9/25/97

Inner Shadows
by jamrhein@rocketmail.com

Rating: NC-17, slash, m/m

Disclaimer:  Everyone I've abused in this story belongs to Chris Carter
and 1013.

Thrown to the floor, Mulder gasped in surprised pain.   Rough canvas
scraped against naked skin.  He'd been naked since he arrived at his
apartment and was taken down by four or five masked intruders.   Taken
and.....rolled up into something that felt like a large tarp.  Unrolled at
last, making him dizzy.  The back of his head and his shoulders bumped
into something as unyielding as the floor and the tarp came free, leaving
him to lie on his back blinking in the lamp light.

Raising his head, Mulder saw Skinner standing near the bed he'd thumped
against.  Also naked, his face somehow vulnerable and defenseless without
his glasses.  Another masked figure stood beside him, the barrel of his
weapon near enough to brush Skinner's temple.

>From the shadows, a voice made sexless by hoarseness said, "Ah, Mr.
Skinner, see what we've brought you.  Your agent, the one who spends so
much time in your office."

Skinner looked down, his expression grim.  "Are you all right," he asked
Mulder quietly.

Mulder swallowed hard.  Was he all right?  Not really, not considering
what they'd already done.  But he wasn't going to admit that in front of
them. Finally, he nodded.  "You?"

Skinner grimaced slightly, nodded.

"He's been dreaming of this," said the voice.  "Fantasizing about it.  And
we've got him all ready for you."

Mulder rolled up to a crouch, peered into the shadows near the door.  He
couldn't make out anything but masked figures.  And the shape of what
looks like a camcorder.  "What the hell do you want," he demanded, but
his voice trembled slightly.

"We cleaned him all out," continued the voice, "And now you're going to
turn him out, Mr. Skinner."

Mulder's throat worked again, swallowing hard.  "You people are crazy,"
he told the voice harshly.

"What the hell is this?" Skinner's voice was low, Skinner's eyes flicked
back and forth from the figures near the door to Mulder.

The man with the gun held to Skinner's head laughs softly.

Mulder shook his head, denying knowledge, even though he knew, has
known since they dragged him into his own bathroom and cleaned him
inside and out.  Heedless of his struggles, deftly dealing with him each
time he broke free of them, finally giving him the needle, something that
hazed him out and left him helpless.

He just hadn't known who else was going to be in on whatever they had
planned for him.

"I think that should be fairly obvious to a man as intelligent as yourself,"
said the voice.  "You're going to fuck him.  He's been dying for it, didn't
you know?  Agent Mulder, get on your knees in front of him.  Now."

Mulder didn't move.  Finally looked up at Skinner, felt his face go hot,
tried to keep his eyes on Skinner's face.  Ignoring nudity, the body of the
man who towered over him.   Ignoring shame and anger and the faintest
shiver of anticipation.

Skinner's face went impassive.  "I don't think so," he told the voice's
owner.  Soft voice, not even anger.

"Do it!"  The voice snapped suddenly, as if amusement and patience had
come to an end.  "If Mulder doesn't obey, shoot Skinner in the head."

Mulder's stomach tightened.  They wouldn't.  Would they?  He rolled
forward to his knees and looked up at Skinner, tried to think hard.  They
wouldn't just murder Skinner, would they?

Skinner looked down at him, but his eyes were shadowed, his back was to
the lamp on the bedside table.  Mulder couldn't read them.  What the hell
did Skinner want him to do?  His skin prickled with gooseflesh.  "Don't,"
he whispered, looking at the figure beside Skinner.

Skinner's hand brushed his shoulder gently, a whisper of a touch, skin on
skin and it made him shiver again.  Images he didn't want to see danced in
the back of his mind.

Skinner looked back up, toward the door.  "I don't think so," he said,
still softly.  "I don't think you can make either of us perform for you."

"Mr. Mulder," the voice warned.

Mulder stared up at Skinner, who glanced back down.  Impassive.  Not
giving him a fucking clue.  He lifted one shaking hand to Skinner's hip,
warm skin, warming his chilled fingers--stalling, trying to think of some
way out of this.   Leaned up on his knees, breathing in the scent of
someone else's skin.

There was a low chuckle, the faintest metallic sound as the gun pressed
against Skinner's temple.

Skinner closed his eyes, waiting.   Skinner's skin was still warm under
his hand, despite the chill he was fighting.  It wouldn't be for very long
if he let this happen.  He'd seen this kind of head wound, seen the damage. 
What the hell difference did his fucking pride mean if he let someone die? 
Someone he respected--people survived rape all the time, and it wasn't
Skinner doing it.

"I'm going to count to three," the voice murmured.  "And then, Mr.
Mulder, your chance to save your superior will have slipped away."

Skinner's hand rested lightly on his shoulder.   He wasn't giving Mulder
any hints, any ideas.  But it was a weight that somehow reassured him.

"One," the voice began.

"I can't," he whispered and closed his eyes, leaning forward.  He couldn't
let this happen.  There was no way to win.  And he couldn't let them kill
Skinner.  But..."They'll own us," he whispered, looking up at Skinner,
thinking of the camera, too conscious of the red light..

Skinner inhaled slowly, deep breath that filled his chest, made the muscles
shift slightly.  Mulder's heart hammered--he was afraid for Skinner, that
was all.  "It seems they own us already, Mulder.  It's your decision." 
Gentle voice.  No judgement.  No warnings.  Trusting him to make the
right one.

Why did it have to be his decision, Mulder wondered, shivering.  Because
they're trying to get a handle on me, said the inner voice in his head.
Because they've dragged Skinner into this as a peripheral matter, to kill
two birds with one stone.

Not a good thought, and he shivered again.  Cold.

Skinner's hand rested on his shoulder, still very gentle.  Reassuring him?
 He wished he knew.

Skinner's cock was thick and soft, his balls heavy and warm from sleep.

Leaning forward, Mulder hesitated, too aware of the gun, took in a shaky
breath, tried to calm himself, but a tremor of excitement suddenly took
him, starting at the base of his spine.

He was supposed to be a psychologist, not an idiot.  The excitement was
more frightening than the gun.  Had he wanted this all along and not
allowed himself to consider it?  It wasn't exactly the time to consider it, he
couldn't take the time to work out his personal issues with a gun to
Skinner's head.

"Two," the voice was soft, almost regretful.

Closing his eyes again, he used the lightest touch to guide Skinner's cock
toward his mouth, opened his lips to it.  Took it in.

The strangeness of it didn't help.   The head was warm, almost velvety to
his mouth, he tasted the faintest trace of salt and soap and leaned forward
further, letting his tongue guide the thickness in deeper.

Skinner made an almost inaudible sound, his fingers stroked Mulder's
shoulder, feather light and god, almost warm enough to leach the chill
from him despite that.

Mulder trembled slightly, fear and anticipation and a sense of power he
hadn't expected.  He ran his tongue over the flared head, that secret
excitement in his gut prickling his skin to life again.  Burning in his
belly, an excitement that radiated down to his groin.

Skinner made another sound, not quite a hiss and Mulder stroked the
thickness with his tongue, shivered again as the burn in his belly spread
to his groin, as he felt the heaviness and tension between his legs growing.

Skinner's hand shifted from his shoulder to his hair, stroked it, feeding
that excitement.   He could feel Skinner's cock thickening, shivered and
took Skinner in more deeply.  This close, he could smell the other man's
skin, something he hadn't noticed until tonight, even though he's been in
close quarters to Skinner on other occasions.  Soap and sweat and musk
and the faintest trace of aftershave or cologne drifting down to him.

Of course, he'd never tasted Skinner before, had never considered it.  Or
had he?  He shivered again, tried to take more of Skinner into his throat.
His own cock throbbed and shame and arousal heated his skin further.

Maybe these assholes were right, maybe they'd seen something in him he'd
never admitted to himself.  Maybe he had wanted this for a long time.

Independent of thought, his right hand slid up Skinner's leg and cupped
the heavy balls, rolling his them in his palm gently.  He looked up, met
Skinner's intent gaze.  Saw that the gunman had drawn back and felt the
faintest shiver of relief go through him.  Relief and excitement.

