanting is something else, something I don't yet understand. If I did, I could use it. Use it and move this game along.

It was during that brief, brief time last night, as we stood mouth to mouth, tasting of beer and popcorn, that I decided I could no longer wait for his next move. - Stay.

I felt my hands curl into fists at his refusal, it surprised me. This wanting has been chewing at me harder than I have realized.

Leaves me there with words dying on my lips. And determination growing as hard as my cock.

The meal is very good. Talking with him over the salad, steak and baked potato, I actually found myself eating with pleasure. Something that doesn't happen often for me. A thought flashed through my mind; good company, good conversation can make even fast food into a gourmet meal. Wonder where that came from, since the meal we have just enjoyed was anything but fast food.

We prepare for the usual ritual of paying the bill. Once again the sureness of self, of identity, shows in Walter Skinner. He always pays, always, no matter if we have just had a meal together or gone to the movies. I wonder if he feels like he must pay, pay for the wanting. Pay for me. My time. My body. It is an ugly thought and I shove it away.

We don't talk much on the drive back to the city. The silence is comfortable. We sit as companions, friends, within the enclosed space of the car, watching the moon washed road unfurl in front of us. For awhile, I sit with my hand on his leg. The muscle under the skin twitches. With anticipation, I hope. There is much we should talk about. Words that need to be said between us. But not tonight. Not tonight. Tonight I will be going to bed without that dull ache between my thighs. Oh, yes. Last night's too abrupt ending had forged my determination into iron hard resolve.

The steps take forever. I unlock the door, move back, ushering him in ahead of me. I don't remember shutting the door, but I can hear it slam. He is starting to turn, as I grab him, spinning him the rest of the way around, walking him back up against the door. Holding him there with the full length of my body.

His eyes widen, he has a strange look on his face as he shakes his head. No. No?!

My lip curls. Up against him, I have gone hard. I can feel his equally hard response. My hands dig into his arms.

He is speechless. Walter Skinner searching for something to say. It would almost be funny. I want to howl. To move my hands to his throat.

The word clatters down my mind like a bright silver bearing rushing down a neon glowing pin ball table. Bang. Buzz. Tilt. This is not what I expect from him. Is this what I want from him?

I push into him, watching, waiting for his body's response. The response that I have taught him to give me. He is speaking, even as the fire is growing in his body. He is throwing off heat, like that fireplace in the inn. The air seems to shimmer around him.

- Oh yes, there's a difference. And one other thing. If I stay tonight, I'm not leaving...

He pauses. Here we go, I brace myself for the Skinner rules and regulations regarding fucking.

The silence after that word is the loudest thing that I have ever heard. He kisses me.

There is nothing I can do but give him what he wants. What we both want? I open my mouth to him, our tongues touch and curl around each other. He tastes of good brandy. And a taste that I have grown to call Skinner. All the while, I am stripping him of every piece of clothing that I can, pushing back everything that I can. Taking off the suit that he wears like armor, wanting to leave him defenseless against my attack.

He wants to move as I kiss my way over him, seeing with my lips what the eyes don't see. He needs to move and twist and push up to me, but I hold him tight, controlling our play. His skin is warm, quivering under my touch. My breath humming its way down, down to the hardness that is straining for me.

Now I have his full attention. His teeth click together as I rub my cheek across his cock. The look on his face tells me that I am doing just the right thing. This is what wet dreams are made of. Whose dreams?

I take him in my mouth. He is clawing at the door, losing control, ceding it to me. I know I have him when his hands dive down to grip my head against him. Now is the time to tease a little, leaving nothing in my mouth but the very tip, I grasp him firmly and began to pump the hardness. His teeth clench even tighter; I know to slide my mouth over him, now, sucking him in, feeling the heat of him, the taste of him. There is no sound as he bucks against my mouth, giving up all of his certainty to me. It is over much too soon.

Looking up him, enjoying the dazed look of pleasure on his face, I wipe my mouth.

Now I am laughing for the sheer joy of winning. With sudden movement, he yanks me to my feet and we are moving. Moving, kissing, trying to continue to undress and make it to the bedroom still wrapped in each other's arms. It must look like some kind of mad dance, toeing off shoes, throwing suit coats in one direction, ties suddenly hanging from light fixtures. I am laughing, kissing him, wanting to get in that bedroom, now. Wanting him in me, now.

