Date: 22 FEB 1998 04:05:06 GMT 
From: Radthea <radthea@aol.com>
Subject: Smoke and Mirrors(6/10) M/Sk NC-17 


Usual disclaimers.  Chris Carter and 1013 own 'em. We borrowed
'em but don't plan to keep 'em.  No profit, no intention to
offend, etc. etc.

Content: Fox Mulder tries to work through his reactions after
Redux II.

Warnings for angst, slash (M/Sk).  No violence.


Smoke and Mirrors (6/10)
02/16/98
Mostly by: Riopa Martin (Riopa@hotmail.com) 
Also some sex and angst from:  Radthea@aol.com


Skinner smiled at him, but from far away. Memories of heat and
thunder, and of gentle rains in a place that had not seen war for
decades. "Did you ever see Lascaux, Mulder? The cave paintings?"

Mulder's bewilderment was wonderful, lively and honest. Skinner
couldn't hold his laugh and reached out suddenly, touching his
face again, but without the hesitancy he'd felt before, perhaps
without the desperation. "I didn't drink that much. The summer
after 'Nam, I took off. I wanted to remember how it felt to be
alive, to be more than just terror and a weapon."

"Ah, and you did the Grand Tour?"

Trust Mulder to remember the archaic term. "I never took the
Orient Express. I was still pretty scrawny." Turning, leading
Mulder back to the couch. He didn't need to look to know he had
him caught. Story tellers were story addicts and Mulder was a
tale-spinner through and through. Skinner sprawled back into the
corner of the couch. "I hiked all over France and a little bit of
Spain, just trying to come back to life Mulder. Trying to forget
being dead."

Oh, yes. He had him. Mulder had curled onto the couch like a cat,
leaning into the words, eyes wide in the dim room. "What did you
mean? About the caves?"

"Close your eyes." Waited. With his eyes closed he looked
younger, tired as the lines of suspicion eased. Skinner sat
forward a little, lowered his voice. "It's sunny and hot out,
Mulder. Grassy hills baked beige and the bugs are buzzing out
there. They're all you can hear. The cave is narrow and dark and
maybe it still smells like woodsmoke after all these years. In
the dark you look up and you see them weaving in and out.
Outlines and herds running across stone. People and beasts and
things that might be both."

He thought Mulder might be holding his breath. Skinner shivered
at the strength of the memory. So long since he'd told anyone. So
long since he'd let himself stand in the dark of that time and
see the ghosts on the wall.  Mulder's warmth hummed along the
nerves of his face, his back cool in the room's air as he leaned
forward himself. He hesitated, then tilted his head and pressed
his own lips against Mulder's. Kept them there as the other man
startled, wrapping fingers through the soft, dark hair and
tasting him, tongue smoothing over those lips until Mulder
relaxed back into it, let his lips part.

Wet and smooth, hard teeth and hot breath in his mouth. Skinner
knew his own face was hot, flushed. His pulse throbbed in his
throat, his ears, his groin as he deepened the kiss. Mulder's
beard bristle scraped pleasantly under his palm as he pulled his
hand forward, let his other hand curve over the muscles of
shoulder and throat, easing Mulder's tension. When he pulled back
the other man was blinking fast, fingers digging into the couch
cushions between them. Skinner avoided looking to see what effect
he might have had. Let his tongue trail over his lips, tasting
the faintest hint of Mulder and wondering if the younger man
would freeze there, or cut and run.

That swallow again. Skinner held his breath. Mulder's voice was
hoarse. "I didn't know you could do that."

Skinner felt his eyebrows climb, laugh bubbling again. "What?
Kiss?"

"That too." The quirky grin was antic, flush running high in
Mulder's cheeks. "What the hell was all that about caves?"

"Ah," throwing his head back and laughing. Really laughing, from
deep in his gut like he hadn't laughed in so long. Not reserved
humor or a polite chuckle, he gave himself up to a rich, vulgar
belly laugh and only laughed harder as he saw it catch hold,
Mulder beginning to shake with it, try to hold it off. Skinner
gave up to it, letting it take him and wash through him clean and
sweet as Mulder tried to stop it, control it, make it behave and
it wouldn't, whickered through his long nose and sparkled in his
eyes the harder he tried.

"What is it, Mulder? You afraid you'll break if you laugh?"
Shaking his head and hiccuping with it.

"What WAS that shit about the caves? That's the weirdest come on
line I have ever heard! And they think I'M strange?" Finally
giving in, shaking and rocking with it, sharing it.

Wiping his eyes, still rumbling with snickers that tickled his
nose. "No.  Really. Did you ever see them? Those people knew how
to be lost in the dark and still hold onto something. They had
something there, I don't know if it was the fire or some skinny
bastard in a bearskin but they had something, someone to hold on
to in the dark." Laughter fading as the memory came back, buzzing
in the air around them. Summers long gone and the cool dark. 
"Are you afraid of the dark, Mulder?"

"I don't know. I don't know what scares me worse. The things that
hide in the dark, or the things that hide in the light." Troubled
eyes, looking back from a long time ago.

"We've forgotten the magic, haven't we? We figure it out
sometimes. "Letting his hand drop to rest on Mulder's knee. "When
you're sitting out in the middle of hell and you don't know if
you'll ever get back you learn to tell stories. You learn to
build a place in your head, but it's hollow if it's just you. You
share it. You tell it to the guy next to you and he tells you
about home. About whoever he left behind. Sometimes the shells
are coming down with the rain, and lightning is all around you.
Thunder of artillery. And you shake, Mulder. If you can, you
shoot. If you can't, if you can't move and you can't fight, you
sit tight and maybe you cry."

"How do you get past it?" Lost. Small voice. "How do you ever get
back home?"

"You don't." Solemn truth. "Home is here . . ." touching his
forehead, "more than anywhere else. You can't go back to that
place in the stories.  All you can do is go forward."

"Why are you telling me this? Why didn't you leave me alone?"

Choices. "If I really knew the answer to that, I'd tell you. I
know some of it. Maybe sometimes I get tired too. Maybe I start
to melt, I get lost in the dark. Sometimes you can't find your
way back out alone, Mulder. Deep down, that's why I thought the
Marines taught us not to leave anyone behind. Not to leave them
behind. But right now, I don't know which if us is in the dark
and which is in the light."

A thin smile. "I keep the television on at night."

Skinner cupped one bristled cheek. Mulder didn't flinch. Stayed
where he was as Walter Skinner leaned in and kissed him again.
Hooked the fingers of his other hand through the knot of Mulder's
tie and pulled down, pulling it loose, letting it pool in the
younger man's lap and following the silk's fall to rest his hand
on Mulder's upper thigh. He could feel the pulse racing under his
palm. Slid his hand up to find a firm bulge pressing out at the
zipper of dress pants and Mulder gasped at the touch.

His hair smelled good, human and real, a faint hint of soap and
aftershave over skin, the bar's smoke and rain. Skinner nuzzled
his ear, letting his tongue find the curve, teeth find the
softness of earlobe. Hands came to rest, lightly and nervously,
on his shoulders. Tightened as Skinner nipped, kissed down to the
point of his jaw. Whispered "it's all right. You can touch me."

Arousal choked voice he could feel through his lips as he kissed
Mulder's jaw-line, "no. I should leave."

He pulled back slowly, reluctantly. Skinner could smell Mulder,
taste him, a little salty, a little smoky on his lips. "I hope
you won't."

Tiny shake of the head. "This is wrong."

"Why? Because I'm your boss? Or because I'm a man? Or because of
you."

Mulder didn't answer with words. Maybe he couldn't. Nervous
fingers played with the silk of the tie, tugging it back and
forth. Finally threw a defense that didn't sound like a reason he
believed. "OPC would have a field day with this."

"Yes, they would," nodded Skinner. "Don't ask works if you don't
tell."

"What are you asking for?" Tugging at the tie hard, taut between
his fingers.

"Not to be so lonely for one night. Not to be alone for one
night."  Reaching out and running one finger along the silk
between Mulder's hands.  "And maybe I want you to know you're not
alone in the dark."

Mulder dropped his gaze, working the silk over and under his
fingers, around his hands back and forth. Looked back up
suddenly. "This scares me."

"It excites you too."  His exasperated expression almost tipped
Skinner back into laughter.

Mulder grimaced. "That's possibly the dumbest thing I have ever
heard you say. I'd be out of here right now if I could stand up
straight."

Too tempting to pass up. Skinner reached out, cupped the tented
fabric between Mulder's legs, squeezing gently. The flexible
metal of the zipper rubbed between his palm and the fuller
promise of the firming erection.  "Part of you can stand up
straight." Kept his hand where it was, but still.  "Tell me right
now. If you want to leave, it's fine. You'll take a cab home and
this never happened."

Mulder's throat convulsed with the swallow. His tongue ran over
his lips, but they still looked dry. "And if I don't want to
leave?"

"Then you'll stay. Tonight. And tomorrow morning you'll still
take a cab home. And maybe something happened, and maybe it
didn't. That's up to you and me. In the morning."

The tie was tangled around both hands, balled tight. "This is . .
. I'm scared."

"I know. New things are scary. Being vulnerable is scary." 
Skinner swallowed.  Hoped Mulder hadn't heard a catch in his own
voice.

"I'm not . . ."

"Shhh." Leaning in, finding those lips again. Soft. Not like a
woman's kiss, fuller and headier. Skinner slid his tongue between
them, along the hard edge of teeth. Squeezed the again. Strange
to feel an erection against his palm and no answering pressure on
his own sex. Exciting. Incredibly so.  He groaned softly and
pushed, feeling Mulder relax back. Shifted and let go of Mulder's
cock, savoring the tiny whimper that vibrated against his own
lips.  Caught Mulder, hand between his shoulder blades, and eased
him onto his back.

God. So long since he'd held himself over anyone else's body.
Body heat and the scent of another person sang through his
awareness. Walter Skinner shut his eyes a moment, enjoying the
sense of someone under him. Someone near.  Fingers touched his
jaw, lowered to find his pulse, cool on his hot skin. 
Surrendered to gravity and his own hunger and let his elbows
bend, his knees skid back along the couch's fabric until he heard
Mulder gasp at the weight on top of his body.

He'd forgotten how the arch of ribs felt under his own, the
strength that lifted his body with each breath Mulder took. Pulse
throbbing softly under his ribs, his sternum, more violently in
the heated length of his member.  Skinner's balls ached already,
cock thick and almost itching with desire as he worked his hips
left and right, rolling his erection lengthwise over that of the
man beneath him. Zippers and cloth rubbed hard at sensitive
flesh, almost painful, not quite. Knees between Mulder's thighs,
he pushed the other man's legs apart almost instinctively, trying
to press as much of his body against Mulder's as he could.

Fox Mulder's pallor was gone in the flush that lit his
cheekbones, trailed down his throat. Skinner slid his hands
between them to find the hot pebbles of Mulder's nipples, sure
the flush would redden Mulder's chest and thighs. Pressed down
hard on hint of firmer flesh. Harder to find than a woman's,
small but no less sensitive. Mulder took a quick breath that
hiccuped under his body, took it again as Skinner pinched his
nipples, rolled them and let go. Reached up to comb his fingers
through dark hair and sink into another kiss, tongue diving
deeper now, exploring the soft velvet of another person's tongue,
the hard silk of palate. Imagining that Mulder's cock would feel
as hard as his palate, the skin as smooth.  Familiar and strange
all at once.

The body under his squirmed. Larger than he was used to, longer,
broader chest and shoulders that didn't need protection from his
bulk. He groaned into Mulder's mouth and thrust slowly with his
hips, rhythm hinting at the fire kindling in his belly. Mulder's
answer was muffled, lips parting and tongue wrestling back. The
familiar sense of a kiss in the midst of the unfamiliar feelings
of another man's beard, another man's body.

Mulder broke the kiss first, head tilted back, hands braced at
either side of Skinner's head. The tie still trailed from his
fingers, along the side of Skinner's face. He could feel Mulder
half panting under him, ribs almost. . . fluttering? What did he
call something like that, so strong and quick all at once. "You
feel good, Mulder. You feel strange."