Skinner made another sound, a stifled groan, and moved his hips
fractionally, just a slight, abortive thrust into Mulder's mouth.  Mulder
put his other hand on Skinner's bare hip, pulled a little, urging him
forward.

The sooner they got this over with, the better, he told himself, and knew
it for a lie.

It wasn't any big deal.  The human body was constructed to respond to
stimuli, it didn't mean anything.

But it did.  And he wasn't sure he could think about that.  Didn't dare
think about it.

"See how well he does that," purred the voice.  "He's hungry for you, Mr.
Skinner."

Skinner's hand stilled in his hair, then moved again, purposely gentle,
reassuring him, moved down to the side of his face and stroked his cheek
with shattering tenderness.  That intent gaze still on him for a moment
longer before Skinner closed his eyes, tilted his head back, as if to spare
him that much privacy..

He tasted bitter salt and recognized what it was, shivered again in new
arousal.  And shame.  He found a rhythm, stroking Skinner's cock with one
hand as he worked it with his mouth.  He was a man, he ought to know
what worked, and even though he had to struggle not to gag, it seemed to
be working.

And oh, Christ, it felt good.

As if he agreed with this, Skinner began to push in earnest now.  Looking
up, Mulder saw Skinner's head tilt farther back, saw the taut line of
Skinner's neck.  The muscled plane of chest and belly.  He'd never seen a
man's throat as arousing until now.  Thick column, broad shoulders--his
cock throbbed again, fully erect, against his belly.  He didn't think they
could see it, the camera was more or less behind him.

That dark excitement, that secret pleasure in giving pleasure to this man,
an expression he'd never seen on Skinner's face before, even his shame--
these all fed his arousal.  But somehow he needed something more for
himself.  He didn't know what it was, couldn't decipher the mixed
messages his mind was throwing at him, and didn't want to.  He wished
desperately that he felt nothing, wished that it wasn't happening, that it
wasn't happening this way.  And even that he knew better what to do.

All of which made his stomach knot more tightly and he took refuge in not
thinking.   He took Skinner's cock in more deeply, inhaled the scent of
the man, pressed his nose against the crispness of pubic hair and took
Skinner in yet deeper, fighting hard not to gag.   Felt the thickness
against his tongue.  Guided it with his tongue.

The room was silent.  He let the silence enfold him, wash his mind clean
of anything but the sight and the scent and the taste of the man who stood
before him.  Added little refinements to what he was doing, remembered
tricks Phoebe had used, used them to make Skinner moan.

"That's enough, Mulder," said the voice abruptly.  "Skinner, get him on
the bed on his hands and knees."

Skinner looked down at him, then stepped back abruptly.  Ashamed or
angry?

Probably both, Mulder thought and flushed scarlet, felt the heat of shame
wash away the shivering.

"Look at him, look how excited he is, Skinner.  And you haven't touched
him yet, have you?"

Skinner pulled him up to his feet, his gaze on Mulder's engorged cock.
Stared at it for a long moment and pulled Mulder close, kissing him hard,
tongue stroking in deeply, making the burn expand in Mulder's belly and
cock.

Stunned, Mulder let himself be kissed, arched slightly against the arm

across his back when fingernails scraped his nipples, bringing them to
life.  This wasn't what he'd expected.  The voice didn't order it, and
Skinner's mouth kept demanding more and more from him.  Skinner's flesh
warmed the last of the chill from his bones, Christ, he was hot, he was
burning up....

He moaned in his throat, feeling Skinner's cock pressed against his belly.
Skinner's hands moved down, stroking his ribs, making him shiver,
stroked down his hips and the curve of his ass.

His ability to think obliterated, Mulder made a whimpering sound in his
throat, too much sensation to bear, to sort out:  the hair on Skinner's chest
scraping his nipples, his cock pressing hard against Skinner's, Skinner's
mouth over his, Skinner's tongue probing and tasting him.  He wanted to
break away--Christ, it'd been too long since he'd done more than pleasure
himself, since he'd felt another body warm against his, that's all it was,
that's why he was moaning in his throat and arching his back into Skinner's
breadth.  His flesh was betraying him, that's all it was.

And that was another lie.  He didn't usually tell himself lies.

Big hands pulled his buttocks apart, opening him, a finger stroked down
the cleft of his buttocks, across the slippery wetness of the lube, pressed at
the ring of muscle until he moaned again and arched against Skinner's
restraining arm, his palms flat on Skinner's chest, feeling pebble hard
nipples against the skin.

No more lies.

Instead of pushing away, he tried to open and accept it.  It probed
intimately, pressed upward and he couldn't help it, couldn't stop himself
from whimpering at the heat that flowered from that point, pushed back
against it, wanting more.  Oh, Christ, it felt--incredible, he couldn't stop
himself from moving, from whimpering.

Skinner's mouth pulled away, left him gasping, moved across his jawline
and nipped down his throat, and another finger slid in, stretched him.
Skinner's arms trapped him against the broader chest and he pushed back
again, moaning, as wanton as any whore.  Wanting more.  Needing more.

"Get him up on the bed."  The voice was harsh now.

For a moment, they stood still, locked together.  Skinner's mouth came
back to his, gentle now, not so hungry.  "It's all right," Skinner breathed. 
"I won't hurt you."  The fingers withdrew from him.  Skinner's mouth
brushed lightly across his throat.

He tried to think, tried to make sense of what was happening, but it was
pointless, his mind skittered in every direction, unable to focus on anything
beyond sensation.

Skinner's hands were gentle as they guided him to the ordered position.
Hands and knees, with the camera behind him.  He felt more naked than he
had before, exposed to the camera's eye.  Exposed to Skinner's eyes.

"He's already lubed up, you don't have to worry.  And he's clean, you can
fuck him bare."

Skinner's hand tightened on his hip briefly, an expression of anger with
the hateful voice.  "Wait a minute."

"Shoot Mulder if Skinner doesn't obey," purred the voice.

Mulder bit his lip.  "Just do it," he whispered, "Or we're both dead
anyway."

His belly was still knotted, and not just with dread and shame.  With
lunatic clarity, he wondered what it would feel like to be penetrated.
Wondered what it would feel like to have the heat of another man's cock
inside him.  It wasn't like he hadn't idly considered the question at other
times in his life, but this was immediate, this was now, and he was going
to find out.

The idea made his face go hot again, and he closed his eyes.  Admitted to
himself that he wanted Skinner inside him, however it had come about.  It
was hard to admit, even in the silence of his own heart, but he'd always
sought the truth.  Had always insisted on it.  And no more lies, not tonight,
not now.

"But first," the voice overrode his thoughts.  "Put your fingers in him.
Stretch him."

A moment of silence as Skinner--what?  Contemplated that?  Mulder
shivered again, felt Skinner stroke his hip. the heat from his fingertips
searing.  He was going to find the marks of Skinner's fingers there later, he
told himself distantly, marks of ownership--Christ, he was going crazy, he
had to bite his lip to keep from crying out.

"I won't hurt you," Skinner's whisper promised again, and a finger slid
down the cleft of Mulder's ass again to the slippery wetness of lube.

Mulder shivered.  Felt his cock jump.  He'd known when they'd done this
what was going to happen.  He'd never guessed it would be Skinner.

He hissed when the finger pressed against the ring of muscle again, tried
to relax.  Skinner's finger pushed in, feeling strange and not quite painful. 
Pressed firmly down against his prostate and the fire from that spread to
his groin.  He couldn't quite stifle the moan and bit his lip.

"Another finger," ordered the voice.

"Shhh," Skinner murmured, reassurance and promise at once.  One hand
reached under his belly to cup his balls, as the second finger penetrated
and probed him.

He couldn't prevent himself from whimpering and pushing back, the heat
increased and he moved his hips, welcoming the invasion.  Oh, Christ,
nobody had ever told him it would feel like this.  Like fire and shame,
like pleasure and pain.

"Shhh," Skinner whispered again and moved the fingers in a familiar
rhythm.  Fucking him with them.  Stretching him almost to the point of
pain, but stopping just short.