We tumble into the bed, I pull him down on top of me. Holding his large frame tightly to me, I offer him the spot that he seems to love best, my throat. I want this, this mark that has not faded. A mark that he has renewed each time we meet. The sharpness of his teeth sends a shudder running through me. Then he is trailing kisses down my chest, stopping to kiss and suck on each nipple. I am shaking now, tremors that I can't seem to control. I am rock hard. When the heat of his mouth touches the head of my cock, I arch up to him. Wanting it all in his mouth, wanting all of him in me.

Where are those sounds coming from? Who is speaking my thoughts, my screams for release? Can't be me, since I am drowning in a sea of sensation. There is no air. Then he leaves off torturing me, and recaptures my mouth.

He raises up and I turn under him. Pawing at the bedside table, I am able to yank open the drawer. Handing him the condom and the lube, I turn back to him. There is an instant of silence. He pauses, raising an eyebrow.

-I told you Walter, no mercy. Then we are kissing, moving against each other. The feel of his hardness against mine is exciting me far more than I thought it would. Don't want to go now, not now. The best is coming, I know that, have to wait. I am panting with the stress of trying to hold on, to not move. Face to face, even without his glasses on, I can feel the pressure of his gaze on me. He wants to see my face, he wants to watch me go. The game is careening out of control for us both.

The pillow is under my hips almost by magic. I raise my legs, wanting it all, wanting it now. The cool slickness of the lubricant causes me to jerk under his hand. One finger in, I buck against it, wanting more.

That is his voice, deep, rumbling into me. Then two fingers, hitting that spot that sends an electric shock of pleasure through me. That high pitched cry I recognize all too well. It has ripped its way through my clenched jaws. I have lost control of the game. I want this to go on forever. I know that it can't, for if he doesn't stop, I will come. I raise my legs for him, notching my heels into his broad shoulders.

He is in me, slowly, slowly, ever so gently. He pauses to allow me the sensation, the knowledge of that brief, bright instant when (pain) invasion slides into pleasure. The filling hardness that changes what was to be a cry of pain into a gasp of hot reward.

I will hear that same gasp from you, Walter Skinner, I promise myself. I will hear it before this night is over.

Recognizing the invitation given, he moves farther inward. A tiny shiver pushes me back, tighter on him. Ah... Ah... Why am I fighting him now? His hands are hot on my hips, his mouth hot on mine. He is moving me slowly, gently. I buck hard against him, wanting it all, wanting it all, now.

This gasped out against his mouth. He doesn't seem to realize that I can't hold still, I must move against him, take in all that he is. All...all that he has. The bed becomes our playing field. What was slow and sweet rockets up to a fierce giving and taking. No holding back, I lock my legs around him, my hands slip in the sweat that is soon covering us both. There is no anchor for me now, nothing seems to hold in my grip, not his shoulders, not the sheets, not even the bed itself. The noise of our breathing fills the room, no silence now. Short gasps and cries of pleasure from us both, echo, as if from some other place. The slap of our bodies on each other is punctuation for the play book we are creating.

He is smiling, his hand is on my cock. Now the rhythm is found, the one we have both been working towards. The rocket arcs higher carrying us both. With each thrust he is saying my name. Fox, Fox, over and over again. My name. His hardness lifting me up, then pinning me to the bed. I ride him toward what is waiting for me, knowing that release is going take me fast. My toes are already curling up, muscles jumping in my thighs. Something hot spiraling outward and upward from the very center of my being. No, no, not yet, let this go on and on, please. Let go now. With a sudden shudder, I come, spraying upward.

It is like nothing I have ever felt. It must show in my face for there is great pleasure reflected in his. No darkness, instead bright sharp contractions that catch him, hold him. H is eyes shut, he has seen me come. Now he looks inward, riding the rocket to the end.

I hold him close while our breathing slowly slides down to something approaching normality. We are still kissing each other. The room grows quiet.

The emptiness I feel when he slides down and off of me sends a sudden chill skittering over my skin. Not supposed to feel this sadness at it being over. Where's the joy that comes from winning? God, what have I done? What have we done?

I wasn't sure what had awakened me. I know that I had already slept longer than I usually could in my bed. Perhaps it is because of his warm body that is hard against my back, his breath soft against my head. He is holding me. He did not leave.

I gently move his arm from over me and slide out, covering him back with the sheet and a light blanket. The heat that he puts out almost makes blankets unnecessary. He mutters something, turns to his other side and settles back down, never really waking. Padding to the bathroom, I am still wondering at just what I, we, have set in motion here. Was this really what I wanted?