"The pot and the kettle." A breathless sound.

"Mulder. Did you giggle?"

"I take the fifth." Mulder's hands shaped their way down the
curve of the back of his ribs. Hesitated.

He didn't have to see the swallow this time. He could feel it
against his collarbone, grinned down ran a leisurely tongue along
the stubble roughened jawline.  "Mmm. I want to do something."

The hips under his bucked. "I can tell."

Laughing softly, "no. Think of it as an exercise in trust,
Mulder."  He hesitated, firmed his voice.  "I want to shave that
stubble off your jaw before it takes my lips off."

A little frown between dark eyebrows. "I can shave."

"I know. I said I want to shave the stubble off you. Will you let
me?"  Simple question, though he knew the answer was far from
simple.

A long pause as hazels eyes studied his face. "Safety razor?"

Quirked an eyebrow back, wishing he could do the Spock look. "I
use shaving cream in a can, too. And I even have a microwave."

"Asshole."

"That's my line." Breathing the other man's scent. Reining in his
own arousal and nerves, letting his fingers graze over the
roughness of cheeks, jaw. "Well? You want it quick and dirty, or
will you let me try to . . .try to do this right."

"Okay." Slow, wide smile. Skinner tried to remember if he'd ever
seen that smile on Fox Mulder's face. Delight. Surprise. He
didn't know what else but it lit across his nerves again. He
levered himself up, off Mulder's body, his own skin tingling with
the warmth of contact. Offered his hand to Mulder and watched him
hesitate, and take it. Pull himself up off the couch in a
whipcrack quick move nothing like the languid motions that . .
.that Sharon had liked. He sighed, blinked back against a memory
a decade past and took the tie still dangling from Mulder's hand,
tugging and leading, smiling now at the impromptu leash that
Mulder let him use.

"Why am I letting you do this?" Husky tenor. Skinner's cock
twitched again and he held his breath, turned and tugged Mulder
into the bathroom like he'd tug a string for a cat. Laughing
under his breath as he drew the other man into the brighter
light. Mulder dropped the tie before Skinner could pull him up
against his body, but didn't back away.

Skinner chose to do it for him, stepping back and taking his
glasses off. "You smell like smoke and stale liquor," wrinkling
his nose theatrically.  Mulder laughed again, but seemed to relax
as he turned to run hot water in the tub, trying to remember the
last time he'd done this with anyone.  Quelling memory of fast,
desperate lust with a woman too soon dead. Of lingering, mournful
sex with a woman he hadn't let know him for years. A distant
memory, almost physical memory, details blurred, of a man's sweat
and fear and sex, life's instinct and loneliness. Loneliness. He
sobered, laughter mellowing to a gentle smile as he tested the
water, glanced back to Mulder lounging in the door. "You're
overdressed."

"Ah." Nervous hands driven deep into the pockets of his suit,
spoiling the line of the pants. Not that his half-erect cock
didn't do it already.  Skinner stood up, began unbuttoning his
own shirt. No ceremony, just the practical movements of a man who
needed to get undressed. Of course, even so it was more elaborate
than his usual approach of just pulling it off over his head. 
The ritual was comforting, familiar but special.  His fingers
paused a moment over the final button, shivered as the shirt fell
open over his chest. He avoided watching Mulder as he unfastened
his belt, the button at the waist of his trousers. Letting Mulder
have the room to do this without pressure. His own erection
wilted with nerves.

Sliding his pants and briefs down dropped his flag entirely,
leaving him feeling vaguely silly the way only a naked, flaccid
man could feel. Worse, a flaccid man who would have been naked
except for his socks. He toed them off fast, shivering at the
chilly tiles under his feet. Finally looked up to find Mulder
hooking his thumbs under his waistband, a determined expression
on his face.  He'd been right - the flush traveled down Mulder's
chest, losing itself in the hair that traced between his nipples
and down into the loose, silky fabric of boxer shorts glimpsed
past the zipper.  Mulder shivered too, muscle twitching across
his shoulders with what might have been cold, but was probably
nerves. Skinner was relieved to see the other man wasn't sporting
his full erection now either. Arousal was nice, but shared nerves
were better than one-sided agitation as far as he was concerned.
At least, from the perspective of someone too jumpy to keep it
all the way up at the moment. He sighed and breathed deep, trying
to make himself relax.

"Bath, huh?" Mulder was eyeing the tub like someone checking out
the cannibal's cookware. "You have Mr. Bubble?"

Skinner stared at him. Blankly. He'd have summoned witheringly if
he could but somehow the idea of Spooky Mulder in a tub full of
Mr. Bubble took him past that point and into total . . . well, it
was only fair. After all, he'd poleaxed Mulder enough. "I am not
even going to dignify that with a response." Pulled a face and
reached for his razor and shaving cream, obscurely enjoying the
snicker from Mulder.

Warm. Just short of too warm. He shut off the taps, back to his
guest and immersed a foot, hissing at the sting of hot water on
cold skin. Pulled in the other foot and turned to look
expectantly at Mulder. Another of those blended expressions
caught somewhere between being aghast and aroused.  Mulder
shuffled a little, rucking up the rug, but his feet got him
there. A quick breath in that Skinner didn't think was held
against the water's temperature and he plunged a foot in, stepped
in before the temperature could register and squealed. "Jesus
Christ! What are you trying to do? Boil me?"

"Just sit down," urged Skinner. "Believe me, it won't kill you."

"Boiled balls." Mulder groaned and hissed but let himself down
slowly, kneeling in the water to face Skinner. His chest was
goose-skin prickles but his hands were flexing, relaxing under
the water.

"That's right." Skinner slumped a little further, glad of a
luxuriously deep tub to match a luxury apartment. Water lapped a
few inches below the brim, steaming gently. He scooped the soap
out of the soap dish, lathering it between his hands and running
it over his own scalp, down his chest and shoulders, letting
Mulder adjust to the water, to being naked and so close to
another man. Slithered down into the water, spreading his legs to
either side of Mulder's knees, pretended to ignore the hands that
rested just above his own knees as he rinsed the lather away.

"Christ. No wonder you get in so early."

"Hmm?" Coming back up and wiping the water from his face.

"No hair to wash. You'd be drip dry."

"No, AGENT Mulder. That's not it." Grinning. "Come here. I know
you love the fine scent of cigarette smoke on your skin, but I
gave 'em up years ago and I hate smelling it."

"Egghhk." A wordless syllable but Mulder leaned forward to reach
for the soap.

"Mulder, I DO have shampoo." Reading the question in his eyes. "I
used to live with someone who had hair, remember? And this will
be easier if you turn around."

Hazel eyes narrowed, half-suspicious. "Why?"

"Think about it." Voice mild, amused. "And don't worry - if I was
planning to murder you I'd have thrown you off the balcony
instead."

The expression didn't change, but he turned with careful little
moves, trying not to slop water. Skinner didn't pull him back,
but leaned forward to wash his hair. Thick hair, black with water
as he rinsed the foam away.  Slick skin as he soaped Mulder's
shoulders, his back. The innocent sensuality of skin took his
attention, working his thumbs up the knotted muscles lining the
other man's spine. Almost asexual pleasure in kneading the
heavier muscles along the top of Mulder's shoulders and down to
his biceps. Feeling the tension gradually relent, feeling Mulder
relax into the contact. Wrapping his hands forward and down over
Mulder's chest to tug him back into the cradle of Skinner's body.

Mulder tensed a moment as his bottom slid back against Skinner's
cock, his balls. Not erect, not hard, but a reminder of what was
happening. Skinner kept kneading the muscles of his chest, on
down to his belly, letting him tense and relax, tense and relax,
stopping only at a giggle as he found a ticklish spot. "Mulder,
it never would have occurred to me that you'd be ticklish."

"I may be Spooky, but I'm still just . . ."

"Shut up or I'll get shaving cream in your mouth." Chuckling now,
reaching for the can. A good handful, but Mulder grabbed his
wrist.

"Hold on. Wait." Almost preternaturally alert now, more nervous
than he'd been stripping off his clothes. The water splashed as
he pulled himself away and around to watch Skinner. "You first."

Genuinely perplexed but unable to see why not, Skinner smoothed
the cream over his own jaw. Picked up his razor and rinsed it in
the water, lifted it and drew it along his own cheek with the
ease of more than three decades of practice. Mulder's eyes
followed every move with hypnotic intensity.  Skinner was
beginning to understand the reputation he'd gained as an
interrogator in the VCU. It wasn't quite nerve-wracking but it
was . . .disconcerting.

Mulder was so still, almost all the life of him in his eyes,
candleflame bright. Hard to look away. Skinner shaved up under
his chin in long, easy strokes, watching Mulder over the ridge of
his own cheekbones. Relaxed, letting his chin drop and rinsed the
razor and lifted it again. Mulder's expression hadn't changed,
intent and focused. Skinner hesitated, then skimmed the razor
over the tiny space of his upper lip, pulling his nose out of the
way.  Left that last tricky curve of chin for last. "Wish me
luck. This is razor cut territory."

"Good luck," whispered Mulder, tensing.

Twitch and flinch and that little tiny burn stung in the cleft of
his chin, "shitfuckdamn!" Grimaced and pressed a finger tight to
his chin. Pulled his finger away, scowling at the red blur
starting to thin and run in the steam of the bath. "I hate
shaving cuts."

Warm hands closed around his, lifted and touched his chin.
Startled, Skinner looked up into sympathetic eyes. Sympathetic
and relieved. "What is it?"

The familiar, quirky grin met his puzzlement. "It's red."

"Of course it's red why wouldn't it . . . be . . ." feeling
himself wind down out of steam, mouth open, wondering. Staring.
"What the fuck? Is this more of that shit about green blood,
Mulder?"

Date: 22 FEB 1998 04:06:06 GMT 
From: Radthea <radthea@aol.com>
Newgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative
Subject: Smoke and Mirrors (7/10) M/Sk NC-17 


Usual disclaimers.  Chris Carter and 1013 own 'em. We borrowed
'em but don't plan to keep 'em.  No profit, no intention to
offend, etc. etc.

Content: Fox Mulder tries to work through his reactions after
Redux II.

Warnings for angst, slash (M/Sk).  No violence.


Smoke and Mirrors(7/10)
02/16/98
Mostly by: Riopa Martin (Riopa@hotmail.com) 
Also some sex and angst from:  Radthea@aol.com


"Consider it a quirk, like needing to sleep with the television
on," face open and light with relief. "I'm sorry, sir. . . "

"Walter. You're sitting in a bathtub with me naked. You just set
me up to cut myself," wryly, smothering his own urge for maniacal
laughter at the absurdity of it. "I am not 'sir' in this
situation."

Mulder's tongue poked firmly into his cheek. Worked down and over
his teeth. Skinner watched him, exasperated, until he finally
leaned forward himself to kiss Skinner softly, gently. Beard
bristle scraped newly sensitive skin and Skinner winced, sighed
as wet fingers soothed his face.  "Smooth. I never imagined your
skin would be smooth, Walter."

"Did you think I had scales or something," letting some of his
reactions tinge his tone.

Another kiss. "Actually, when you're chewing me out I think of
you as The Stone Face. Makes it hard to imagine you'd have such
nice skin," a laugh and a rough, tickling, scratchy kiss under
his jaw.

"Mulder, if I tell you to sit down right now and let me shave
that sandpaper off your chin are you going to give me more
bullshit exams to see if I'm a Vogon?"

"Reticulan." Mulder turned and settled down between his legs.

Skinner drew him back against his chest with just a hint of rough
frustration. "There's a difference?" Squirting shaving cream into
his palm.

"Reticulans have better taste in poetry." Mulder's voice was
solemn.

Skinner hesitated, shaving cream in his hand. "Do I really want
to know?"

The laugh was vintage mad scientist. "You read *The Hitchhiker's
Guide to the Galaxy*! You should know."