Until another finger probed through and he hissed through his teeth,
couldn't stop moving back against them.  His cock was hard against his
belly and it hurt and it felt good enough to turn his bones to water.

"Turn your face so he can see it, Mulder," ordered the voice.  He turned
to look over his shoulder, saw the camera and tried to block it out.

Detach himself.  Disassociate.  This wasn't really happening.  It was
simply a fantasy conjured up by his disordered mind.  The result of having
no life.  No lover.  But Skinner touched him like a lover, oh, god, it was
beyond belief.

The red light bothered him, even with his eyes half-closed.

Oh, please, no, he thought, and moved again, saw Skinner look at him, saw
Skinner's cock still hard, saw the intent lust on Skinner's expression,
and couldn't prevent himself from moaning again at the heat in that gaze.

"He's such a slut, look how much he wants it."  The voice was amused.

Skinner bent over him.  A tongue flicked the base of Mulder's spine and he
tossed his head, trying not to groan.  Teeth nipped gently, the mouth
sucked delicately at his skin.

"Tell him what you want, Mulder."

The voice jarred him back inside his head.  What did he want?  Why did
he have to say?  They were going to make them do this anyway, why did
he have to tell them anything?  He wanted Skinner over him, inside him,
protection and pleasure.   "Please," he panted.

Skinner's hand still gripped his hip gently, the other moving in a steady
rhythm that was starting to drive him crazy.  He pushed back, wanting
more, felt the slight burn of being stretched and welcomed it, because it
brought pleasure with it.

"Tell him."  The voice was hard and remorseless.  Insisting.

"It's all right."  Another whisper.  Hot and tender, terror and reassurance. 
Reaching under, Skinner squeezed the head of his cock, tearing a cry from
him.

"Tell him, Mr. Mulder."  Even more harshly.

Oh, fuck it, he wouldn't tell them.  He'd tell Skinner.  Skinner deserved
to know--he really was out of his mind.  "Please," he gasped, "Please,
just fuck me."

He heard Skinner take a ragged breath, heard him whisper, "Your ass is so
sweet."

Shock hit first, then a wave of lust that electrified him.  Skinner's hand
urged him on, he pushed back again and again, letting himself be opened
and penetrated while they watched, wanton with it, so far gone he didn't
give a rat's ass about the camera.  Skinner's eyes moved from what his
fingers were doing to Mulder's face, Skinner's expression was taut with
lust, his cock still swollen and hard.

"He's a lovely slut, isn't he?" the voice said conversationally.

Mulder bit his lips against another moan.  He was a slut.  He didn't care.
 He wanted Skinner's fingers to keep moving, his cock ached and he
wished Skinner would touch it, but Skinner was tugging gently on his
balls, rolling them between his fingers.

Oh, Christ, they were right, he did want this, had wanted it for what felt
like forever, but it was shaming to have someone else know it.  To have
someone else watch it.  But they would have to shoot him before he could
stop moving on that steady, knowing pressure in his ass.

"All right," the voice purred, "Pull your fingers out and get on the bed
behind him.  Slowly, now, I want to get every detail of this."

Skinner gave the man a dark look.  But he was nudged forward farther on
the bed and put his face in the sheet as Skinner got up on his knees
behind him.

Oh, God, the sheets smelled like Skinner, he buried his face and inhaled,
smothering his moan in them.

Something significantly larger than Skinner's fingers pressed hard against
his anus.  He held still, tried to take in a deep breath and suddenly
Skinner's cock was pushing into him, gently, slowly.  He gasped at how
thick it was, at how it almost hurt.  How it opened and filled and invaded
him.

But the pain subsided to that strange pleasure as his body accustomed
itself to Skinner's thickness.  He moaned again, didn't care about stifling it
and Skinner pushed the rest of the way in, all the way to the root, he could
feel those heavy balls gently slap his ass.  And moaned again in that weird
combination of pleasure and pain.  Oh, Christ, Skinner was fucking him,
this really was happening, it wasn't a dream--and he  thought he was going
to die from it.

"Pull him up," the voice ordered, and the other lamp was turned on,
shining fully on both of them.  Both of their faces, once Skinner pulled
him up.  He felt slender and almost fragile against the broad chest.
Skinner's arms went around him, one hand moving to stroke his belly
down to his straining cock.  The other arm held him tightly against
Skinner, protectively.

"It's all right," Skinner murmured and leaned forward, raised a hand to
turn Mulder's face.  And Skinner's tongue slid between his lips, Skinner's
mouth covered his, hot and rapacious, drinking him in, stroking the inside
of his mouth, over his teeth, the inside of his cheek, tasting him.

He moaned in his throat and pushed back against Skinner's cock,
whimpered at the burn and gasped when Skinner released his mouth.  The
arm across his chest shifted and Skinner's fingernails scraped against his
nipples, setting off a line of flame that traveled down to his groin.

"Fuck him," said the voice.  "Fuck him hard enough that we can see how
you fill him, that we can see your cock stretch him."

"It's all right," Skinner whispered again and his mouth traveled down the
side of Mulder's throat as his hips pulled back, as he stretched Mulder
out in the backthrust.  "I won't hurt you, tell me if I hurt you."

He whimpered again, helpless, and pushed his ass into Skinner's thrust,
crying out as Skinner filled him.  Unable to stay up without Skinner's arm
across him, he fell forward on his hands and tilted his head back, gasping
for air as Skinner pulled back again.  "God."  It escaped him.  He wanted
to bury his face, but couldn't, he could barely breathe and it felt like he was
dying of pleasure.

"You're a virgin this way, aren't you?"  Skinner's breath was hot in his
ear.  "Ah, God, your ass is so sweet."  He turned his head and Skinner's
eyes met his.  "Tell me."

"Yes," he gasped and the idea was unbearably erotic.

"He's been dreaming of this," the voice said again.  "He's such a slut."

"No," Skinner said, more loudly, almost boldly.  "No, he isn't.  He's a
virgin."

Defending him.  Mulder stifled a moan in the sheets, his head hanging
down.  Pushed back into the steady thrust.

Low laughter.  "That doesn't mean he's not a slut.  It just means he's
only a slut in his head.  Ask him if he's noticed your body in the gym, in
the locker room, in your office.  Ask him."

Skinner's hands moved to his hips, pulling him, stroking his skin, and oh,
God, he wished Skinner would touch him, touch his cock.

"Ask him." The voice was preemptory.

Skinner's cock was moving in him, in and out, slowly and carefully, he
couldn't keep himself from arching into that thickness thrusting into him,
the burn ignited a slow flame in his belly and he moaned.

"Do you, Fox?"  Skinner asked, hoarsely.  "Do you think about my body?
Have you noticed it?"

Had he?  He tried to think.  He'd noticed Skinner in the gym, lifting
weights, the broad shoulders, well muscled arms taut.  He'd seen that
thickness currently impaling him when it was quiescent, after a workout,
after a shower. He'd noticed the narrowness of Skinner's waist in the
white shirt, tucked into the trousers.

"Yes," he gasped, and closed his eyes.  Somehow it was more shameful
that these strangers had known, had known before he allowed himself to
know. That they had seen into his brain and recognized what he wanted
before he could even put a shape to the images.

"You'll own him now," the voice hissed, "Body and soul."

Skinner's body covered him, Skinner's breath was hot against his skin.  "I
do own you," he murmured, "You're mine."

And the burn persisted, pleasure/pain so intense that he couldn't think,
couldn't protest, couldn't breathe, couldn't do anything but beg. "Please,"
he moaned and pushed back again, craving that thickness as it
filled him.

Skinner's breathing roughened, he heard it in the silence of the room, the
hush of the watchers.

"When this is over," Skinner breathed, hardly audible to anyone.  "I'm
going to take you like this again.  I'm going to take you like this in the
office.  I'm going to take you like this whenever and whereever I want to,
Mulder."

He couldn't protest, didn't want to protest.  "Please," he whimpered as
Skinner pulled back again, stretching him taut.

He didn't care about the camera or the figures in their masks, he only
cared about what filled him, about the painful ache of his cock. "Please,"
he whimpered again, pushed his hips back hard against Skinner, heard
Skinner gasp.

