From: KassXF Date: 20 Mar 1999 20:23:40 GMT Subject: NEW: Talk is Cheap - M/Sk NC-17 Disclaimer: Aren't mine Category: M/Sk Summary: Post One Son Talk is Cheap by KassXF@aol.com The sunlight was streaming across the bed. Mulder could see that through half-closed eyelids, through his eyelashes. Could feel the warmth on his bare skin, just as he could feel the warmth of the body behind his. Just as he could feel the tingling of his skin in places that had gone without the touch of another hand in far too long. His lips felt chapped, chafed from beard stubble, and there were places that felt almost sore, too well used, too well explored. He shifted slightly from his side, resting his back against the warmth behind, shifted his leg to rest it over the other's, too languid to speak. Drowsy. There was a murmur of sound. He didn't want to try and decipher it, and put a companionable hand palm down on the the other's hip, felt that tingling again throughout his body. Shivered, hoping that the silence would return and let him seek his own thoughts, let him try to make sense of what he was doing here. As if hearing those thoughts, Skinner's voice rumbled again. "Mulder, why are you here?" Roughly, as if braced for disappointment. He smiled at the ceiling. Hell if he knew..... ******************************** Skinner had been surprised to see him, the expression on his face a clear signal to Mulder that the unexpected drop-in visit was not only unexpected, but not wholly welcome. They passed the usual amenities at the door and Skinner reluctantly let him, let him sit down on the couch. They hadn't spoken even semi-privately since Skinner had dismissed him and Scully from the investigation of what had happened to land Skinner near death and in the hospital. But the X files were back in his hands now and against all logic, he felt a great deal of it was due to Spender and Skinner. At odds, maybe, but somehow, somehow they had both convinced the Deputy Director and the Director, and now Kersh was impotent, robbed of power by the deaths in the hangar and the shifting of loyalties and alliances. "I just wanted to thank you again for backing us up, sir," he said, feeling more awkward than usual around Skinner. Skinner, who hadn't bothered to sit, was standing in the middle of his livingroom, surverying Mulder with the usual unreadable expression. "Don't thank me, Agent Mulder," brusquely, "I had nothing to do with it." "But you tried to help us," Mulder persisted, "You backed us when no one else would, you tried to warn us." Skinner turned away, walked over to an armchair, stood as if considering whether or not to sit. "Don't thank me," he repeated, his back to Mulder, posture stiff and denying any reason for thanks. Mulder glanced away, wondering why he had come. Some impulse toward connecting, the same impulse that had driven him down the hallway to the AD's office one night near midnight, to find Skinner clearly ill. Just came to say hey, he thought distantly and rose. "I know it hasn't been easy," he told Skinner, trying to find the words that would break down that stony exterior. "I know that whatever happened to you--I know--" Skinner turned back toward him, his face carved from granite. "You don't know anything." Flatly. Mulder blinked. Felt a flare of temper. "I know someone got to you. Twice. Once to inject killer nanocytes and again to warn you off pursuing it. I know who I think it was. But you still backed us, dangerous or not." A sharp dismissive gesture. "Mulder, you don't know half of what you think you know. Drop it. I did my job, that's all." Skinner's mouth twisted slightly, a hint of disgust? Maybe for Mulder, maybe for himself, Mulder wasn't certain. "I do my job. All I ask is that you do yours." Meaningful look. The problem was, he couldn't quite decipher the meaning. Maybe his brain was losing that ability to pick patterns out of the gestalt, maybe he was picking up mixed messages, he didn't know, but it drove him to stand in front of Skinner. "They tried to kill you, they tried to get a handle on you, and maybe they did. Maybe it just wasn't important enough to watch you every minutes, maybe they felt they were close enough they could just let it go. I don't know. But in spite of the threat, you backed us up, dammit, and I'm telling you thank you. I appreciate it." Practically nose to nose, and Skinner's iron exterior faltered, he was clearly taken aback. "What the hell do you want from me, Mulder?" Hoarsely. He wasn't sure. He was in Skinner's space, felt unaccustomed power over the other man. "Maybe I just want you to say 'you're welcome'." Lightly, far more lightly than he'd thought he could manage. "Maybe I was hoping you'd let us help you, now." It was impossible to forget the horror of what Skinner had been through, of how bad Skinner had looked in that hospital bed. "Maybe I was hoping you believed that we could." More softly, holding Skinner's gaze. Skinner wasn't wearing his glasses today, he nearly fell into the depths of those dark eyes, held his ground anyway. But Skinner wasn't a man to back down, either. Dark eyes held his own. "What do you want, Mulder?" A growl. What the hell did he want? What did he expect? Skinner had rebuffed all efforts to help him, even when he had clearly needed help. He'd given Scully a song and dance about not doing enough for them, and then shut them down when they'd tried to follow up the investigation. Back during the call girl scandal, the OPC investigation--Christ, he'd all but thrown them out of his office when