"I didn't. I got it from my nephews. Now shut up," and had to
wonder how many ASACs and ADs before him had fantasized being
able to shut Fox Mulder up so totally and so fast, though
probably not with shaving cream. Mulder's beard stubble was
softer than his own.  Raspy rather than feeling like woodworking
tools through the thick foam. He smoothed it over the other man's
face, learning the shape of jaw and how the muscles played along
it into a chin that was not large, but stubbornly set. Under and
down, feeling the swallowing reflex, pulling his hands back under
the hinge of the bone where the jugular's heady throb raced
feverish fast.

A fine play of muscle and flesh in the cheeks and down the sides
of the neck as if Mulder wanted to say something, couldn't but
his throat shaped the words. "You can talk later, Mulder,"
picking up the razor and concentrating. "Right now, just help me
out here and hold still?  I'm already sure you're as human as you
ever were." Mulder was silent, but his right hand came up in the
single finger salute. Skinner chuckled and carefully pulled the
razor back along one cheek, its wide, flat head leaving a streak
of smooth flesh behind in the creamy foam.

Skinner rinsed the blade and came back, more careful than he'd
been with his own face. Finding the shape of Fox Mulder's jaw and
his chin through the featureless white. Wondering why he'd never
realized how erotic shaving could be as the blood pulsed in the
throat he'd braced his hand against, pulsed in his own cock,
arousal building more slowly, steadily than it had before. He'd
shaved the foam from half of Mulder's face, the younger man
leaning back into him, body slowly relaxing with heat and the
familiar, regular motion of the blade over his face.

The solidity of another body was sweet. Not quite familiar in its
weight, unfamiliar in its scent, but good. Skinner bent his arm,
elbow resting on Mulder's chest. Calm breathing lifted his arm,
up, down, up, down . . .razor in hand and learning Mulder's pace
of being, lifting his elbow away to draw the razor along the
other side of Mulder's jaw, mirror image of the smooth side of
his face. Tilting Mulder's head back and against his own cheek,
round of skull nestled in the crook of his shoulder. A strange
tension tingled between them at moments as the razor touched
Mulder's skin, to ease with the rhythm of each razor stroke. 
Mulder's sigh wasn't just sweet, it sent a molten pulse through
his groin, his balls, his cock.

Slow draw of metal under Mulder's jaw and he could hear it slice
through stubble. Mulder's flicker of tension and relaxation
didn't grow to a twitch. He made a low sound, almost a moan.
Skinner brushed his lips over shampoo-smelling hair, tongue
caressing the cup of the ear.

"I forgot how good that feels."

Skinner hesitated, razor hanging.  "You've done this before."

"Not quite.  It was a long time ago."  The tone didn't invite
more questions, but it wasn't defensive either.  Skinner paused,
let it go.

"Sshh. You'll have shaving cream breath." Whispering the words.
Letting his hand glide across the shaved skin.  The lips were . .
. not just soft. Skinner shifted, stiffening as he lightly
pinched that lower lip, tugging the skin smooth and taking tiny
little strokes with the razor.

Tugged the lip the other way. Had to let go and wait for Mulder
to chuckle, "leading me around by my nose?"

"That's next. Right now I'll play with your lips," he growled.
The laugh pulled the lips back against Mulder's teeth. Skinner
let go, let him double and hoot then settled him back between his
arms.  Ordered "quiet," in a low voice. Mulder held still, but
easily, heat leaching his tension. Steam mingled his scent with
the spicy shave cream as Skinner tilted his head all the way
back, bringing the metal up the column of throat to the chin over
and over, rinsing the lather away, looking down the length of
Mulder's body, the well-muscled chest and belly, flat and lean
rather than bulked, to a half-erect penis flushed a reddish
brown, startlingly dark against icy pale thighs. Felt his own
organ thicken in response, Mulder shifting in front of him.
Brought the razor back to catch the last bits of stubble under
his nose. "I guess it's true what they say about noses and feet
and cocks, Mulder." Lilting observation, amused at the deeper
blush that answered the comment.

"Maybe. There are always exceptions."

"Of course." Setting the razor down and working soap between his
hands again. "Maybe now you'll let me shave your balls bare?"

"Fuck that!" Mulder did startle upright, half turning, scowling
comically as Skinner grinned at him. "Letting people near my
balls with sharp objects is not a life long goal of mine. Believe
me, I find getting my throat cut less frightening."

"Somehow, I do believe that." Running soapy hands over that back
again, and then down the legs, the bar underwater slick and inert
and Mulder's skin so warm and yielding over the firmer muscles
beneath. Mulder's hands kneaded Skinner's thighs, up and down the
outside, thumbs tickling the smoother flesh inside where the hair
thinned and the skin paled.

Skinner brought his hands back up between Mulder's thighs to cup
his balls, rubbing the bar of soap over them. Mulder arched,
caught his breath.  Squirmed and spread his legs a little further
apart as Skinner rolled the testicles in their sac, pumped his
hands up and down the stiffening shaft of what was shaping up
into a long cock - the type he'd have compared length to in
college, he thought ruefully. Of course, he'd seldom gone away
intimidated. Nipped at the skin of Mulder's shoulder and slid his
bar of soap back down, working it along the underside of the
heavy balls, back to rub into the cleft of Mulder's ass.

The man in his arms leaned back against him, "I'm not sure about
this," but he braced his heels and lifted slightly, gasping as a
soapy finger pushed at his opening, pushed through, "shit! That
stings but . . ."

"Want me to stop?" Softly, in his ear, pressing upward like
Sharon had, learned to do with him. Guessing at the angle, moving
his finger carefully, but knowing he'd got it as Mulder arched
hard and cried out, a small whimper of delight.

"Don't stop! No, that's . . .oh! oh!" as a second finger slid in,
holding still, then pumping just the tiniest bit.

"It feels good, doesn't it?"

"Do you always say obvious shit during sex," Mulder whined?

"Only when I want to," chuckling and twisting his fingers the
slightest bit, pushing them in to the knuckle as Mulder made that
sound again, and his own cock answered, wanting heat and
stroking, wanting . . .

Wanting Mulder? Yes. For tonight, for here, wanting the man in
his arms.  Mulder's head lay heavy, face against the side of
Skinner's neck.  The water splashed as he got his heels set on
the end of the tub and lifted his hips, let them down, squirming.
A tongue, wet as the bath, trailed softly up his own throat.
Skinner twisted his fingers again, squeezed the handsome erection
lunging up towards Mulder's belly, gauging the whimper. "How does
it feel, Mulder?"

"What?" Dazed voice, tone mingling so many things. Arousal,
surprise, discomfort and pleasure in a strange mix.

"How does it feel?" Pressing up slowly.

A groan and Mulder pushed his hips back, thrust forward onto
fingers, into Skinner's hand. Mulder's own fingers tightened on
his thighs. "You know how it feels."

"No." Pulling his fingers out carefully, washing his hands again.
"No, I don't. I mean, I need you to tell me how it feels."

Mulder leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "It feels like you've
left me half-finished." He couldn't see Mulder's face but the dry
voice told him almost as much.

Reaching out to trace the pattern of vertebrae trailing down
Mulder's back.  "No, not half finished," startled at his own jolt
of lust.  His own bravado.  "We're nowhere near done, Mulder. I'm
just getting you warmed up."

The look Mulder cast back over his shoulder was rankly
speculative. Skinner choked on a laugh, suddenly startled. A
little breathless.

"I don't think I've ever really heard you laugh."

"I don't think I've laughed this much in years." Solemn as
suddenly as he'd been laughing before.

Mulder turned, careful again although there was water on the
floor by then.  Careful and as intent as he'd been watching
Skinner shave. "Do I get to wash you?"

"Wash?" Investing the word with a long, ironic drawl.

The younger man grinned, trailed a lewd tongue over his lips.
Drawled back, "wash. Give you a little back up."

The devilish glint in his eyes was enough to make Skinner's balls
tighten.  Make him hand over the soap. "Here. But be careful. I
have a lot more practice at it than you do."

Tilt of the head, "how do you know?"

"Psychic hotline. And you'd better follow orders for once."

The skeptical look Mulder shot him had to have been cribbed from
Scully.  "Not everything requires a degree program to figure
out." Soap suds gleamed iridescent between his fingers.

Skinner eased himself further down into water murky with soap and
shaving cream, no longer steaming but still scented spicy with
it. "Mmm. Maybe. Or maybe those videos that aren't yours are your
mail order degree program?"

Mulder didn't answer, just pushed his knees up into the air.
Shivery contrast of air on wet skin, and Mulder spider-walking
his fingertips up to the knees, soap clutched in his palm, then
back down ticklish-sensitive thighs to pinch lightly at the
tender skin of his scrotum. Walter Skinner fought the urge to
squirm as his balls ached deliciously, tried to remember the
lions on the nature channel and simmer. The simmering part was
easy.  Mulder's fingers closed around the loose skin of his sac
and squeezed gently, tugged on it. The groan deep in his throat
rumbled.

"Ah, purring. I'll remember this next time you're chewing me
out." Impish grin.

"You do that. I'll give you a bit more to remember too." Comic
menace and he twisted his foot to stroke Mulder's buttocks.

Mulder's eyes slitted, fingers releasing his scrotum and moving
down to press on the perineum. "I never thought about - this skin
is so soft."

"How long has it been since you got laid?" Incredulously. "Come
on, Mulder, you're sure as hell no virgin."

"Well . . ." Musing, absorbed. A finger tip played at Skinner's
opening.  Instinct tightened his anus and the finger pressed
against it, toying. "Not a virgin. No, but maybe . . . maybe
different experiences." The finger slipped in to the second
knuckle.

Skinner tightened again, enjoying the startled look on Mulder's
face. "When was the last time? Didn't any of them ever try to
find your on-button?"

A snort of amusement. "On-button? They usually preferred playing
with the gear shift. The last time I got laid . . ." A second
finger probed a little too fast and Skinner hissed, tensed.
Mulder glanced up, apology in his eyes, eased back and slowed a
little. "Like that?"

"Press up gently.  You've got bigger fingers.  That's right . . .
slowly . . ." Easing back and breathing in deeply, tightened and
moaned at the pulse in his ass, against those invading fingers.
The pulse throbbing in his dick at the same pace. "Oooh, that's
nice. Sharon's fingernails were always a little too long."

"Ouch!" Twitch of the fingers as Mulder flinched. Then a pressing
pleasure as his knuckles rubbed along the prostate. "That sort of
bulge . . .?"

"Ahhh . . . keep pushing just like that." Growl of pleasure.
"Yes.  On-fucking button."

Those fingers suddenly pushed in deep, all the way in and almost
all the way out then in, sudden and fast, Skinner yelped then
groaned, hips bucking up and splashing water over the side,
"Fucking YES!"

"Like that, huh?" Amused. Hoarse, but controlled. Skinner opened
his eyes, seeing Mulder's expression. Confidence. Speculation.

Punk. "Turn your hand, Mulder." Fingers inside, touching and a
slow, searing pleasure building behind his balls, hot in his
cock, letting his hands drop from the sides of the tub to run
over his chest, pinch his own nipples.

Mulder flushed, lips full. Pushed. "Ah . . ." Beginning to fall
into the ancient rhythm, hips up and down, Mulder's hand tight
around his cock, beginning to squeeze in rhythm.

Skinner arched, ass muscles bulking, relaxing, pumping up and
down and relaxing into the familiar, knowing grip of another
man's hand.  "God, nobody gives a hand job like a man . .. ."

"I want to make you come." That tenor was husky. Skinner moaned,
voice and warmth, pulse-beat pumping of hand on his tool, fingers
in his ass, knuckles on the jet-fuel burner inside his body,
Jesus-fucking-Christ it felt like heaven and hell and burning
need all rolled into the circuit between his cock and his ass,
nipples and balls, lightning starting to race up and down his
spine , lights between his eyes and a voice was moaning, begging
for it . . .

Mulder's hands, Holy fucking . . . hands on his . . in his . . .
Skinner couldn't lie still in the tub, splashing water over the
side and bucking his hips up and down on the fingers, into the
palm of a hand so squeezing fine in the warm, slippery, soapy
water. Could hear Mulder's grunts as the fingers drove in and
out, in and out, hand pumping, whispers to meet his moans, "come
for me come for me, gonna come and that's right, just like that .
. ."