"Pull him up again," the voice said, hatefully satisfied.  "Make him come
for you, Mr. Skinner. Make him scream."

Skinner obeyed, holding him hard and tight, pushing up into him hard.
"I'm going to make you scream," he whispered, his breath warm on
Mulder's ear.

"Please," Mulder begged.  Please touch me, please, and Skinner's hand
reached down, warm fingers closed firmly around him,  making him gasp
and pump forward as Skinner backthrust again.

Oh, God, he was going to burst into flames in a minute, oh, please, he
didn't care about the goddamned camera, didn't care about the gun, didn't
care about the people doing this.  He was drowning in what Skinner was
doing to him.  "Please," he whimpered and was filled again, a hard thrust
that made him bite his lip.

"Just like this," Skinner was whispering to him, obscenities he'd never
thought of before.  "I'm going to fuck you like this in my office, on the
floor.  And on the desk, with your legs up over my shoulders.  You're so
tight and fine and sweet, Fox, I'm going to fuck you just like this."

He nodded, blind with desire and lust and pleasure.  "Yes," he hissed,
"Whereever and whenever you want."

"Yesss," Skinner's answering hiss was satisfied, dark with pleasure and
need.  He began thrusting harder, began pumping faster, stretching Mulder
open wide, filling him.  "I'm going to fill you up, Fox, fill you with my
cum."

He dimly heard that, wanted it, pushed back hard, thrusting back harder
and harder as Skinner's strokes sped up, pumped into Skinner's hand in
something close to a frenzy when Skinner pulled back each time.

"Come for me," Skinner was breathing in his ear, harsh rasps, and his
tongue flicked out, his teeth nipped Mulder's earlobe.  "Come for me, I
want to see it, I want to see you come."

He pumped harder, almost mindlessly, his hips moving back and forward,
heedless of the audience, of blackmail, of being attacked in his apartment.

The truth wasn't out there, it was in him, and this was it.  Skinner's body
crushing him close, Skinner's cock driving him closer and closer to the
edge, oh, God, it was like dying, or dreams out of body, or even flying.  He
could hear someone making sharp, whining noises and realized it was
him--and suddenly, his balls were so tight they hurt, and he screamed for
real, a kind of shriek that he couldn't hold back as he came and came and
came, Skinner's hand pumping him hard, Skinner's cock spreading him
open and pushing in hard and deep.

Skinner groaned in his ear and thrust faster, four or five more times,
Skinner's hand wouldn't let him stop.

"Please," he cried out, unable to breathe or see or think.  He closed his
eyes and let his head fall back on Skinner's shoulders.

Skinner's hand stilled instantly.  A warm mouth brushed the base of his
neck.  "It's all right,"  Skinner gasped, "It's all right, I've got you."

He let himself sag back, let himself fugue out completely.  He didn't know
what else these men wanted, didn't know what else they'd do, but he was
content just to draw inside of himself, Skinner's arms around him, tears
hot on his face.....

Skinner smiled at the man who had commanded them.  Nodded silently
and bent to kiss Mulder's throat again.  "It's all right," he repeated and
gently stroked Mulder's hair.  "I've got you."

The masked figures withdrew, as silent on their feet as cats.  Mulder made
a little sobbing sound and turned his head sideways into Skinner's shoulder
as the last one disappeared.

Still smiling, Skinner stroked Mulder's hair again, soothing the tears away,
soft voice, murmuring assurances.

It had been worth every penny.  And he couldn't wait to see the video.

Walter Sergei Skinner jerked upright, neck twinging as he snapped awake.
Again.  They'd said the job could be dangerous, but somehow dying of
boredom hadn't ocurred to him at the time.

"Christ."  He sighed and pulled another folder towards him.  Oh fuck.
White collar crime.  Only yuppies could make crime dull.  Set a yuppie to
catch a yuppie.  The boys in Financial Crimes wrote reports only
accountants could love.  Skinner groaned and opened yet another case file
that would never cause a national scandal because no one could stay awake
long enough to understand it.

Dullllll.  He moved his lips as he read, hoping it would make it easier to
focus.  It didn't.  His neck cricked as he slid into a doze.  Again.  When
he finally nodded and woke there was drool on the page.  Shit.  He rubbed
at the paper, warped where it had soaked up his spit.  Shit.

Jesus fucking Christ.  He wished Jesus fucking Christ would finish the
damn reports.  He needed to go home.  He needed a nap.  He needed a
vacation.  He needed . . . something fun.  Instead he had bank fraud.  No.
Nonononono!  He grabbed the pile of folders and riffled desperately,
seeking murders or kidnapping, arson, rape, anything but white . . .
collar  . . . .crime.

Fraud.  HMOs.  Double billing.  Insurance scams.  A faint whine grated in
his ears and he barely knew it was his until he found it.  Found it.  And
stopped.  There it was.  It oozed with interest, dripped with the weird,
the wonderful.  An X-File.

Skinner pulled its towards him reverently, savoring the ridiculous code on
its tab.  Gently opened the manila cover to find one of those deliciously
meaningless fluff bits Dana Scully always wrote to make the thing look
less outre than it was.  It didn't work.  There was only so much window
dressing even the most gifted bullshit artist could put on zombies robbing
banks. He settled back for fairy tales with Fox.

It went too fast.  An effervescent little case full of odd witnesses and
odder suspects.  The expense report alone put the accountants to shame,
though he doubted he'd sign off to replace the shoes Scully had ruined
chasing their telekinetic grave cum bank robber.  He chuckled and flipped
to the back for Mulder's closing notes.  Not the official, typed account
that was sententiously loopy.  No, he was in a mood to savor the
handwritten explanation the agent always included, the one that told the
Mulder-version that the official records would never show.  The first time
he'd seen one Skinner had nearly had a stroke.  By now, they were the
consolation prize for giving up the three-martini-lunch.  They were . . .
short?

They were never short.  But this one was a single page tucked hastily into
the back of the folder and dispatched by interoffice mail.  Skinner
frowned, studying the thing.  Terse.  To the point.  It was almost normal,
and flat as day old Coke.  Mulder's usually jagged handwriting reached
heart attack spikes, but his prose was so practical it was almost dull.

Instead of whipped cream, Fox Mulder had given him Cool Whip. 
Skinner scowled and traced the hurried letters.  Hurried.  But no new
X-Files had been sent down and no travel requests had crept across his
desk in a week. Not since before . . . ah.

The assistant director sat back, studying the strangely sensible page on
his desk, but the thoughts in his head were anything but sensible, practical,
down to earth.  The thoughts in his head were molten, intoxicating, hot
flesh and cold air and the scarlet light of a video camera winking in the
dark.  They were the memory of a tape in his hand, and the clear, recorded
sounds of sex and threats and Fox Mulder's panting, muffled climax. 
Skinner's cock twitched and he was anything but bored.

Jagged, hurried writing and interoffice mail.  Like Mulder was nervous,
too nervous to even write his usual report, too nervous to turn the thing in
or defend it with his customary fervor.  He'd thrown his zombies and
telekinetics to the A.D.'s mercy and hidden down there in the dark, in his
basement lair.  Skinner smiled.  Fox Mulder might hide, but it wouldn't
work.  Mulder belonged to him.  He had belonged to him since last week.

Walter Sergei Skinner closed the X-File, piled it neatly on top of the
stack of dead trees and dead prose that was the rest of the FBI's best 

and
turned to open the bottom drawer of his desk.  Skinner's father had liked
to fish.  He'd once said that nothing was wilier than a trout or prettier
on the hook.  Walter Skinner knew what he meant, though he had
preferred angle for something wilier and wittier than a fish.  Walter
Skinner's father had had hooks and bottles full of sinkers and lures.  The
A.D. used simpler equipment to hook his catch.  He felt it throbbing
between his legs at the thought and he happily tucked the little foil packet
and the petite bottle into his pocket.
____________

The door was ajar, like it usually was.  Skinner didn't knock.  Mulder
would know he was there soon enough.

The rustle of fabric and the scuff of leather were loud down here. Mulder's
glasses flashed in the gloom as he startled, started to rise.