it was over, why did he think standing his ground was going to get them any farther down the road to truth. "I just want you to tell me the truth," he said, without intending to speak at all. "Truth." Bitterly, a strangled sound like aborted laughter and then, shockingly, Skinner raised both hands, cupped Mulder's face. He scarcely had time to process that when Skinner's mouth came down over his own, the wet heat of a tongue pressing his own mouth open. Unable to think past sensation, he found himself responding, leaning into the kiss. Found himself thrusting his tongue back against Skinner's, burning alive inside his clothing, hard as a rock, vainly trying to press forward against the broader body and held implacably by the hands on each side of his head. He heard himself make a frustrated sound in his throat and Skinner drew back, leaving him bereft. He tilted his head back and surveyed Skinner through half-closed eyes, trying to think, trying not to think. Breathing hard. "This is insane." Skinner's lips moved, Skinner's eyes narrowed. Did that mean Skinner was going to stop? He found he hoped not. Tried to think of the right thing to say to ensure that Skinner wouldn't, and couldn't. Finally made a wordless sound, daring to reach out and put his hand on Skinner's waist, his palm shaping to soft cotton knit and muscle and bone beneath. That seemed to be a good thing to do, Skinner kissed him again, harder than before, he found himself up against the wall somehow, pressing himself away from it, seeking contact with the heat that radiated through Skinner's clothing. Rubbed himself shamelessly against the weight that pushed him back against the coolness of tastefully neutral paint and plasterboard. Sliding his hands up under the hem of Skinner's shirt, he found bare flesh, felt the current rachet up another notch and slid his hands up, up, felt the play of muscle under hot skin, pulled Skinner hard against him....he was going to explode right here and now, no more style or control than a sixteen year old boy with an imagination and hormones running overtime. Except Skinner pulled back fractionally, breathing hard, stared at him. "Is this what you want, Mulder?" Harshly. He stared back dumbly. Nodded finally, not letting go. And somehow, they made it to the bedroom..... ***************************************** "Can't you stop talking?" His voice was almost a whisper, plaintive. He patted Skinner's hip, willing him to be silent. As if he'd ever had any control over Skinner. Christ, he hadn't done anything like this since his pre-Phoebe days at Oxford, deliberate exploration, 80's bravado. He'd walked up the stairs with Skinner right into the hottest sex he remembered having in quite some time. Skinner shifted, Mulder opened his eyes fully to see Skinner studying him, a line between his eyebrows. "What?" Oops. "I'm sorry, what did you say?" Still languid, still wishing Skinner would just shut up. "I said, why are you here?" He thought of a clever segue. "Define here." The line between Skinner's eyebrows deepened. "In my bed." He stretched, patted again. "It was more comfortable than getting rugburn?" Let his eyes half-close again, watching Skinner through the filter of his lashes. One corner of Skinner's mouth quirked. "That's not what I mean." Oh, hell. "I know that's not what you mean," he answered reasonably, "But I don't want to think about how we're going to manage to deal with this right now. Can't we just enjoy the moment?" A little plaintively. Perplexation colored Skinner's expression for a moment, he made a noncommittal sound in his throat and lay back down, tugging Mulder closer. With his head pillowed in the crook of Skinner's shoulder, Mulder felt a sort of dazed gratitude, shifted closer, still half on his side, half resting on Skinner's body. "Good." Almost a whisper again. Let his eyes drift closed, conscious of the warmth of the late afternoon sun and the warmth behind/beneath him. Moved his hand from Skinner's hip to between Skinner's legs, his palm against Skinner's inner thigh. Savoring the tingling and soreness.... ***************************************** They'd all but fallen on the bed, fingers tugging at each other's clothing, an obstacle that had to be removed. They'd all but fallen on each other, tasting and touching hungrily, and aside from the awkwardness of first time encounters, it reminded Mulder distantly of something he'd read about zipless fucks. His shorts were actually damp, but he lost the embarrassment of that when Skinner's mouth closed over him, shamelessly making sounds and squirming around to reciprocate. Big hand between his thighs, cupping him, and he closed his fingers over Skinner's shaft, licked the tip and delicately took it into his mouth, running his tongue over it. Tasting the pearl of fluid there, gratified by Skinner's involuntary groan. They fed on each other, he lost himself in the distracting sensation of giving pleasure while being pleasured, eyes closed to focus on the heat and the wetness, the taste and the sensation, tried to pull away when he felt himself falling over the edge, but Skinner wouldn't let him, swallowed him down instead and he had to pull away, crying out helplessly, mouth pressed against the coarse hair at the base of Skinner's cock. Impossibly still aroused, he licked at the root, stroked his tongue across skin that shivered to crumpled velvet, tightening. Took the heavy shaft back into his mouth, fingers holding it at the base, working it with his mouth, taking it as deeply as he could and