God, he couldn't stand it, "gonna come, oh, Jesus that's goodddd
. . . ." whimpering long in his throat, knees gripping Mulder's
ribs, pulling in time with the drumbeat hard-on thrusts of his
cock, impaling his ass, couldn't stand it and threw back his head
"I'm coming!" Hoarse shout, "Godgodgodgod coming and coming and
the clean, bleach smell of come in the warm air, thrusting up out
of the water volcanic, spurting white over Mulder's hands,
clenched on Mulder's fingers, hearing the muffled groan of the
man finger fucking his ass, gripping his cock, stars behind his
eyes and thunder in his ears and lightning sparkle slam up his
spine from his balls to his brain, drawing up, shoving his come
into the air, out his cock and sweeeeettttt! "Jesus!"

Splash. Limp into a tub nowhere near as full, and Mulder staring
at him, wide-eyed, flushed but steady. Skinner smiled at him,
draped in the end of the tub, water lapping at his belly. Didn't
want to think about the floor. "Jesus. That's good."Off-kilter
smile. "I get my associates degree in ass fucking?"

Blink. Considered it. Or pretended to as the warm languor of
afterglow rippled into his body. Let his tongue make the gradual
circuit of his lips, tasting their mingled scents in the humid
air.  "Depends. I suspect you still have to take your final."

"Didn't I just take yours?"

"I'm not up to word games right now, Mulder. Come here."
Curiosity, a little trepidation, a lot of glee. Skinner knew damn
well agents quaked in terror at his summons, including the only
two direct supervision high maintenance disaster recovery
specials he had, but still . . . he had never really thought
about their perspective. If anything, just gave them the benefit
of the same kind of attitude he and his peers had had.

Mulder was still at half mast, aroused but not really focused on
himself.  Skinner pulled the man into his arms, firm hand on the
back of Mulder's neck to turn his face up into a kiss. Slow kiss,
with none of the urgency he'd pounced with before. Rolling
Mulder's balls between his fingers but leaving his cock
untouched. The younger man almost panted when he finally let him
break the kiss. "Feel better now, Mulder?"

"Isn't that my line?" Cocky tone. Skinner felt a wide, gradual
smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He might be sated for
the moment, but that tone . . . hmmm.

"Partly. That was nice, Mulder. Thank you." Sucking on that lower
lip. Very nice, with that just-fucked look it gave his mouth.

"Nice?" Arch expression. "Nice is when girls sign their names
with little hearts. It's smiley faces. It's not a fucking awesome
climax."

"Like I said, nice. Did you think I was just going to go to sleep
now?"  Squeezing those balls just a little more, tugging down on
them, twisting a little just to that edge before a squirm became
a flinch.

Mulder was fighting to keep the bafflement off his face, but it
lingered deep in his eyes. "If you scream like that for the
little ones, you must wake the neighbors up when you really
come."

Smile widening just a bit more. Another kiss, plundering deep
into Mulder's mouth as he brushed his fingers up the length of
that cock. "Maybe I'll have to show you."

The challenging look back was all he needed. Made his cock throb
even now.  Mulder's mouth set in that sulky expression he knew
from too many head-to-head debriefings. "You can try."

"Oh, there's time enough for that." Tasting the faintest salty
hint of sweat on Mulder's throat. Probed with the tip of his
tongue, feeling the faint ridges of Mulder's voice box. "It's
been a while. I want to enjoy this."

"Abstinence makes the font grow harder?" Pharynx sliding up and
down against his lips. The water was cooling just enough, feeling
the first goose bumps on Mulder's shoulders.

"Come on, time to get out of the tub . . ." Pushing Mulder up,
careful in the slippery, soap-cloudy water. "You never did tell
me when you last got laid."

"That would be telling, Number Six." Laughing tone, but guarded
words.

Skinner kept hold of his shoulder, a pretense of care getting out
of the tub, a reality of contact. Sharon and I tried after she
got out of the hospital. The last time was the night the divorce
was filed."

Mulder glanced sideways at him, expression skeptical. "That
sounds like one of those improbable stories you find in Cosmo.
You know the ones - 'I saved my marriage on my way out the
door?'"

"I hope to Christ and the IRS that you aren't claiming Cosmo as a
business deduction, Mulder. I can cope with Celebrity Skin in the
file cabinet, but Cosmo? Doesn't self-respect ever register with
you?"

"Hey, you can learn a lot from Helen Gurley Brown! She can still
get dates looking like Tammy Faye Baker in mummy drag . . ."

"So can Bill Gates."

"Bill wears make up?" Mulder's innocent expression was hard-won
to judge from the flex of muscles along his jaw.

"You can quit clenching your teeth on the laugh," toweling
himself dry as Mulder tried to rub most of the water out of his
hair. Skinner wound the towel, but didn't snap it.

"Seriously, you get stuck in some hell hole of the American
Heartland and sometimes Cosmo looks better than the local rags."
Mulder peeked up from under the towel, imp's grin firmly in
place.

"So what would Cosmo say about this situation," Skinner asked
mildly, reaching between Mulder's legs to dry his balls.

"Oh, Christ . . .umm. I'm not sure." Mulder spread his legs a
little further apart, hands braced on the counter by the sink.
His reflection bore a look of concentration that said he might be
seriously considering the question until Skinner reached further,
rubbing the towel up past his cock to dry the curls at its base.

"Come on, you can do better than that with all the bumfuck towns
you get to." Suddenly wanting to hear what bullshit Mulder might
spin.

"Umm. I think she'd tell me to try to marry the boss. Or at least
get him to make me a kept girl. Cosmo girls are never women."

Skinner gave his cock a firm squeeze. "And neither are you."

"No, but I think I still qualify as a Cosmo Girl for finger
screwing the boss," starting to push his hips forward, back,
seeking the terrycloth caress. "I score well on the
questionnaires, too. Better than Scully."

Skinner gave up, rested his head against the small of Mulder's
back and laughed into the warm, damp skin, licking and kissing
and laughing his fool head off. Couldn't imagine why he'd wanted
to get drunk earlier, or perhaps just feeling a little drunk now.

Mulder squirmed, bent his knees to follow the towel, grumbling
when Skinner pulled his hand back then turned, leaning back
against the counter. Skinner found a firm, if not really hard,
penis in his face. Fingers trailed along his jaw, hinting and
drawing him forward. Still laughing, he glanced up into Mulder's
flushed face. Smiled more widely and slowly stood, letting his
chest brush the tip of Mulder's cock, his own still-sated organ
rubbing soft against hard, teasing.

"Please?" Moaned Mulder.

"Please what?"

A shaky, indrawn breath. "Please suck my cock."

Date: 22 FEB 1998 04:07:04 GMT 
From: Radthea <radthea@aol.com>
Newgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative
Subject: Smoke and Mirrors (8/10) M/Sk NC-17 


Usual disclaimers.  Chris Carter and 1013 own 'em. We borrowed
'em but don't plan to keep 'em.  No profit, no intention to
offend, etc. etc.

Content: Fox Mulder tries to work through his reactions after
Redux II.

Warnings for angst, slash (M/Sk).  No violence.


Smoke and Mirrors(8/10)
02/16/98
Mostly by: Riopa Martin (Riopa@hotmail.com) 
Also some sex and angst from:  Radthea@aol.com



Skinner pressed up against Mulder, pinning him against the
counter, leaned in to kiss his lips very lightly, brush equally
light kisses along the now-smooth jaw, over silky cheeks,
imagining how much smoother the skin of the erection prodding his
balls would feel. Shifted to catch Mulder's tool between his
legs, resting his balls on top of it, studying the almost pained
expression on the familiar face so near his own. Moved in the few
inches for another kiss, a trail of kisses up to one ear, down to
the jaw, thrusting against Mulder's belly with his own soft
penis, sexual rhythm but no sex, only the tease of warm flesh
back and forth along an erect rod.

Teasing. Arms wrapped around Mulder's back, feeling the hungry
whimpers as much as hearing them, "please, please . . ."

"Not yet. I'm not ready for you yet."

"Damn it!" Lips suddenly pressed to his, tongue plundering his
mouth now, Mulder squirming, trying to thrust without enough room
between Skinner's bulk and the counter. The sallies of Mulder's
tongue in his mouth counterpointing the pressure of hips against
his, letting Skinner know what he wanted.

Instead, Walter Skinner broke the kiss and stepped back, stealing
Mulder's own devilish grin to greet the frustration in hazel
eyes. Mulder growled, not nearly convincing to an ex-marine, and
wrapped his hand around his own dick, pumping fast. Skinner
grabbed his wrists and tugged them away, up, kissing the pulse
point of each, "ah ah. No. That's not a good guest's behavior,
Mulder."

"A good host doesn't send his guests away hungry!"

"I'm not sending you away," leaning in for a kiss, body held back
from Mulder's eager skin. "Age before beauty, Mulder. You'll have
to wait."

"How long?" Growling still, but letting himself be tugged back
out of the bathroom. His wrists were warm, pulse racing under
Skinner's hands.

"Wait," letting go to grab Mulder's tie off the floor. "Good
guests don't leave ugly messes in the host's house."

"That's good silk!"

"No doubt."

"How long?"

Oh, yes. Hungry and focused on Skinner now. Mulder's cock was
harder, not flagging, bobbing up and down a little as he
followed. "Trust me, Mulder," letting go of both his wrists and
wrapping the tie around his cock. The groan was everything he
could have wanted. "Waiting is worth it."

"I'm not good at deferring gratification." Hoarse, raspy.

"That's not what I hear. I hear you're endlessly patient if it
gets you what you want." Leading Mulder to the bedroom with silk
and pleasure. "When was the last time you got laid?"

A quick blush now, deepening the color of arousal in his skin.
Skinner took both ends of the tie still looped twice around his
dick, started tugging gently, back and forth, back and forth,
rolling silk over skin, twisting firm flesh with silk. Mulder's
groan rumbled in his chest, but he kept his hands at his sides
and let Skinner play. "A month? Two? That blonde from the U.N.?"

"I wish," breathless. "Almost, maybe. But . . . no. Eight
months."

Tightening both ends of the tie, squeezing the penis in its
loops. "Ahhh . . ."

"Why so long? Why not her?"

"I had to leave. . . . had a case," distant with lust, watching
Skinner's face as his dick was stroked and squeezed and rolled in
silk.  A whimper, clear drop of fluid at the purpling tip and 
Skinner loosened the silk a little, ignoring the moan. 

"Workaholic."

Mulder nodded, but Skinner wasn't sure he'd really heard the
word. "The last time was just before Scully started to get sick?"
Gently. Very quietly, stilling the motion of the tie.

Mulder's eyes were suddenly clear, sad. The haze of lust burning
away as his cock lost some of its rigor. "Yeah."

"Who?" Letting one end go, letting silk fall by his side.

"Just a date. Someone I stood up after that. She didn't believe
me when I told her why."

"Fancy that." Sympathetic though. "You'd be a hard man to date.
No one else?"

"A hooker once. But it was hard to enjoy it." Coolly impersonal
tone suddenly going quiet. Ashamed? "I just wanted to know I was
alive."

"I know." Nodding. "I do know."

"Yeah." Cocky grin still a shadow of itself. "You would. You do."

"Is that what you think this is?" Skinner studied him, genuinely
curious.

That swallow again. "Maybe. I think that's part of it."

Skinner let it sift and mesh in his mind, his emotions. "Maybe.
Is that what being lonely means to you, Mulder? Being dead?"

"It can't. I won't let it." Too calm to be really peaceful with
it.

Reached out, stroked one fingertip along Mulder's half-erect
cock. "I just wanted not to be lonely for a change. For a night.
Maybe now I'm having too much fun and I'd forgotten how good that
felt."

A blush and a duck. It almost brought the laughter back, the
suddenly shy response. "Come on." Brushing past Mulder, into the
hall.

"Where are you going?" The voice stayed with him as the other man
followed him.

"I'm tired of echoes. What do you want to hear?"

"What have you got? You're a godawful prick tease, by the way."