"No need, Agent Mulder."  The agent settled back in his chair but he was
anything but at ease.  Scully's desk light was off, coffee cup clean and
empty.  Skinner leaned against her desk and steeled his face.  "This is
not a formal visit."

He could see the man swallow.  Mulder's adams apple bobbed above the
loosened knot of his tie and he wet his lips, the tip of his tongue pink in
the light of his desk lamp.  "You don't usually just drop by."

"Neither do you."  Oh, yes.  A nervous twitch of long fingers and squeak
of his chair as the X-Files supervisor shifted back.

"I don't follow you."  His voice was raspy, words tripping too fast. Skinner
thought of the jagged handwriting, the too-short note.

"It happened, Agent Mulder.  Ignoring it won't make it go away."  The
A.D. kept his voice low and soft.  It didn't do to scare them away.

"Sir, what happened was a crime.  Neither you nor I would choose to do
what we did."

"That's true."  Skinner shifted onto his feet, wandered forward into the
light that pooled over Mulder's desk.  "Would I choose to be abducted?  Or
stripped?  Or forced at gunpoint?  No."

The tendons of Mulder's hands were ridged in the lamplight, and his
knuckles were white.  Skinner looked up from them, not letting his eyes
linger at the unbuttoned collar where pale skin shone.  Mulder's pinched,
angry lips were just as pale.  "What happened to us was another goddamn
crime.  One more thing those bastards have to pay for."

"One more for your list, Agent Mulder?  I can see that.  But you weren't
there alone."  No, he hadn't been alone by any means and Skinner's groin
was hot with the memory.  He took a deep breath and let himself smell
Mulder's scent, soap and skin and the faintest trace of aftershave.  He'd
smelled like that that night, too, under the scent of sex.

"I'm sorry, sir.  I never meant. . . ."

"Mulder."  Skinner reached across and grabbed his wrist, warm flesh and
hard bone under his hand and the flinch as Mulder twitched back and
away. "You have nothing to apologize for.  You did nothing wrong."

"I . . . I . . ."  that pink tongue wet his lips again, and Skinner tightened 
his
fingers around the agent's wrist.  The pulse was racing under clammy skin.

"Agent Mulder.  Neither you nor I would have chosen to be forced, but
what happened to us wasn't bad.  Didn't hurt.  Mulder, it felt good."  Oh, it
had felt good.  It was worth every penny the A.D. had paid to stage it, tape
it, and he wanted that feeling again.

Mulder was shaking his head in quick, nervous little shakes.  "No, sir.
It never should have happened."

"It should never have happened the way it did, Mulder, but I don't regret
what I did with you."  He curled his fingers under Mulder's palm, stroked
the tips across clammy, sweaty flesh.  "I don't regret how I made you feel."

The chair squeaked again as Mulder pushed back, away.  His white shirt
shone in the twilight dim office as he stood.  "It never happened.  It never
goddamn happened!"  He was breathing fast, shirt rising and falling over
his chest.  A thin, cracked whisper, "it never happened."

"It happened."  Skinner pitched his voice low and calm.  "They abducted
you, and I fucked you.  And it was good.  It was good for you, too
Mulder."

"I don't want to hear this."  Dry, flat voice.  "Get out of my office."

"So you can keep hiding?  You were always the one who looked for the
truth, Mulder."  Those glasses were flat planes of light.  Skinner took a
deep breath and kept his stance relaxed though he felt the flush in his own
face.  "Don't hide from this truth.  It felt good.  You felt good under me."

" . . . I'm leaving."  Quick, jumpy moves.  Skinner stayed where he was,
next to the desk.  The other man turned to brush past him.  Skinner felt
Mulder's warmth in groin, his nipples.  Braced an arm across his chest and
stood firm.

"Stop."

"Don't do this."  Mulder's heart was hammering - Skinner could feel it
under his forearm.  The body next to his trembled as he tightened his
grip. "Skinner . . . Sir.  Nothing happened between us, only to us."

Walter Skinner leaned in close, so close that Mulder's dark, soft hair
tickled his face.  Breathed into his ear, "but it did.  What they did was
to us.  What we did was between us."

The younger man turned his face slowly, his eyes wide and dark behind
lenses that were no longer shields of light.  "They forced us."

This was the face that had looked up at him with fear a week before.  With
fear and desire.  Skinner leaned in slowly and let his lips brush Mulder's,
tongue whispering over silky skin, barely tasting that mouth.  The body
cradled against his shook just the tiniest bit, but did not pull away.
"They're not forcing us now."

"I want to leave."

Mulder was so close, Skinner could feel his lips move with the words.
Stayed where he was.  "Do you?"

"Let go.  Let me go."  The air gushed from the younger man's lungs.

Skinner smelled coffee, exhaustion.  Turned to lean into Mulder's body,
letting the taut bulge of his penis brush against Mulder's hip.  "You
don't need to ask me, Mulder.  Just walk out."

"You . . . your arm. . . ."

"A week ago my arms were around you.  A week ago, you didn't know if
you didn't want me to touch you.  You cried."  The body brushing his
stiffened. "A week ago, Mulder, you came for me.  Not for them.  For me."

". . .no.  NO!"  Flat, open palms shoved at Skinner's ribs, sent him
stumbling back against the desk as Mulder stalked to the door.  It rattled
on its hinges when he yanked it open.

"How long will you run from this?"  The A.D. pitched his voice lower,
steadying himself on the desk, "sooner or later you'll face the truth,
Mulder.  You won't be able to stop yourself."

White linen twitched over the squared shoulders, wool over buttocks.  The
hand on the door knob was white knuckled.  "I know the truth.  I'm not
running from anything."

"No?"  Walter Skinner smiled freely, standing behind Mulder's back. 
Moved slowly, reaching out to let his hand rest on one taut shoulder. 
"You're running from me."

"So what?"  Leather soles squeaked as the agent spun.  "You're not truth
and  you're not . . . not . . ."

"Not what?" Skinner stepped up close, into the heat of Mulder's body, "not
here?  Not doing this to you?"

Mulder shuffled back.  "What are you doing?"

The A.D. braced his arms to either side of Mulder's body, shoving the door
shut behind the man.  "You tell me.  If I'm not telling you the truth, what
am I doing Agent Mulder?"

"You're confusing me."

"No, that's not what I'm doing."  Walter Skinner tilted his head and let
his lips find Mulder's, pressing his chest against the younger man's,
pressing his cock against Mulder's, hot and firm against . . . hot and
almost as firm.  "I'm not confusing you at all."

Mulder's mouth moved under his.  Skinner tasted the words he didn't plan
to hear, slid his tongue through those lips to edge along the white teeth.
The coffee-tasting satiny roof of Mulder's mouth was warm, drenched. 
The faint thump of the back of the younger man's head hitting the door
drew a chuckle deep in Skinner's chest.  He let his thumbs move down
between skull and door, cushioning.  He cupped the dark hair, hand
molded to the back of Mulder's head, leaning into the body trapped against
the door.  Mmm. Firm.  Muscle, not showy like a weightlifter's, solid and
compact.  He remembered that body.

Hands grasped his ribs, curved to his sides.  Skinner shivered in delight
at the pressure, the heat of them.  Drew back a moment to nip at Mulder's
lower lip.  Full, sweet, slipping sideways as the agent turned his head
and pushed.  "Get off.  Get back."

"Or what, Mulder?  You'll get mad at me?"  He chuckled, the laugh
tickling under his sternum as he pressed close to Mulder, forearms braced
on the door.

The long face whipped back, too close to really see.  "I AM mad.  Get the
fuck off me."  The hands pushed harder, shifted him back a step.

"That's mad at me?  You're pushing me, Mulder.  Last time you were mad
at me you took a good swing and damn near knocked out a tooth." 
Skinner deliberately reached to his collar, tugging the tie even loser than it
already was.  "You're not mad at me, Mulder.  You're scared.  Scared of
what I made you feel."

"Fuck you, sir."  The hands were still on his sides but not pushing, not
hard enough at least.