Back in the bedroom, I grab a blanket, wrap up in it, and settle down on the floor to watch him sleep. His back is a strong curve under the blanket, he is gripping the edge of the bed in one hand. What are you dreaming, Walter, what are you dreaming?

So much pleasure you gave me tonight, I muse, so much. Is this what love really is? If it is, then it is very different than fucking. Spooky thought there. Guys aren't supposed to be able to tell the difference, right? My toes curl just thinking it. Playing over in my head the sights and sounds, the sensations that had grabbed me and taken me on that rocket ride. It was like nothing I had ever felt. It was then that I remembered the promise that I had made myself. A promise that had now changed in the intent. No longer part of the game. Now I wanted to give him back some of the same pleasure that he had so freely given me. Wondering at the same time if he, Walter Skinner, would allow me to do so.

With his usual Skinner passion for neatness, Walter had spent the time while I was in shower, making the bed fit to sleep in. For some reason, it didn't bother me that he didn't join me in the shower. Perhaps he was saving it for another time. Typical of him not to eat all the candy available at once.

The sight of him, towel wrapped around his waist, remaking my bed caught my breath in my throat. A small smile was playing about his face. With anyone else, it might have been a sweet smile, but there is nothing sweet about his face. It was a time when I thanked the gods for my memory; this would be a good one to balance the horrors that are trapped there. Once again, pleasure made me laugh.

I stand, dropping the blanket. Now I know what I am going to do. Taking the lube and a condom out of the bedside table, putting them by my pillow; I crawl into bed with him. The heat from his naked body has kept the bed warm for me. We are sleeping sky clad, as the witches call it.

Curling up around his back spoon fashion, I reach over him, sliding my fingers down to his cock. He is almost hard, the early morning kind. He mutters again. I hold still 'til his breathing evens out, before I pull my hand back. God, I hope he lets me do this, lets me give him this. It's not like paying for a dinner or a movie. Please let this happen, Walter.

Slicking down one finger with the lubricant, I quickly slide it through the tight ring of muscle. He shifts, a breath sighs out of him. I slide the finger in and out, in and out, greasing up two more. A second finger with the first now, just stretching him a little.

Giving him back his words, followed by sharp, small kisses down his spine. Licking and nipping every bit of warm skin that I can reach. All the while sliding those two fingers in and out, in and out. Now his breathing coarsens, he backs into my hand.

Three fingers. He shudders. I hear his fingernails rasp along the sheet. With just the right reach, I find that single little spot that can give such bright delight, gently scraping across it. Now the shudder is accompanied by a sharp intake of breath. And again, in and out, stroking that place each time. I hear my name, spoken so softly that it is only breathed out. In and out, he is shaking.

Condom on, I push at the entrance, then slide in. The tightness holds me firm. The heat from his flesh is now like a furnace. In and out, in and out. The rhythm of my hand repeated for us both. He is gasping for breath, words that sound like my name provide a counterpoint for the strokes. I reach over him again and grab his now very hard cock.

In and out, up and down, he is bucking against me. The rhythm is going into that same wild place it flew us before. No stopping now, I am pulled along with him. Once again, the sound of our breathing is all that fills the room.

Then it is the sound of my name that fills the room. He is caught, bucking hard against my hand, hard against my hips. The release sets off spasms that hold me tight inside of him. Only seconds behind him, I too am groaning out my release. Once again, like nothing I have ever experienced, not at all like the first time, yet still familiar in it's joy.

He let me, he let me love him back. That knowledge flares open inside my brain and body like the sun coming up over the horizon. We arch back together. I hold him tight against me, he holds me tight inside of him. My name echoes in the room as I bury my face in his back. What have we done, Walter? What have we gone and done?

This time, it is me that leaves to go clean up. I return to the bed with a damp warm towel and help him get clean. The sun is now up, small shafts of sunlight lay on the floor in measured spaces. Walter is sliding back into sleep, the smile back on his face. I touch that smile. Grab my sweats, socks and running shoes.

It is cold and sharp outside. The cold air feels good. I am already very warm. The stretching exercises out of the way, I throw myself into the run.

At the end of the block Alex Krycek joins me. Gracefully balanced in spite of his missing arm. Wonder how he learned that, knowing that he would never allow a missing part to slow him down with anything. I falter a little, then we are running, in stride together, down the street.

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