Skinner leered at him, crouched down by his bookcase, cock
hanging loose.  Starting to throb just a little with the return
of interest, of blood to stiffen his rod. Oh, yes. Just a while
longer. "So you read Cosmo. I hope to hell you don't listen to
that shit that passes for music on the radio."

"Which shit?"

Glancing up at the slightly wary tone. "That popular crap? The
soppy, tuneless stuff?"

"Give me some credit! Here," Mulder was fingering the CDs.
"Thelonious Monk. Can't go wrong with that."

"Make out music." Grinning. "Round Midnight, Mulder?"

"The witching hour. What could be better for the Spooky?" An
inviting stretch highlighted runner's muscles. Skinner watched,
considering the differences between the bodies of men and women.

"I don't know. Night on Bald Mountain?" Putting it on the
platter. Let Mulder's chuckle catch hold before he turned and
took the tip of his cock in his mouth, then sucked hard. The gasp
was everything he'd planned.  Braced his hands on Mulder's locked
knees and tentatively rolled his tongue around the tip of the
hard shaft.  Tried to remember what Sharon had done for him and
rolled his tongue the other way.

A rippling groan met the attempt, fingers tightening on his
scalp, trying to pull him forward but his throat closed, tight,
gag reflex and he backed off. Mulder whined with frustration and
Skinner grinned up, faking credit for planning. "Like I said,
you'll have to wait."

"You will kill me. You'll give me blue balls."

Considered that as he rose to his feet. "No. No, I don't think
so. But I will make you wait. Come on. I'm thirsty."

"Got something nice and juicy right here . . ." Mulder hefted his
cock at Skinner.

"Lewd. Crude." Padding into the kitchen. "Morally and socially
reprehensible."

"Hey, you're the man who just teased my prick and nearly deep
throated me."

"Are exaggerations lies?" Pulling open the fridge. "I never deep
throated a man in my life. You want fake designer water or ice
tea?"

". . . Ice tea. Never?"

"Nope." Glancing up at Mulder, pouring his tea. "You thought I
was lying?  The last time I was with a man was in Viet Nam. Lots
of experience. Just not with men."

Sipping at his tea. "Do you think food is a ritual?"

"What?" Staring back at the analyst.

"Food. Drink. It's like that's some sort of dating ritual. Show
you can provide and then get laid."

Skinner shook his head in disbelief. "This isn't a date. You
might be right about the ritual though. After all, I do plan to
lay you."

"Wait a minute," Mulder arched an eyebrow. "You just said you're
just about a virgin as far as this is concerned."

"No. I did not. I said I was inexperienced. Very, very different.
And don't make me pull rank on you, Agent Mulder."

"As if that's any different from the other reamings you've given
me," mourned Mulder.

"Oh, it will be different. I promise you that."  Easy promise to
make.  He racked his memory for what Sharon had done to him. 
Found it and his fingers tightened in anticipation around the
cool glass in his hand.

Mulder's answering grumbles might have been "bend over and grab
my ankles," but he couldn't quite tell. Didn't really need to, of
course. Filled his mouth with cold water instead and leaned down
fast to take the head of Mulder's cock in his mouth. The hissing
groan and fingers kneading his shoulders told him a lot about how
it felt to Mulder.

Smooth, smooth skin. Velvety soft and hard all at once and it
filled his mouth, bumped against the back of his throat with each
little thrust of Mulder's hips. Almost hurt until he grabbed
Mulder's hips and held him, controlled the strokes. Tried to
swallow and dribbled water down his chin, coughed a little and
Mulder's fingers tightened, trying to hold him.  Wondered how
Sharon did it, and tried to remember how it had felt for him, as
young and scared as he'd been.

Mulder's fingers were eager and fervent, gripping his skin,
cupping the back of his skull and pulling him forward. Panting
breaths and quick little thrusts pleaded for him. Faster, shaft
between Skinner's lips pistoning and the blunt head of Mulder's
cock almost bruisingly hard along the roof of his mouth. Groans
when he nipped and sucked, and those little whimpers Mulder had
made as fingers had pumped his ass. Salty taste of precum in
Skinner's mouth . . . Skinner pulled back, pushing Mulder's hips
and greedy fingers slid along his scalp.

"Please!"

"Ah ah." Kneeling back, hands gripping Mulder's waist to hold him
back.  The anticipation in his own balls was building, a gentle
fever but heating fast.  He licked his lips, hearing the hunger
building in Mulder's tone too.

"Sadist." The skin that was normally pale was flushed a delicious
shade, red across the cheekbones, trailing down to nipples that
were pebbled with arousal. Skinner reached up and pinched one,
rolling it between his fingertips. Mulder locked his knees like
they'd buckle if he didn't, reached for his own cock with both
hands.

"No!" Skinner slapped lightly at his hands, played at a gentle
tap to Mulder's cock, liking the way it bobbed for him. Tapped it
again, too soft to be a slap, but enough to get a pitiful protest
from Mulder.

"Stop playing and suck me!"

Skinner stood slowly, wrapped his hand around the nape of
Mulder's neck, fingers wamed in the short, dark hair. Pulled
Mulder to him and into another deep, long kiss. This time he
pushed Mulder's tongue back, took his mouth in thrusts of his
tongue that promised more. Skinner's cock was hardening now,
slower than before but he knew it wouldn't be too much longer and
he'd sport his full length, thick and ready and more patient,
less needy than before. "I'm not playing with you, Mulder. I'm
warming you up. Getting you ready."

"For what? I've finished cases in less time than this is taking."
Sandpaper frustration in that voice. Skinner kissed him again,
tongue diving deep.  Mulder's wet, chilled cock against his own
put a hot jolt through his groin. Mulder's fingers, digging into
the skin of his ass, almost desperate.

The bulk of the man in his arms felt good, warm. honest. Skinner
nuzzled the smoothness of throat, still tangy with shave cream
and soap, dragging his tongue up the big muscle along the side,
toying with the earlobe and following the whorls of flesh into
the ear, thrusting again, timing like his pulse. Whispered,
"probing investigations, I'm sure. Tell me what you want. Tell me
how it will feel, Mulder. Talk to me."

"You're laughing at me." Taut frustration now. Mulder grabbed his
hips. Shoved this time instead of pulling.

Skinner let him, stepping, almost staggering back with it but
keeping one wrist locked in his left hand's grip. "No. I'm not
laughing at you."

Mulder's scowl answered him. Eyes narrowed now in a dark frown.
"I think I'd better leave." Twisted and shifted his balance.

"Stop." Not letting go this time, not giving room for Mulder to
break the grip. "I'm not laughing at you, Mulder."

He could see the protest, the first simmering anger in hazel
eyes, and leaned in to kiss him. The lips under his stayed tight,
protesting. Skinner considered it, wanted to let go, but not like
this. Must have whispered it. "Not like this."

"Let me the fuck . . . !"

"Wait!" Mulder's shoulders like rock under both his hands. He
could feel the tension, see the fist at one side and rocked onto
the balls of his feet but dug his fingers in just enough to get
through.  "Please don't leave."

"I get enough slap and tickle teasing from the rest of the world,
bastard.  I don't need it tonight. I didn't come here for . . . "
trailed off, mouth working silently on words that might or might
not have been the ones Skinner second guessed.

"For this?" Easing him out of the kitchen, into the kinder,
dimmer light of the living room, carpeted floors softer
underfoot. "You didn't come here for any of what's happened,
Mulder. And I didn't ask you here for it."

Mulder's face was unreadable, too many expressions flickering too
fast.  "Then why?"

"Why what?" Trailing his fingers up and down Mulder's spine. "Why
bring you back at all? Or why this?"

All of them. He could see it in Mulder's look, wondered if the
other man could even really ask. "We give so much away with what
we ask, don't we?"

"I don't."

"But you ask for so little, Mulder." Smiled sadly at the younger
man, looking back out over the winking skyline with him. Lights
of man's incursions ran forever, flattening into the suburbs, the
red glimmer of antenna towers looming above them. "You ask for so
little. Only the truth.  And even then, you give too much away.
Please stay tonight. That's all I asked."

A startlingly warm hand traced down his arm, but he was caught in
Mulder's eyes. Knew, now, that he'd never really looked into
them. Never been allowed. The warm hand found his and pulled it,
wrapped it around an almost-firm shaft. "And what did you give
away, asking for that?"

Squeezed and lowered his hand to wrap around the soft, furred
sac. "I gave away what I've lost." And pulled, gently. Mulder's
eyes shut a moment, opened as Skinner slid his hand back up to
grasp his erection and pull.  "I'm done teasing you. Will you
come with me?"

Finally a hint of the honest, wide smile. "What do you give away
with that question?"

Let his growl loose. "Come with me and you'll find out what I'll
give you."  Changed his grip to lightly pinch the glans, pulling.

"Ahhh . . ." A long, shuddering breath and Skinner could feel
Mulder's cock engorging, going from firm to hard as he tugged him
back down the hall to the bedroom.

Another shift of grip to wrap his fist around Mulder's shaft and
turn back for another kiss. The hand on the back of Mulder's neck
let him shift the other man, turn him and back him to the bed.
The mattress behind Mulder's knees did the rest. Skinner let go
and let him fall back to bounce, leaned down to scoop up his
heels and pull him around fully onto the bed, laughing again,
lightning quick. "Jesus, Mulder, do you cause mood swings in
everyone?"

A startled look met his, then dissolved into a crinkle-eyed grin
as he nodded. "Yeah, but it's usually a swing between suicidal
frustration and murderous rage."

"Good think I don't have to work with you," pouncing to crouch
over Mulder and lean down, nipping his collarbone, lower to catch
a nipple between his teeth and roll it ever so carefully, gauging
the indraw of delight. Lowered his own body on top of Mulder's
without the insulation of their suits anymore, skin to skin,
hard-ons rubbing together.

"Somehow, I don't think this was how the scouts meant for us to
make fire. . ." panting.

"What?" Only half registering the words.

"Rubbing our sticks together."

Maybe he was just as happy to only half-register them. Growled "I
plan to be putting some fire out very shortly."

"You got the fire, I got the hose," bumping his hips up under
Skinner's. Smirking. The asshole was smirking.

"That's it." Skinner reached over, fumbled open his nightstand
drawer and pawed through it for familiar shapes. Dropped the foil
wrapper and the lube on the bedspread. "You want a real reaming,
Mulder? You're about to get one!"

Mulder was turning the condom wrapper over between his
fingertips. "You used a condom with your wife? I can see not
sharing your work but this . ..!"

"You are such a prick, Mulder." Kneeling up off him and licking
down his sternum, around his navel until he giggled and tried to
tuck his knees in close. "Post-divorce precautions."

"Oh shit oh . . ." a little breathless as Skinner licked up the
length of his cock. "Survival kit for divorces?"

"Will you shut up?" Popping the lid on the bottle and squeezing
lube on his fingers.

"Hey, wait!" Mulder's voice went up an octave as Skinner wiped
gel between his cheeks. "What's the hell is this?"

"Lube. I do use lube when I give a proper reaming, Mulder."
There, let him come up with a smart ass reply for that.

A squirm. "If you're so damned inexperienced, I want to be on
top!"

Skinner paused, index finger pressing the ring of Mulder's anus.
Tiny, and tense right now. He kept his voice mild. "Mulder, I'm
very experienced at giving a good ass fucking. Relax."

"I know that." He must have learned that tone as a teenager.
Maybe earlier.  Skinner had a flash of pity for Fox Mulder's
teachers and, maybe, his parents. "But I don't see you using your
tongue this time."

God. He was going to miss laughing like this. "I don't believe
you. You are insane. Didn't anyone tell you women have assholes
too?" Mulder's gape, then his laugh were infectious. Skinner's
finger slipped in with little resistance, though it was tight.
Would be a deliciously tight fit for something much larger. His
cock itched with how much he was looking forward to feeling that.

"Oh . . ." as Skinner found his prostate again and petted it.
Poured a little more lube, catching it on his middle finger and
sliding that one in too.

"That's right, Mulder, squirm for me." Turning his hand one way
and the other. Mulder was taking deep breaths, holding them and
letting them out, sphincter relaxing as he released the tension.
Skinner timed him and slid a third finger up his ass. "That's
right. I want you nice and ready."