"Promises, promises, Mulder."  Low laugh that he shared, vibrating in his
throat as he dove back in to capture that mouth again and swallow
Mulder's indignant squeak.  Laughing now, kissing and rubbing his chest,
his cock, hard against that long, lean body.  Wrapping his arms around that
back to hold the other man close.

Warm hands were still on his sides, flexing.  Pressing in, like he couldn't
decide whether to push or to pull.  Skinner made it easy and pulled for
him, filling his arms with that rangy frame.  Breathing in the soft scents
of skin and aftershave, shampoo and soap.  Fox Mulder smelled . . .
civilized.  Tasted good.  Would feel like fire and silk when he finally
got inside.  Not civilized at all.  Sweet and wild and good.  Walter Skinner
squeezed him close and rubbed the rigid hunger of his own erection up and
down, back and forth, against the answering hard shape hidden under
layers of cloth, grimacing at the friction of zippers and sweet bruise of his
own teeth, and Mulder's, against his lips.

"Oh Christ . . ." Mulder's whisper was half a curse, half a prayer. Skinner
leaned back, looping his arm around the small of Mulder's back, keeping
their hips pressed tight together.  Working himself like a dance, penis
aching and taut, sure that Mulder's was almost as ready.

"Going to hit me, Agent Mulder?"  Let his tongue slide across his own
lower lip, seeing Mulder's eyes follow it.  "Or are you ready to get the
answers to the questions you've been trying not to ask?"

That lower lip, puffy and ripe, caught between white teeth.  Heavy lidded
eyes looked into his, flickered away.

Skinner let go of him, reached to undo the next button, scratching lightly
over the sparse hair on the chest underneath.  Mulder reached, grabbed his
wrists as he dropped his fingers to the next button.  "Don't.  Don't do this."

No laughter now.  Skinner looked directly into his eyes.  Into wide, dark
pupils dilated by gloom and arousal.  "A week ago you begged me not to
stop, Mulder.  Do you really want me to stop now? Or are you just scared
of what you're finding out?"

Full lips parted, half-shaped one word, another.  A nervous, frustrated
frown drew thick eyebrows together.  Skinner nodded, let one large, gentle
hand caress the side of Mulder's neck, smooth its way down his shoulder
to push the shirt back.  He bent deliberately to trace the exposed nipple
with the tip of his tongue, dropping a hand to fondle and tease the head of
that cock through the cloth of Mulder's suit pants.  He might not know
what to say, but his low groan of hopeless arousal was enough for his
seducer. Another shuddering groan as Skinner let his teeth graze and tug at
the pebble of Fox Mulder's nipple.

Exposed skin was slightly salty under his tongue, buttocks firm when he
let his hands find their way behind Mulder to tug him forward.  The
younger man didn't resist any more, but drew fingers lightly over Skinner's
shoulders when the A.D. bent to nip at the cloth over Mulder's bulging
cock, nuzzling it then working his way back up, nuzzling until the white
shirt parted over warm skin, licking up over smooth chest skin, lightly
furred, up a throat stubbled with late afternoon beard trace and along the
line of Mulder's jaw.

"Oh, jesus . . ."

Skinner let his teeth bite softly on Mulder's chin, smothering the urge to
reply.  Fumbled blind to unfasten the rest of the shirt buttons, working
his way back to find the curve of Mulder's ear.  Pushed the shirt back in
one smooth move to let it tangle the other man's arms and reached for his
belt.

A soft gasp, and Mulder stepped back.  "I don't . . ."

The A.D. tugged him forward by his belt, pushing the leather back through
the buckle.  Unfastened this button in one quick twist.  "You're through
the hardest part already, Mulder.  Just relax and let me do the work.
You're almost there."

"Almost where?"  Sharpening voice, until Walter pulled down the zipper
and squeezed the long, hard shape tenting the silky boxers.  An involuntary
shove of hips pushed Mulder's cock into his hand and he squeezed again.

"That's right.  That's right, baby.  Just let me show you, let me take you." 
Silk was whisper soft over hard flesh in one hand, and the wool trousers
pushed down easily for his other.  Skinner bent to suck the erect member
through the silk, shoving Mulder's trousers the rest of the way to his ankles
and reaching to guide his feet in stepping free of them, to yank off shoes
and sock so the long legs were bare.

Gooseflesh stippled pale skin.  Skinner knelt and ran his fingers along
the fly of Mulder's boxers, where a delicious erection struggled to free
itself.  He parted the silk folds to release the penis inside, almost feeling
the way Mulder's breathing caught instead of hearing it.  The shorts slid
off the narrow hips, slippery fabric dropping to the floor.

The other man's hands opened and shut on air as Skinner leaned forward to
tease the tip of the penis in front of his face.  He almost tasted it, drawing
in the animal scent of Mulder's arousal and parted his lips to take in the
velvety head, but his skittish partner backed away, trying to shrug his shirt
back up to his shoulders.  His voice was breathless.  "Don't. Just let it go. 
I'll forget you were here.  Just leave."

Skinner rose slowly, Mulder's pants in his hand.  "Don't?  You told me
'don't stop.'  Mulder, you begged.  Remember?  'Please, please just fuck
me?'"

The flush over the other man's cheekbones deepened.  He seemed to be
searching the dark corners of the office for some answer that wasn't there.

Skinner approached him slowly, holding out the clothing.  "This isn't like
last time, Mulder.  This time no one's forcing you.  No one's watching
you."

"What about you?"  Harsh, low words, but he'd stopped.  Skinner watched
the chest rise and fall, fast, under the open shirt.  Sand-pale skin gleamed
in the faint light.  His penis, soft, flushed brown, was vivid against the
thicket of dark curls at its base, and reaching up, over his pubic bone.

Skinner forced his eyes back up to Mulder's face, licked his lips.  "What
about me?"

"Why are you doing this?  Why won't you stop?  Aren't you forcing me?"
White teeth shut down on that lower lip, a wary stare holding him where
he stood.

He pitched his voice low, taking small, smooth steps towards the elegantly
undressed man in front of him.  Wishing the shirt didn't hide the long torso
or solid, surprisingly well-defined shoulders.  "I'm doing this because I
want to.  I want to feel you against my chest, around my cock.  I want to
know if you lied when you begged me to keep fucking you."

He could hear Mulder's breathing catch, made himself not watch the other
man's penis bobbing up, half erect.  Bit the insides of his cheeks to stifle
the smile of pleasure.  Mulder's voice was hoarse.  "I don't.  I  don't want
you to do . . . anything to me."

"Did you lie to me, Mulder?"  Ah, so close.  He could smell the pungent
scent of masculine arousal.  "Did you lie when you were squirming under
me?  Did you lie when you screamed and came, Mulder?"

"Oh god."  Almost a whimper.

Skinner reached out slowly, brushed his fingertips across Mulder's
cheekbone and let them rest on his face when the man didn't flinch.  Drew
his hand down Mulder's face, his throat, and flattened his palm across the
warm skin of his chest.  Dry, warm, and hair tickled Skinner's palm.  He
curved his hand around that waist and pulled.  "I won't hurt you."

When he leaned forward and pressed his lips to Mulder's the soft, full
mouth pressed itself into a thin line, then finally relaxed to open, to let
his tongue explore.

Slow thrust of tongue into that wet warmth, and Walter Skinner slid his
arm back around Mulder's shoulders.  Pressed the length of his body to
Mulder's, caressing him with knee and thigh, cock and chest.  Coarse,
business-clothing cloth against skin barely covered by thin, silky boxer
shorts.  Hands touched lightly, almost fluttered, at Skinner's sides.  He
pushed his tongue more firmly into the other man's mouth, shifting his
hips to roll the length of his sweetly, achingly hard penis over Mulder's
stiffening member.

Mulder didn't balk when he pulled him back, tugged him back into the
edged luminance of the desk lamp.  Against his, Mulder's chest rose and
fell so quickly, breaths puffing into his mouth, across his cheek.  Fever
pulse, fever heat, in the skin under his hands, his lips, his tongue.  Skinner
broke away, gasping.  Darted back in to lick the soft over hard of Mulder's
jawline, shutting his eyes in pleasure at the hands that settled on his
shoulders.