Skinner's fingers tightened on his hips, there was a groan that was nearly a growl and his mouth and throat flooded, hot and slippery. Distant throb in his softening flesh and he swallowed, gentled his mouth until the flesh against his tongue softened and he let it slip out, rested his cheek against Skinner's hip until Skinner suddenly shifted, reversing poles, tugging Mulder against him to lie in the late afternoon sunlight that slanted across the bed..... ************************************************* He must have dozed, the telephone rang startling him out of the next ten years of his life and driving him bolt upright, eyes wide as Skinner grumbled wordlessly and reached for the telephone. A few moments of listening and Skinner growled. "No, you may not." And hung up with a bang. Mulder blinked. "Who was it?" His voice sounded rusty, disused. "Telemarketer." Skinner sank back on the pillows, put his arms under his head. "Are you ready to talk yet, or are you still in a nonverbal stage?" Surprisingly relaxed. Mulder blinked again, thought about getting up and sank back again instead, his head on the pillow beside Skinner's. "Depends." He was certainly awake, the adrenaline from the ring of the phone still making his heart thud. "What are we going to talk about?" A low chuckle and he turned his head, saw the smile curve Skinner's mouth. "What?" "Are you really that dazed, Mulder?" Skinner turned his head, his expression amused. "Why am I here," Mulder recalled. Closed his eyes and sighed. "Because I wanted to be." Then, plaintive again. "Why else would I be here?" Another chuckle. "Never mind. I've had my mind corrupted by intrigue." Mulder thought about that. Sat up again, prickly with irritation and offense. "You can't possibly think I'm here because I'm using you." "It did cross my mind," Skinner admitted, but there was an apologetic note in his voice. He scowled. "You started it." Annoyed. Skinner chuckled again, rubbed the sole of one foot over Mulder's shin. "So I did." After a moment, Mulder let it go, sank back again. "Wanna do it again?" A shout of laughter. "Jesus, I'm not that young any more, Mulder." "You aren't that old." Mildly and he turned on his side, head propped on his hand. Studying the muscular body beside him. Neither was he that old, he thought and put his palm on Skinner's belly, felt the crisp coarseness of the hair there. "Jesus." Faint smile and Skinner leaned up, freed one arm and cupped the back of Mulder's neck, kissed him again, tongue lazily stroking against Mulder's. "Keep that up and you may find out that you're right." He stroked downward, cupped Skinner. "Yeah? I like being right." His wrist was caught and held, strong grip, a thumb stroking the underside. "Mulder," and a hesitation. "A moment of insanity is one thing. Continuing dementia is...." Skinner's voice trailed off, perplexed again. "Fun?" Mulder asked hopefully. What the hell was wrong with him? On the other hand, maybe he was being obtuse. Gently working his wrist free, he sighed. "Maybe I should go." His stomach knotted, he flushed suddenly, feeling embarrassment and rejection in equal portions. "You don't have to worry, this won't affect the work." Low voice. Skinner's fingers closed over his wrist again. "Mulder...." He tried to tug free, decided it was undignified and met Skinner's gaze. Saw regret and swallowed hard. "I'm sorry." Not sure for what. Leaning forward, Skinner kissed him again. "You don't have to leave." Quietly. A shiver started at the base of his spine. He risked meeting Skinner's gaze again. "I don't?" Serious tone and he swallowed again at what he saw there. "You don't. Unless you want to." Vulnerability in the eyes. "But I can't promise you that it's going to be easy." The shiver overtook him. "Easy," he scoffed, "When have I ever done anything easy." Skinner's mouth curved slightly. "In my experiences with you? Never." "I rest my case." With dignity, heart hammering a little. "Get back over here," Skinner told him gruffly and tugged him forward, kissed him hard. Drew back, frowning again. "It can't affect the work." Mulder studied him. "I suppose that means you aren't going to tell me about the man who poisoned you." Resigned. Skinner's expression went shuttered on him. "I thought you'd figured it out." Brusquely. "And no, I'm not." "Well, it would be nice to have confirmation." He thought about it, decided he could live with Skinner's silence. For now. "All right." Not that he had any intention of letting it rest there--the damned things were still inside Skinner's body. Quizzical look. "Just like that?" Subtext was everything, he thought distantly and shook his head. "Look, I can't promise you I won't continue to investigate it." A resigned look. "Yeah, I figured that. You're not unlike a pit bull at times, Mulder." He nearly laughed. "Nah, a terrier." "A pit bull," Skinner repeated drily and then just gazed at him. His skin felt hot again. No clothing between them. "Can we talk about this later?" Plaintive again. Lazy smile. "After I fuck you?" This time, the shiver was immediate. "Maybe we should negotiate." But his cock had taken immediate notice, was thickening nicely. "Later." Bland expression. "We'll negotiate later." Another long, intense look and he leaned forward, captured Skinner's mouth with his own. "All right, but you don't always get to be on top." "Do I ever?" Drily, but Skinner kissed him back, hands already moving. He surrendered. After all, talk was cheap. It was all in the action, he'd always thought..... And wasn't it?