"I don't think that's possible." The attempt at a cocky tone was
undercut by how nervous Mulder suddenly sounded. Skinner glanced
up from where his fingers were turning and pushing into the
lube-shiny flesh of Mulder's ass.


"Do you want me to stop?" Patient and neutral. Rubbed his thumb
along the underside of Mulder's balls.

"I don't think I . . .don't stop but . . ." Breathless, broken
sentences.

"Does this feel good?" Turning his hand and crooking his fingers
to press up, into the prostate. Buried to the knuckles in
Mulder's warm opening.  Mulder tightened and he thought his
fingers would go numb. "Jesus, Mulder.  Let me get my cock in
there. You'll break my fingers."

"And I won't break your cock?" Half a whimper, half a laugh.

"My cock doesn't have any bones. Relax for me. Come on, relax."

"No bones in the boner?"

"I am going to gag you with your own tie if you tell me another
joke."  Pushing up, hoping it would shut him up. It did get a
satisfying gasp.

"Oh god. That feels good."

"I'm sure. But I think my fingers are going numb." Rueful,
shaking his head. Mulder sighed, tried to relax again.

Fingers out slowly, carefully, feeling Mulder's anus tighten
around his knuckles, grinding them together almost painfully. His
balls ached for how good that would feel. Skinner grabbed a
kleenex out of the box by the bed, letting Mulder get a long look
at his tool while he wiped the lube off his fingers. Picked up
the condom and ripped the foil. "I tried to open one of
these with on my fingers once. It took half an hour and I had to
use my teeth in the end."

"Jesus." Laughing again. Relaxing more. "Are you sure I can't
tell you any jokes?"

""Mmhmm." Agreeing absently as he pinched the tip, rolled the
latex down over his own cock. Mulder watched, almost hypnotized.
His bare cock, purpling now, jerked as Skinner rolled the condom
down the length of his erection.

"What?" Crouching over him again now, rubbing his sheathed member
against Mulder's bare one. Slightly less sensitive, but that
would be worth it.  Make him last longer.  Mulder arched, rubbing
up against Skinner's belly, rubbing his hard length against
Skinner's. "What was so interesting?"

Breathless little voice. "It's different when you see someone
else put one of those on. Really different when you know it's
going to go into you."

"You sound nervous." Coaxing. Of course the man was nervous.
Skinner pushed his knees back a little, let the tip of his cock
drop to catch Mulder between the cheeks, rubbing up and down.

"I'm scared shitless. Does it hurt?"

"You're lucky I have more self-control than you." Sobered a
little. "It burns a little, Mulder. It'll hurt if I go too fast.
You have to tell me if it's hurting you."

"Oh, I'll let you know." Nodding comically.

"Jokes aren't good enough." Took Mulder's chin in his hand,
rubbing his thumb over one cheek. "Promise me, Mulder. You tell
me."

Date: 22 FEB 1998 04:08:33 GMT 
From: Radthea <radthea@aol.com>
Newgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative
Subject: Smoke and Mirrors(9/10) M/Sk NC-17 


Usual disclaimers.  Chris Carter and 1013 own 'em. We borrowed
'em but don't plan to keep 'em.  No profit, no intention to
offend, etc. etc.

Content: Fox Mulder tries to work through his reactions after
Redux II.

Warnings for angst, slash (M/Sk).  No violence.


Smoke and Mirrors(9/10)
02/16/98
Mostly by: Riopa Martin (Riopa@hotmail.com) 
Also some sex and angst from:  Radthea@aol.com



Mulder said nothing. Stared up at him with eyes dark and liquid.
Skinner swallowed, felt something like excitement, something like
fear building in the pit of his stomach.  His hand dropped to the
knees that were already up, pressed one hard, bony plate and
pushed.  Heels to buttocks and then Skinner pressed fibula
bone back, rocking Mulder's legs against chest.   The position
was ungainly, but fragile, desperate somehow.  Forwhat ever
reason, his cock jumped at the sight of Mulder there.  He dropped
his hand to his cock.  Swallowed as he looked down, guiding 
the latex-sheathed head into the wet, glistening anus, puckered
like a kiss.

Mulder gasped involuntarily, arched his head back. Skinner
stopped, watched the younger man groan softly at the pressure of
his sphincter around shaft, just below the head.  "So good,"
Skinner breathed the words.

Mulder's anus went impossibly snug at the words.  "Do it.  Fuck
me."

Unreadable tone.  Not as brutal as the words but . . . Skinner
looked down at his scared, flushed, aroused face.  God, such a
hard little ass and he inched in slowly, easing his own hard
length into that impossible, silky heat.  Mulder threw his head
back, arched his neck so that Skinner could not see anything of
eyes except for a dark glitter, bit down on his lip. Soft grunts
met each tiny thrust that pushed in, rounded head pressing back
the rectal walls, filling Mulder.

"Ah, god."    Watched him so closely, trying to see any twitch of
muscle, any flinch.  "Tell me how it feels."

"I can't."  Words that tapered into a long groan.  "I don't know
how it feels."

Skinner felt the warmth around him, felt his body slide forward,
watched Mulder lick his lips, swallow, gasp suddenly,
unexpectedly, Skinner stopped suddenly, nervous, a little afraid.

He felt the muscles under his chest relax.  He touched the face
near his, touched soft skin. "Mulder. Talk to me. Tell me."

"Shut up!" The words were unexpectedly savage. "Shut up. Do it.
Just do it.  Do it now!"  Mulder's face contorted suddenly,
strangely, he was not looking at Skinner, not at the walls, not
at anything.  Tears leaked out of his face.

Skinner stared at the younger man, trying to gauge, to
understand. Suddenly he pushed his face closer to Mulder's. He
pressed nose-tip to nose-tip.  They stared at each other a long
time. Skinner turned his face and began kissing the other man,
burying Mulder's mouth in his own, his tongue immersed, not
asking permission, no worries about hurting or pain, just
thrusting his tongue and demanding submission, participation.  

Mulder arched his neck to accommodate, to give Skinner depth in
his explorations. Skinner felt his cock stiffen more, if that
were possible.  Mulder's hands grasp his hips. Mulder's body
squirmed deliciously under him. Begging, pleading.

Skinner lifted himself, drew out a fraction. Felt Mulder's body
stiffen, felt the sudden intake of breath as his mouth tensed,
his chest rose. Skinner lifted his mouth from Mulder's, stared at
deep, teary eyes and thrust back in.  He could see, could sense
the pleasure building in the younger man's stomach, hot like a
fever.  Running through nerves and veins and every living cell,
consumed by sensation.  

"Again." He whispered suddenly. "Again." Skinner obliged, lifting
his body up, pulling out more this time.  Thrusting home.  He
watched Mulder's face, saw pain emenating, but it was pain
covered with pleasure.  He slipped out, thrust again.

Mulder's rectum was tight around Skinner, tight and hot. Skinner
felt blood rushing to his face, away from his hands, felt
something like ecstasy, like bliss, spark in his body. He pulled,
then pushed, feeling muscle tighten suddenly around him,
caressing, massaging his penis. Oh God.

Thrust. Thrust. Skinner tried to keep his rhythm slow, steady. He
felt Mulder wrap long legs around his waist, felt heels pound
into the cleft of his buttocks. From under long lashes and
glistening sweat, dark eyes shimmered, caught light and threw it
back like polished jet.  Skinner found a rhythm dictated by need,
by desire, by pleasure. Fast, hard. He pounded, watching
those ebony eyes, watching tendrils of hair sculpt against
Mulder's forehead, drenched in hard-won sweat.

Mulder's hand snaked down, grabbed the bobbing cock between them.
"No." Skinner whispered savagely, taking the hand in his, pulling
it back. "No. Mine." He wet his hand with spit, took Mulder's
penis. At the bare touch of a hand, Mulder shuddered, murmured in
a never learned, long forgotten tongue. Pleaded.

Skinner didn't know how long it was until he felt Mulder coming,
felt the pounding, the thrusting of ejaculation. A year, a day,
an hour, ten minutes. It seemed he had always been here, centered
here, with Mulder here, under him, controlled by him. With
Skinner watching Mulder toss his head like a stallion reined in
but still rebellious, still with something unbroken inside him.
Muscles suddenly contracted around his own penis, his own
thrusting pleasure and the intense wave broke, crested, crashed
into the shore. Wave after wave after wave rolled through his
body, arching his own back, robbing him of cognition, of words,
of self. He was a god, he was a fallen angel, he was all.

Mulder went limp into the pillows as Skinner's eyes closed and
the older man's body was caught in a rictus of pleasure.

A moment later, Skinner collapsed on top of him. Their bodies
were slick with sweat and with pleasure, he could smell his come,
could smell the acrid odor of anal sex.  He relaxed against a eat
and bones and flesh,  content, and like Samson with shorn hair,
weak.

Mulder gently nipped at the shoulder over him.

"Hey." Skinner shifted to stare down. Mulder nipped again.
Harder.

"Get up." Mulder told him, eyes suddenly warm, gentle, at peace.

"We haven't had after dinner mints." Skinner teased, feeling his
heart leap, twist sideways in panic.

"You're about to make me ruin a romantic moment.  I need to take
a shit." Mulder replied, with a glance towards the bathroom door.

Oh. Skinner sighed. "Real men hold it." He muttered.

"Real men get up when their partner bites them."

Skinner sighed, made sure his legs were untangled in sheet,
thrust up, out, rolled over. He let Mulder have the side of the
bed closest to the bathroom, as he did for the women. . .woman. .
.he'd bedded here.

He felt the thud and shudder of floor, listened to feet running.
His turn.  Up and at 'em, Marines.

Mulder was on the toilet, studiously contemplating a towel bar as
Skinner stripped off the condom, washed himself at the sink,
standing on tip-toe to plop his flaccid dick down, feel warm
water cleanse away the reality of anal sex until he was
left with something that was acceptable for stuffing into 
briefs.

The chuckle startled him. Skinner turned, stared at the agent, at
his lover.

"I've always been the one at the sink. Deja vu. Never have
thought about what it's like to be the one on the toilet." Mulder
explained.

"And?" Skinner asked, turning off the water, finished.

Mulder shrugged.

"There's a robe in the closet." Skinner informed him. "I'm going
to make us something to eat."

He watched Mulder start suddenly and his face changed. Minute
changes a stranger would not know. The shoulders hunched in a way
that was almost indiscernible. The Mulder Skinner knew from
chewing outs was back, without warning or want.  Skinner stared
at him a long moment, trying to figure it out.  Confused, a
little hurt.

Mulder wiped, was up suddenly, paced across the bathroom to the
door.

"Mulder. What's wrong?" He grabbed an arm. Mulder jerked away.
Stared at him like a trapped rabbit does a dog. Or a trapped fox
facing a hunter dressed in the uniform of the day.

"No." Skinner's voice held command and pleading both. "God.
Mulder. What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong. Nothing." Too fast, the words were too fast,
strung together in panic. "Get away from me."

Skinner stared at him. "What the fuck?  Don't do this. . ."

Mulder stopped, stared at him suddenly, eyes hard and unreadable.

"What's wrong then? That we made love?"

Mulder did not reply.

"That you made love to a man?"

Skinner couldn't read that as well, but there was no tensing, no
cues to tell him the answer was yes. He supposed that was not the
problem.

"That you made love to me?"

No movement, but now it was deliberately stilled. Now Mulder knew
that Skinner was trying to read him and now Mulder was refusing
to give away anything.

"What scares you so badly?" Skinner asked softly.  "Why does
it scare you to make love to someone you love?"

Mulder stared at him, eyes suddenly, without warning, burning
bright. In a moment, Mulder would be crying and Skinner dared to
say that if he asked, Mulder would not be able to say why.  And
that was the problem, that was the fear.

Skinner was lost for words for a moment. He saw Mulder lick his
lips, stare hard, turn away.

He'd wanted to say something, didn't have the courage to speak,
couldn't speak. Didn't know how to speak.

"What is it?" Skinner asked. 

And suddenly the tears that Skinner had known were there.  "Leave
me alone." 