This time when he pushed back Mulder's shirt, it fell freely to the floor.
Back here, behind the desk, there was barely room to stand face to face.
Backlit, Mulder's shadowed face was flushed, eyes wide and liquid dark.
The A.D. backed until the chair's edge touched his knees, let himself down
onto padded leather and wood.  He took Mulder's waist in both hands,
kneading the muscles of his sides and slowly dragging them down to peel
the thin silk from the lean body in front of him.  Tugged the waistband
over the ripely full cock, letting it spring free.  The firm, long shape of
Mulder's erection bobbed, flushed, the glans velvety as apricots and fluid
glistening in a drop from the tiny opening at its tip.  Skinner leaned
forward to lick slowly, around the glans of that cock, engulfing the salty
head and working his lips on the hard shaft curving up towards that flat
belly.

Mulder gasped and, when Skinner shifted to look up, he saw Adam's apple
and jaw as the man threw his head back, breathing deeply.  Skinner sucked
hard, seeing the tremor of delight that shivered along Mulder's frame.
Sucked again then pulled back to let cool air wash over the wet tip of
Mulder's penis.  Wide, glazed eyes came down to watch him and a warm
hand glided over the hairless scalp of his head.

Skinner smiled, tugged at Mulder's hips.  "Don't be selfish.  I want to feel
that mouth again, Mulder."  Wanted to see that mouth wrapped around
his rod, feel that tongue on his skin.  Another tug and Mulder dropped to
his knees, seeming almost dazed.  The A.D. helped him fumbled down his
zipper, helped him with the unaccustomed act of pulling another man's
penis free of his pants.  And bent, hesitantly, to taste the engorged organ,
letting Skinner wrap his hands around it.

Ah, dark hair was soft between the A.D.'s fingers.  Clean and short.  He
gently pushed Mulder's head a little further down, moaning as his dick
slid between those lips.  Closed his eyes and let the pressure of tongue and


the teasing sharpness of teeth put aching jolts of desire through his balls,
his belly.  "Jesus, yes, oh yes!"

The tip of that tongue pressed down all of a sudden, finding the opening
of his cock, flicking it to teasing, painfully ready arousal.  "Oh, Christ!"

Mulder gasped when Skinner pushed him back, held him there on his
knees. "You're so sweet, Mulder.  Like I remembered."

Teeth bit down on the wet, slick lower lip, eyes blinked fast at a memory
Skinner thought he might be sharing.  "You were going to come . . ."

"Not yet.  Oh, not yet, Mulder.  There's something I want to feel, and you
need to feel.  Come here. . ."  Tugging up, guiding the man onto his feet.
"I want you to feel good.  So good."

A tiny gasp as Skinner dove back in to taste his mouth again, to taste his
own salty pre-cum on another man's tongue.  Firm, swimmer's buttocks
were high and dense in his kneading hands.  He pressed his whole body to
Mulder's, pushing back until the desk stopped the other man, then sliding
his hands up, along the small of that back and up to the shoulders to press
Mulder back, flat, lying on his own desk.  Skinner had though he was
ready when Mulder's lips closed over his cock but the sight of the man
lying before him sent a throb of lust through his groin and started sweat on
his skin.

Mulder writhed.  Pencils and black, plastic, government-issue pens
clattered to the floor.  Those long legs draped awkwardly off the desk
until Skinner tightened his grasp, pulling the knees up to his sides.  The
A.D. pushed up to rub his cock, his trousered hips against Mulder's ass,
his thighs.  Reminding him how naked he was as Skinner pulled his own
dress shirt off over his head and tossed it, still buttoned, back over the
chair.

"Put your legs over my shoulders, Mulder.  Just . . . yes, like that." Ah,
the fine, firm weight of muscled calves settled to either side of his neck.
Skinner stroked his hands up the thighs, letting their hair tickle him. Back
down to splay his fingers across Mulder's pale belly, framing dark, curly
pubic hair and the graceful column of hard penis rising from just above the
ripe, full scrotum.  He let his eyes trail up over the torso, to Mulder's
flushed face.  Mulder stared back, his look glazed, blinking very fast.  Lips
moved, half-shaping words that never sounded.

"It's all right."  Skinner leaned into him, letting his own bare erection
rub along the length of Mulder's.  A nipple was pebbly-firm between the
fingers of his left hand, and Mulder's gasp was loud in the office.  It
covered the faint crackle of foil as Skinner found his condom, and the
little bottle of lube with the handkerchief in his pocket.  Set them on
the desk and pushed both hands back up the smooth skin of Mulder's torso,
kneading abdominal muscles, working up to savor the pectoral muscles
and tiny, brown nipples.  The hazel eyes slid shut and the man under his
hands arched and moaned.  Skinner smiled and pulled his hands back
down the center line along sternum, over belly and down the sparse trail of
hair into the thicker bush.  Down to grasp the eager rod he'd been teasing
with his own cock.

Warm.  No, hot, silky skin over a penis hard as teak.  A crystalline drop
of salty precum hung at the tip, glittering.  He let go with one hand, found
the little bottle and flipped its top, released Mulder's penis to squeeze a
heavy dollop of gel onto his fingers.  The legs on his shoulders trembled as
he smoothed the cool stuff between Mulder's buttocks and slowly,
carefully probed at the tiny pucker of the other man's anus. Another gasp
as Skinner's finger pushed through to the second joint.  That snug little
anus tightened on his finger and Mulder gasped again.  Skinner paused,
then slowly eased through a second finger, sliding both in to the last
knuckle, pushing lube deep inside.

In and out.  Spincter muscles gripped his knuckles and Mulder wriggled a
little with each thrust into his body, each gentle pawing that Skinner
made at his prostate.  The A.D. squeezed out another dollop of gel,
pushing it through and deep inside, the slipped his fingers free and wiped
them with the handkerchief, watching Mulder's face, the quick rise and fall
of his chest.  A pink tongue edged vivid lips, hands working on the surface
of the desk as Mulder lay there, waiting.  Skinner could almost see him in
the act of waiting, as he tore the foil wrapper and rolled the condom down
over his cock.

Skinner's balls ached with desire as he set the rounded tip of his penis
against the bud of Mulder's asshole.  He squeezed lube out, trailing it up
the length of his cock, cold along his shaft but the spot where his penis
pushed against Mulder's ass was white hot and sending little jolts of
almost painful pleasure through his penis, up his belly and his spine.  He
looked up, watching Mulder's face as he leaned forward, gradually
pressing the plum of his glans into the muscular ring, stretching it open,
easing the crown past that tightness and into the heat of Fox Mulder's
asshole.  Hazel eyes shut tight, lashes dark along the pale skin and Mulder
threw back his head and groaned.

"Oh, Jesus . . ."

"That's right."  Skinner grabbed for his bottle again, squeezed out lube to
wet his palms, wrapped his hands around his partner's cock and, pulled.
The man on the desk arched into his grip and moaned,  as he inched inside
against the pulsing tension of that taut anus.  His partner's hands wrapped
over his, setting the rhythm that Mulder wanted.  Skinner groaned and
sank his tool those last two inches into ecstasy.

"Oh god."  The tiny, shadowy line between Mulder's brows deepened.

"Yees."  Skinner shifted and backstroked out.  "My cock is sliding back
out of you, Mulder.  Can you feel it?"

"Oh god, you're a bastard you . . .ah!"  as inches slid out of his body.

"Your ass is holding onto my cock, Mulder.  Your ass is grabbing it."

"Stop . . ."

"You want me to stop?"  He looked down at the four inches he'd pulled out
of Mulder's anus, gave a quick thrust to impale him again (back arched,
gasp and cry) and slammed his cock back out all the way, just touching the
little opening.

"Don't, oh god, don't . . ."

"Don't what?"  Quick pop of the head of his cock in and out, in and out.

"Don't.  Stop. . . "

"Stop?"  Pumping his hands up and down Mulder's rigid length, letting the
other man's hands guide his pace.  Pulling all the way out til the tip of his
cock nestled in that snug ring of muscle.  "Stop?"

"Don't stop!"  A soft whimper and Skinner slid back in all the way to his
root.  Satiny-smooth flesh clenched his cock and he gasped and yanked
back.