Skinner knew that the tears must be hot as liquid wax, that
Mulder's nose was already contracting.

"No." Skinner grabbed the arm again, felt Mulder tug again, but
Skinner did not, would not let go. Not now.

"Fuck you!" Mulder swore. An anguished sob broke free. Mulder
shuddered, turned away. He was embarrassed. It was one thing to
let another man shove his dick up your ass. It was another matter
entirely to let another man watch you cry.

"Talk to me. Tell me." Skinner pleaded begged demanded.  Didn't
understand why he *had* to know.

Another painful sob released unwillfully.

"Tell me what's bothering you. Tell me what you wanted to say.
Tell me."


He felt Mulder shake, his entire body conveying a no. And then it
burst out. "Fuck you fuck you fuck you." The words came out in a
blur. Another heaving, horrible sob. "Letmegoletmegoletmego."
Suddenly Mulder's body leaned against the wall, the cold white
wall of an apartment bathroom.  Skinner did not let go.

"Talk to me." He whispered.

Another sob, this one pulled up through diaphragm and trachea and
out.  Scraped and raw and the color of a pussy sore. Mulder
pounded his head against the wall suddenly. Hard.  Frustration
and pain.

In shock, Skinner let go. Mulder sobbed again, did not move for a
moment. "I can't." Mulder said letting them both know that Mulder
*did* want to talk. Mulder collapsed into a huddle, sucking dry,
painful gulps of air.

Another couple of sobs and then he stopped. Incredibly,
impossibly, Skinner watched as Mulder tucked the pain and the
ache back inside himself, forced deep, even breaths. Skinner sat
down on the edge of the bathtub, feet avoiding puddles and
watched Mulder, watched to see the newest development.

Silence. For a long time silence. Mulder began pulling himself
up.

"Talk to me." Skinner said softly, butt cold, going to sleep.

Mulder turned to look at him. "You won't talk to me."

A cheap shot, aimed well. Deflecting.

Skinner caught it. Did not try to return the volley. "What do you
want me to tell you?"

"You're always in control. Never, never ever underneath."

Skinner resisted the temptation to nod like the EAP's shrinks,
stared at his toes.  Wondered what his line in this script was
supposed to be.  "I'm sorry." He replied, looked up.

"You want me to talk to you." Mulder spit out, mouth ragged with
flecks of snot, eyes puffy, nose red and swollen. Not handsome,
not now.  "You want me to tell you. . .`where does it hurt, why'd
you get so fucked up'. . .you don't want to talk to me. . ."

Skinner got it now, wasn't sure Mulder did. Mulder didn't get it,
didn't understand what was going on. Didn't want to let himself
get it. For a moment, Skinner debated just letting the younger
man get up and leave, walk out of the apartment. It was not
Skinner's problem. Mulder was an adult. Skinner swallowed, felt
how tight his throat was. No. No. He would not do that tonight.
Tonight he could not.  Mulder had not asked the real question,
but had instead thrown out something to deflect hurt, but Skinner
would answer what had been thrown out.  "What do you want to
know?  I told you why I made the deal."


Mulder stared at him, insulted.  He made a move as if to leave.

Skinner stared down at the tiny tiles of floor, creamy tiles with
dark speckles. Like flecks of ginger in heated milk. "I was
scared." He admitted for the first time. "I was godawful scared.
For her, for me, for you." Had been scared for Mulder, that the
younger man. . ."I was scared she would die. I was scared. . .I
was scared you would make a deal. If you had made a deal. . ."
Skinner trailed. Maybe there were things Mulder wouldn't let
himself see, but it went both ways, didn't it? Skinner looked up,
stared at Mulder. Swallowed, found it hard, the way his throat
was constricting.  Blinked his eyes. Men don't cry. Skinner bit
it back. "If you made a deal. . .then this was all a lie. Then
none of it mattered. Scully might as well die for all her life
meant."

Mulder stopped, stilled, stared a long time at his supervisor.
Then closed his eyes. Silence fell between them. Eventually
Mulder slid back down the wall, sat on the immaculate tile floor,
legs splayed before him.  Skinner could see him wanting to say
words, wanting to speak, afraid.   "I just shot him. It felt
good. It felt so good. It terrified me, it felt that good. I
don't know why I shot him." He whispered, words roped tightly
together, slurring into one another, running fast. "I'm so scared
sometimes. . .alone and scared and. . ." He shivered, wrapped
long arms around a pallid chest, sighed. Closed his eyes.  "It's
all so much bullshit. . ." He whispered to himself.  

Skinner stared at the younger man, again was lost, did not know
what to say. Knew he had to say something.  Knew that thoughts
were whirling far to fast in Mulder's mind. "You're not alone."

Mulder laughed, a harsh, guttural laugh. Shook his head. Began
shivering.

Skinner found himself standing,  reaching across the bathroom to
another wall, touching a bathsheet. It was dry. He pulled it off
the rack, tossed it to Mulder, who grabbed it, wrapped himself in
the depths.

"You're not alone."  He repeated stupidly.

Mulder shook his head. "You don't understand anything."

"So tell me."

Skinner watched Mulder run his fingers absently across the terry
material.  Consider telling him something.  Skinner thought he
knew what was going through the hazel eyes, thought he knew what
Mulder would say.  Something about Scully, about fear, about
Skinner.  The words that rushed out were a chilling shock.

"I saw my sister. She knows my name. She has a family. She
doesn't want anything to do with me." Mulder looked suddenly
exhausted by this confession.

"What? What are you talking about?" Skinner felt his voice rise
almost an octave.

Mulder glanced from glittering eyes at Skinner. "Before they
killed him. . .the Cigarette Smoking Bastard." He trailed,
realizing that he was giving  Skinner new facts, new frightening
facts. "When he tried to. . .he brought my sister."

Skinner tried to absorb the magnitude of this new fact.  He
thought he'd known everything.  Thought everything made sense. 
Mulder and Scully and the consortium.  Mulder had a problem
because Scully had become sharp and edges, because he'd shot
someone.  Problems Skinner understood.  A photograph covered in
blood flashed through his mind.

"He knew all along.  Always knew.  She called him Dad."  Mulder's
voice was low.   He looked up,  Skinner could see the traces of
whiskey in his eyes, wondered if Mulder would regret telling
this.  "She doesn't want to have anything to do with me."

The platitudes and pallatives were insufficient.    Skinner
sighed softly.   "I'm. . .God, Mulder."

"Yeah, I'm real good at post-coital bliss sometimes."  Mulder
sighed, closed his eyes.  Skinner could see tears, tears from a
deep hurt absessed and oozing.

"That's why you nearly. . ." It was the only thing he could say. 
He still did not know why Mulder's mood had suddenly turned from
bliss to. . .to this.  


Mulder looked up, nodded. "I was going to. I didn't have a reason
not.  And she might. . .I might. . .if I did."

"Why didn't you?"

A shrug. "I went to the hospital. Scully was asleep. I just
couldn't. I don't know. . .I. . .I. . .I told you why. . ." He
trailed. "Samantha has a family and a husband. She hasn't called
or written or even sent an e-mail." He laughed bitterly.  I don't
know where she is, what her name is now." He pulled up his knees,
put his forehead against his knees. "I spent everything to find
her, and she doesn't want me. I thought she was the Pearl of
Great Price, but. . ." Mulder sat back, spread his fingers open,
extended his hands out. "No Samantha and Scully says the aliens
are lies."

No truths. No quests.

"What are you doing now?"  Skinner wondered how Mulder had made
it through the past weeks, this discovery on his head.

Mulder shrugged. "Most days it's okay. It's. . .I just don't
think and it's okay. I can laugh and I can be in a good mood, and
everything's okay. It's only when I have time to stop and think
that everything falls to pieces inside me."

"What happens then?"  Skinner knew what happenned then, he was
watching it.

Mulder smiled at Skinner. "Very good. You'd pass Counseling
Practicum."

Skinner smiled back. "So talk."

"And you have the persistence of a bull-terrier."

"I'm a Marine."

"But you learned some things from the Navy, I see." Mulder's
voice was easy. Relaxed. "When things get bad I go to bars and
drink cheap whiskey until someone comes and picks me up. Then I
let them screw me up the ass until I scream." He smiled, eyes
closed at the easy sarcasm.

Skinner was not ready to be so comfortable.  "What are you going
to do?"  

Mulder put his head against the wall, rolled it back and forth a
long moment. "I don't know. I don't know. Any path I take has
drawbacks.  Sometimes I just want out of the ball game."

"Suicide." No question in his voice. 

"No." A pause while Mulder thought through the evening.  "I don't
know." The eyes were closed, the voice relaxed. "I don't want to
leave. I just want. . ." Mulder sighed. "I don't know what I
want."

"You think about it."

"I already told you. I think about a lot of things. It's not like
I'd be allowed to kill myself." Mulder opened his eyes, stared at
Skinner. "Do you think they'd let me kill myself?"

Skinner blinked, totally unprepared for this question. "What are
you talking about?"

"Them.  Our friends. I don't think they'd let me kill myself."

Skinner was not sure what to think, not sure how the conversation
had swerved to this place. He wondered for a moment if maybe all
those who had Spooky down as slightly psychotic were right for
all the wrong reasons.  This was delusional thinking. Wasn't it.
"On what do you base that opinion?"

"You're the one that signs off on my insurance. How many times
have I been hospitalized for something that required me to spend
time in the ICU?"

"Since I've been AD or in your career?" 

"Either."

"I'd have to stop and count. Too many."

"And how many times have people around me all been killed? How
many times would it have been easier for the consortium to just
put a bullet through my forehead the way they've done others?"
Mulder's eyes took on a feverish quality. "I thought it was
because of my father. But it isn't."  He took a deep breath,
stared at the toilet as though he might learn the secret to
great mysteries by merely meditating on the clammy porcelain. His
hands trembled suddenly.

Skinner could almost taste the fear, the nervousness inherent in
Fox William Mulder's gut. Didn't know why.

"You've never shared that, not even with Scully, have you?" He
asked Mulder.

Mulder looked up, startled. Swallowed, looked away. No smart
remark. No sexual entendre.

Skinner closed his eyes, wiped his face. Every day, Mulder had
known, had at least suspected that. . .suspected what? Something
nameless, something terrible.

"I went around so blithely." Mulder's voice was harsh. "and then
Scully disappeared. Not me. It wasn't me. Then. . ." He stopped
himself.  "Then she got cancer."

Skinner sat a moment, stunned by this revelation. He could not
find words to express his sudden understanding, the sudden
cognizance of what it had been like for Mulder that night, that
night alone. The gun was quick and good and no one could stop the
bullet from exploding, from scattering brains and hair and bone
and teeth and tissue. Scully had cancer so that Mulder would
believe the lie. Scully would die to teach him a lesson.

"I'm the only Special Agent who's ever had more than one former
partner die in the line of duty. Don't you find that odd?" Mulder
looked up. "Reggie Pardue and Jerry Lamana are both immortalized
on the lists of agents who've died in the line of duty and both
of them were partners of mine at one time or another. Shit, both
of them died working on cases *with* me." He stared at his hands.

Then he looked up. He stared at Skinner.  "You said that it
wasn't true.  That I'm not responsible for everyone else." 
Mulder sighed.  " "If I had the guts, I could end all this." He
said, distractedly, went back to staring at his hands. 

Skinner stared back. He knew what the score was. If he chose to
take it up and take it up in a way that Mulder could stomach,
they could talk about it. If he misstepped, or missed it, Mulder
could pretend the words had just slipped out, could angrily deny
any and all problems, could placate and pacify. Anger rose in him
that Mulder would bring up such a fragile, brittle topic in such
an underhanded way after all that had gone on between them on
this night.

Then he felt his gut clench that anyone would know, would have
obviously had too much experience in bringing up fragile, brittle
topics using methods that allowed the topic to be dismissed if
the other person didn't care.

Date: 22 FEB 1998 04:09:23 GMT 
From: Radthea <radthea@aol.com>
Newgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative
Subject: Smoke and Mirrors(10/10) M/Sk NC-17 


Usual disclaimers.  Chris Carter and 1013 own 'em. We borrowed
'em but don't plan to keep 'em.  No profit, no intention to
offend, etc. etc.