"Tell me what you want."  Running his thumb over the velvety skin of
Mulder's glans, wet with pre-cum.

"Please!"  Mulder arched again and let go of his hands, grabbed the edge
of the desk for traction.

Skinner pistoned back in to bury his whole length in that warm, tight hole.
The pulse of the big vein in Mulder's ass shivered delight through
Skinner's cock, and he shoved again as if he could get his ball inside. 
"Tell me what you want."

"Pleaseohgodohfuck I'm . . "  A gasping cry as Skinner pulled back out all
the way.  Mulder twisted and writhed on the desk, half curling to see the
penis that had been inside his body a moment before.  "Ah! AH!"

"What do you want?"  Popping his anus again.  In and out, quick and hard
and oh, jesus fucking christ Mulder's sphincter was clutching the head of
his cock and the thin little membrane was so rosy sweet and drum tight
around his thick, rigid tool.

"Stop talking and fuck me you bastard."  Mulder's face pulled and he
groaned.  His legs suddenly dropped from Skinner's shoulders, wrapping
around his waist and pulling him in, deep into that hot, silky, fist-hard
asshole.

Skinner caught himself over Mulder's body.  Leaned down, into that lean
body to lick at his nipples, work the tiny nubs between his teeth. Nuzzled
against a chest wet with Mulder's sweat and with the sweat that had
splashed onto him from Skinner's own body.  Salty and smelling
deliciously of soap and clean, sexy man sweat.

"I want to talk to you, Mulder.  I want you to talk to me."  Bracing himself
and pulling back, one inch after another sliding free of Mulder's ass, slick
and shiny with lube over latex.  "Tell me how it feels."

Wet sparkled along those mink-dark lashes and Mulder whined, pulling
with those swimmer's legs.  Skinner braced his arms until they trembled.
Worked his hips until his penis corkscrewed and Mulder mewed in
agonized pleasure. "Tell me how it feels, Mulder.  You begged for it last
time.  How does it feel?"

"Oh jesus christ you fucker, it feels so good."  Mulder bit down on his
lip, whimpering.

Skinner pulled back, angled up to roll the head of his cock back and forth
just inside Mulder's ass, across that perfect point that made him scream
again and again, hoarse little shrieks of ecstasy, pawing at the desk under
his back.  "How does that feel, Mulder?  You begged me last time.  You
begged me to fuck you."

"Do you want me to beg?"  The agent's voice was broken, almost like sobs
of desire as he worked his ass up and down on the penis impaling it.  "Do
you want me to beg you to fuck me you asshole?"

"I want to hear how much you want it, Mulder."  Chuckling low in his
throat.  "I want you to tell me how much you want it, admit how much you
want my cock up your ass, how good it feels."

"Ohgodohgod I want to come it feels so good oh pleease,"  tossing his
head, squirming on the cock inside him.  Skinner grabbed his wrists and
leaned into him, pinning them over his head.

"How much do you want to come?"  Pressing his body down onto top of
Mulder's beautiful, lube-shiny cock.  Savoring the throbbing pressure as
rectum and anus milked his cock and Mulder's body arched rhythmically
under him.

"What do you want me to say?  Please, fuck me I'll call you whatever you
want I'll say what you want just fuck me please, make me come, let me
come
 . . ."

"You're beautiful.  I'm fucking your asshole with my cock, Mulder.  It
feels so good inside your ass, so smooth and you grab me so hard with
your ass . . ." breaking off as that sphincter grabbed him again at the
words, squeezing the base of his cock until the thought he'd explode and it
felt so good.  Little ripples of muscle squeezing him inside that ass, rectum
not so tight but silky warm and fine.

"Please fuck me sir, please fuck my ass with your cock."  The words came
in little bursts, between the groans of pleasure.

"I'll fuck you hard, Mulder.  I'll fuck you tonight and I'll fuck you again,
whenever I want."  Panting now, and Skinner could feel his own balls
drawing up close to his body as he thrust in and out of Mulder's ass, hips
and groin spanking up hard against the sweat-slick skin of that butt.

"I don't care, fuck me hard fuck me like you want me but I need to come
oh god I need to come!"  The wrists under his hands flexed with the
words, Mulder's whole body flexed and squirmed on the spike of Skinner's
thick, gorged rod.

"Tell me.  Tell me what you want me to do."

"My cock!  Oh please, let me touch . . ."

"I'll touch.  This is mine now."  Grabbing Mulder's erection, squeezing it
between his hands and moaning as Mulder's ass tightened, as Mulder
writhed and cried out.

Up and down in and out and it felt so good, pushing hard and fucking that
one little spot in Mulder's ass that made the man scream those gasping
little screams, made him bite down on his full lower lip so he wouldn't be
so loud.  Pumping up and down on the hard dick in his hands, the dick that
prodded his belly every time he leaned into a thrust and slammed his own
cock all the way in to the root.

"Oh fuck oh fuck oh jesus christ almighty . . ."  sweat dripping off his
chest and he didn't know which one of them said it because of the ringing
in his ears and the flashes in his eyes and he closed them dark and the
lightning in his cock shocked up his spine into fireworks behind his eyes
and Mulder was screaming hoarse, smothered screams, Mulder's asshole
fucking his cock as he thrust in as far as he could get, like his balls were
slamming up Mulder's ass and he kept pushing and pushing and coming
and coming into that hot, tight, hard fireworks asshole filling it up with his
meat and oh god oh god it was good it was . . .

Oh jesus it was good.  He trembled, aftershocks shivering up his groin
into his chest as his cock throbbed in that snug little ass and Mulder's
rectum rippled along his length.  So fucking good.  Holding still and that
tight ring of muscle kept squeezing, releasing, squeezing, releasing and it
ran up into Mulder's ass to pulse along Skinner's oh-too-sensitive-almost-
hurts cock.  His knees shook with it, and Mulder lay there limp, moaning
with the feeling in his body, sticky come warm and smelling tangy,
bleach-sharp good all over Skinner's belly and Mulder's own.  He didn't
want to pull out, just wanted to leave his penis in that tight, hot, little 
place
in Mulder's body.

It took effort to reach out and pick up his handkerchief.  Effort to fold it
and wipe it over Mulder's belly and over his own and it was damp with
cum in his hand.  Mulder's legs sagged limply to the floor as if he couldn't
hold them up anymore, but only sprawled across his own desk in sated
exhaustion.  Skinner knew how he felt.  He slowly, regretfully eased his
penis out, eased back from Mulder's body, from his ass.  His skin tingled
as he worked the condom off his cock and knotted the end.  Wrapped it in
his soggy handkerchief and balled the whole mess up, smiling ruefully.

"Wouldn't do to have the cleaning crew find you with any more proof than
you films."

Hazel eyes slitted open to look at him through the lashes.  "Who told you?"

Skinner watched the man he's so recently fucked struggle to sit up on his
own desk.  "You've had a rep for those for years.  I heard about them
before I ever took over the job as A.D."

Mulder's Adam's apple bobbed with his swallow as he nodded.  Shivered
suddenly in the cool air of the office.  "What happens now?"

Skinner picked up his shirt and wrapped it around his shoulders, standing
close now, with the tension of a half hour before.  "Now?  You go home.
And tomorrow you come to work and do your job just like always."

Mulder's dark, just-fucked-wide-open eyes followed him as Skinner
stepped back and tucked away his cock and reached for his shirt.  "You'll
come to work tomorrow and the next day and the next."  Pulling his
crumpled linen shirt back on.  "And nothing will change."

"Nothing?"

Skinner ran the tongue of his belt through the buckle before he looked up.
"Not quite nothing, Mulder."

The nervous look of anticipation and anxiety in those eyes put another
jolt through his cock, even spent as it was.  He walked to the door, making
his stride its usual deliberate self.  "One thing will change, Mulder.  Just
one."

"What?"

He turned, standing in the gray shadows at the door out of the office.
"You'll know I can fuck you whenever I want.  You'll know that I'll fuck
you wherever I want."

The door clicked open, and he turned.  Stepped through.  And pulled it
shut behind him.