Content: Fox Mulder tries to work through his reactions after
Redux II.

Warnings for angst, slash (M/Sk).  No violence.


Smoke and Mirrors (10/10)
02/16/98
Mostly by: Riopa Martin (Riopa@hotmail.com) 
Also some sex and angst from:  Radthea@aol.com




Which left the question if Mulder knew, fully and consciously,
what game he was playing.  "I don't know what to say to you."
Skinner heard himself observe. Those were not words he had meant
to say, they were just the words that had been circling in his
head, words that had flown out of him accidentally. But there
they were now, out between them. 


It was not what Mulder had expected, that much was obvious.

"What do you want?" Skinner asked, swallowing down his own
emotions. "Do you want me order you into counseling?"

Mulder stared straight ahead, eyes dilating, unfocusing.

"What do you want me to do? To say?" Skinner asked again, getting
closer, leaving his place to sit in front of the agent. "What?"

Mulder shook his head, then suddenly burst out in words. "I want
you to tell me why I shouldn't want to die. I want you to order
me to do the right things. I want to never have known that your
first wife's name was Sharon and that you had nightmares. I want
you to have the answers!"

Reflexively, Skinner pushed away from the onslaught of words. He
stared at Mulder, stared as though he had never seen the Spooky
before in his entire life.

Mulder shut his eyes. Gingerly put his hands flat on the floor
beside his hips, began pushing himself up, shaking convulsively
as he moved.  Skinner mirrored him, rising with the younger agent
until both were standing.  Mulder opened his eyes, a narrow slit
of glittering darkness, and took a step forward.

Skinner would never have been able to say why, to say how, to
give any rational reason, but his arms went out. He caught the
younger man who was stumbling, about to fall, took Mulder's
weight against himself, held his new lover vertical. He lead
Mulder back into the bedroom, trusting instinct. The bed was
warm, and soft. Mulder did not resist until they were both under
the covers.

"I don't know all the answers." Skinner whispered, hands stilling
arms that suddenly tried to emerge from the cocoon of cotton
sheet. "I'm sorry." That would not be enough. "You know it's
nothing you've done, nothing you've made happen that's killed
others. You know that."

"I'm alive." It was spoken without anguish, without pain. Mulder
might as well have been reciting a grocery list. "That's what
they want."

"Two options in this life. Do or don't." It was probably the
wrong thing to say. "Accept the blame they want you to feel or
don't buy into it."

He felt Mulder's legs kicking, knew Mulder was not trying to do
him any damage. Skinner knew how it felt, how sometimes you just
had to move, to act, to do or you would explode inside your own
skin, how sometimes the urge to move without rationality was so
strong you could do no other than obey. He let go of Mulder, went
slack.

Mulder tossed his head, arched his back, screamed low in his
throat.  Skinner suddenly wanted to offer the agent a sleeping
pill, knew he shouldn't after all the alcohol.

"I want to go jogging. I need to run." Mulder's voice was hard.

"Why?"

"Goddamnit!  Fucking bastard!"  Low scream filtered through
gritted teeth.  "I need to move!  Shit."

He was clear of the sheets, feet on the floor and breathing fast.

The bathroom light drew a landscape of taut muscle and shadow as
he crouched, trying to find his clothes.  Skinner reached over
fast and hard, wrapped his hand around Mulder's wrist.  Hot and
sweaty, slippery skin.  "Run from what?"

"Shit!  Let go of me!."  Mulder spun, eyes wide and bottomless in
the gloom of the bedroom.  "Let go.  Let GO!"

The wrist in his hand twisted, feverish motion.  Feverish heat. 
"Let go and let you do what?"

"Run."

"From what?"

Panting breaths in his face and Mulder's lips half formed words,
one, two, a dozen, discarding whatever he wanted to say until he
shook his head in short, angry motions.  "Just let go."

"Answer the question."  Invoking a voice he hadn't used tonight. 
A voice he hadn't wanted to use.

It worked.  Mulder stared back into his face, shut his mouth and
swallowed.  The wrist in his hand stopped twisted, stopped moving
at all as he froze.  "Let go.  Let go, sir."

"I told you, it's . .  ."

"Not right now it isn't."  Mulder's voice was quiet, low and
harsh.  Skinner felt his stomach twist.  If he'd been asked, he
could not have said whether he felt regret or relief.

But he let go.  Mulder took his wrist back slowly, carefully,
with no sudden moves.  Rubbed it but never took his eyes from
Skinner's face.  Something in the look sparked something deep
inside Walter Skinner.  "What did you think I would do?"

The gaze finally broke, flicking away from his face.  Mulder
straightened, stepping back.  "I . . . I don't know."

The bark of laughter caught Skinner by surprise, rattled from his
throat before he knew he'd made the sound.  "You're right.  It's
easier this way."

"What?"  Mulder stared at him again, but baffled this time.  The
frenzy, the nervous, wild look gone as fast as it had appeared. 
Puzzlement and curiosity left room for nothing else.

"You leave now and you won't come back.  You know it.  So do I."

Blink.  Blink.  The sweep hand rapid play of expression on
Mulder's face was impossible to read.  "Like I said.  I go out
and get fucked until I scream."

The words were carefully shaped to be brutal.  Skinner listened
to the calculation behind them and his anger kindled as Mulder
turned, searching the floor.  "You want to lie to yourself
Mulder, that's fine.  But don't pull that shit with me."  

The other man straightened slowly, a silhouette against the
brighter light off tile and mirror.  "That's the kind of talk I
expect to have with a lover, sir.  Not my boss."

Skinner rolled off the bed, marched the few steps across the room
until he could see Mulder's face.  "I don't know what I am right
now.  For a while I actually thought about being your lover.  But
I don't put up with shit for anyone, Mulder."

Mulder didn't even turn, just snatched his crumpled, linen shirt
off the bathroom floor.  "You're not my lover.  And right now you
said you're not my boss."

"It's a good act, Mulder."

This time he got the stare again.  And a grudging,
not-quite-question  "I shouldn't ask."

"You know, if you'd just wanted to get fucked I wouldn't give a
shit.  I might even have still fucked you, just for the hell of
it."  Knowing he was lying.  "But I wouldn't have put up with
hours of sob story while you guzzled my scotch and I sure as hell
wouldn't give a rat's ass if you decided you wanted to cut out
before dawn.  You want to use people up and play victim, Mulder? 
That's your rap to live with.  Next time you shoot some poor
bastard, find some other jackass to help make excuses for you."

Mulder's face was expressionless, fingers tracing the collar of
his shirt over and over.  "No.  No.  It wasn't like . . ." the
voice was a whisper.

"I don't give a damn what it was like."  The pants had been
kicked just outside the door.  Skinner threw them in his face. 
"Your shoes are in the living room."

Brushing past Mulder, to the living room to find his wallet on
the counter by the kitchen.  A twenty.  It would be enough. 
Mulder was sleepwalking, picking up his shoes, his jacket. 
"Here.  You'll need a cab."

Dazed, pale face meeting his suddenly.  "I didn't come here to
fuck you."  The words were expressionless, shellshocked.

"I know."  Finally gentling his tone.  "I know.  You lied about
getting fucked before."

Mulder blinked fast, shrugged into his jacket.  His voice was
low, forced.  "I'm sorry."

Against his will, Skinner had to ask.  "For what?"

Mulder let the question hang a long time, but his face had begun
to answer before he ever spoke.  "Sorry, I used you."

Skinner sighed.  "You know, with you it always seems to come down
to you and what you do.  You know, Mulder, the rest of us do
things too.  For our own reasons."

"Why did you do . . .  why did tonight happen?"  Dancing away
from the naked truth.

He was tired of lies and pretense.  So tired.  "I brought you
back here because you used to tell the truth and that means
something."

It wasn't the answer Mulder was expecting.  He could see it in
the flinch and the startled frown.  "I did it for the oldest
reason in the book."

"What?"  He'd never met someone who could shift gears that fast.

Mulder's hands dropped loose to his side and his voice was
suddenly calm.  Not flat.  Not calculated.  Just calm.  "I was so
damn mad when I went up those stairs, but even then I wasn't that
angry.  I wasn't even that mad when he picked up the shotgun.  It
made sense.  But when he stopped.  I wanted to murder him. 
That's all."  A confession to the simplicity of emotion.

Skinner stared.  Tried to back up fifty paces and change course
and couldn't.  "His finger was bruised.  It was on the trigger."

"And maybe he would have shot me.  Maybe I saved my life.  I
don't know. But he hestitated and I . . . every single time some
bastard pulls my strings was right in front of me when he
hesitated.  Maybe he would have shot me, but it doesn't matter
because right then I wanted him dead more than I've ever wanted
to kill a man in my life.  And I shot him."

Formica was hard and solid under his hand as Skinner leaned on
the kitchen counter.  "How the hell do you keep doing this to
me?"

Mulder's mouth finally quirked in a smile, relaxed.  Almost
peaceful.  "Do what?"

"I . . . I'm about to write you off and fire you and you come up
with the last thing in the world and it's the one thing that'll
save your ass."

"I just admitted murder, Walter.  It's time to read me my
rights."  He could hear the weariness, the kind of voice that's
left behind when you
stop fighting all the things you're denying.

"You just admitted wanting to kill a man.  Even you don't know if
it was really self defense."

A small frown marred Mulder's calm expression.  "I know."

"You know what your memory tells you.  And Mulder, it's something
you'll have to live with.  That's all.  It won't make it easier
next time.  It might make it harder."

"It's a crime."

"It's a long time since I mistook law for justice."  He rubbed
hard at his eyes.

Mulder sat slowly on the end of the couch, fiddling with his
shoes.  Skinner watched him, waited.  Wasn't surprised by the
confused, resigned expression that finally settled on Mulder's
features.  "What will happen?"

"With what?"

A rueful, familiar quirk at the corner of full lips.  "You're not
arresting me, so I guess I'll have to go to work Monday."

"Yeah.  You will."  Waiting.  Letting Mulder find his way.

"Did this ever happen?"

So easy to ask questions.  Hard to answer them.  Skinner padded
to his chair, the same one he'd sat in, watching Mulder drink and
talk.  "This shouldn't have happened.  I don't do this."

"Oh, and it's a regular habit for me."

"If you want to bullshit me you know where the door is.  You're
here right now because you told me the truth."

Mulder swallowed hard, paled.  "I . .  this scares me."

Christ.  The price of bluffing.  "Yeah.  Right now I wish you'd
just left."

"It's weird.  Talking."

Skinner ran a hand over a scalp cool with dead-of-night
exhaustion. "You're right.  It is."

Mulder fidgeted again, rubbing his beat-up shoes together. 
Finally looked up.  "I'd have come back."

"Don't lie to me."  The words grated in Skinner's throat.

"I'm not.  You . . . It felt good."

'Shit."  Half laughing.  "Sex is like that."

"No.  Not the sex."  Riffling fingers through his hair.  "Oh, it
was great!" A smile that made him look suddenly young. "But . .
.but what felt good . . . it felt good to tell the truth."

Skinner leaned forward, elbows solidly grounded on his knees. 
"So what does that mean?"

He had to strain to hear the reply.  "It means I'd like to come
back."

Regret and relief.  Relief and regret.  "Mulder, I'm not your
lover.  I'm not here for you to come and spill out your sad
stories and wait for me to make you feel better."

"No.  I don't need that.  That's not why I want to come back. 
That's not why I'm asking you to let me come back."

"Why?  When?"

"I don't know when.  But . . . you make me be honest.  With you .
. . There are so many lies.  I can't remember anymore if I tell
them or just believe them.  Please let me come back.  You're
honest."

Deep inside him Walter Skinner knew what he meant.  And he
nodded, knowing what it would cost.  "I don't know when.  You're
going to leave tonight.  And the first time you lie to me here
will be the last."

Mulder nodded, accepting.  "Why are you letting me come back?"

Skinner finally smiled, slow and rich, a smile to match the
warmth he saw creeping back into Mulder's eyes.  "You know why. 
Because you'll find the truth."