by Sergeeva
17 Mar 1998
==========================================================
CATEGORY: R, Mulder/Skinner
RATING: NC-17
SPOILERS: None (it features an entirely imaginary case)
DISCLAIMER: These dear people don't, unfortunately, belong to me. They
are the property of CC, MP, DD, 1013 Productions and Fox Broadcasting.
No infringement is intended.
ARCHIVE: MSSS, please, and anywhere else, just let me know and keep my
name and addy attached. Already sent to ATXC.
SUMMARY: A day of torment, a night of bliss!
SPECIAL THANKS: To Marianne, for giving my stories their first home,
and to Hal, for endless patience, insane humour, intelligent comments,
inspirational beta-reading, and the creation of some of the choicest
phrases in this piece.
This is part of my continuing "Rarest Man" series, and follows on
immediately after "Rarest Man: Resolution". The scene-setting piece
("The Walk") and other parts of the series can be found on Marianne's
web-site at:
http://www.fortunecity.com/lavendar/elystan/99/sergeeva.html
Caring feedback is always appreciated at:
[email protected]
========================================================
"He is simply the rarest man i' th' world".
Shakespeare - Coriolanus 4,v,161
It's a rare experience for me, to wake gently from deep, relaxed
sleep.
The room is still dark - it must be very early - and for a moment I'm
nonplused to find myself nestled against something warm and smooth -
Walter's broad back. I can feel his slow, steady breathing. I snuggle
even closer, remembering last night and feeling the deep happiness all
over again, a moment of pure peace that lulls me back into sleep.
A whisper of sound wakes me the second time. I see Walter, all pale
greys and soft shadows, kneeling close by the bed, apparently just
watching me. Seeing my eyes open, he smiles and strokes a finger down
my bare arm as I prop myself up in the bed.
He's dressed, but with his tie draping loosely and shirt hanging
unbuttoned. The glimpse of that bare throat and chest has me reaching
for him, my cock hardening. But he pushes me gently back onto the
pillows, shaking his head regretfully.
"I have to go back to my own room, Fox. I really do have to
prepare for this briefing, and we can't both leave from here
without Scully wondering what's going on."
I recognize the reasonableness of this, but feel the ache of
frustration anyway. He must feel it too, because suddenly he dips his
head to kiss me...
*Now* I slip my hand inside his open shirt and caress the muscled
chest. I feel him sigh into my mouth and for a moment he deepens the
kiss, leaning over me and closing his eyes. But he won't be lured away
from his duty and he pulls back from me. I can see his self-control
reassert itself - a minute tightening of the muscles of his face that
signifies his shift back into A.D. mode. I try to make myself sound
brisk:
"What time is it, anyway? How much sleep have you had?"
"It's nearly five, and no, I probably haven't had enough sleep.
At my age I need a full eight hours. I don't get it, but that
goes with the job."
He says it affectionately, jokingly, but I feel my 'flinch-reflex'
start up automatically, ready to register hurt and rejection, ready to
sulk, as if he really thought last night was just 'part of the job'.
For once, I realize what is happening before I lash out and say
something hurtful. I don't want to lose him because of my own
insecurity. I consciously make myself lighten up, give happiness a
chance for a change.
He fixes me with that intense gaze and, reading my mind, he says
quietly:
"Fox - you've never just been part of the job, and now...
... you need to believe that I want this."
His thumb brushes over my cheekbone. My throat closes with emotion and
I can't speak.
"Take care today, Fox."
His voice is husky now. He stands and moves to the door, turning with
his hand on the doorknob...
"Later..."
he says, with emphasis, his eyes very dark, and I manage a grin as he
leaves. I roll back and bury my face in the pillow that still smells
faintly of him, savouring the promise in that word.
I can't go back to sleep, though, and think to comfort myself with
memories of last night. But now I'm alone and bereft. Nothing I can
touch is remotely reminiscent of Walter. I lift my arm and kiss the
pale skin on the inside of my own wrist. I brush my fingers over my
own lips, slide my hands over my own breast and belly... the texture
and angles are all wrong... I miss him so much already. I fold my arms
around empty air. Wanting the warmth and mass of Walter's body, I roll
away from the light, hugging the ache and need to myself instead.
-------------------------------------------
The team meets up again at 7.00 for the briefing. There must be two
dozen of us packed into the conference room at the local Federal
Building - experts in explosives and weaponry, liaisons from the ATF
and SWAT teams, the local Bureau personnel and those of us from DC
who've been working on the profiling and strategy. It's noisy and
chaotic with everyone talking and passing out coffee. The local SAC,
Cummins, introduces Walter.
The whole room seems to pull itself to attention. Even the non-Bureau
people, who are only temporarily under his command, straighten their
backs and their ties as he moves to the head of the long table. I've
seen him like this a thousand times: calm, energized, consummately in
control. He looks immaculate, of course, his jaw clean-shaven, his
shirt spotless and crisp. I watch him survey the room with that
penetrating gaze as he summarizes the investigation, reiterates the
plan for today's operation and gives out final orders. I feel absurdly
proud of him, as if his skill at leadership and his command of the
room were somehow the result of my coaching.
I feel a possessive and secret joy. Staring at his hands (the strength
of his grasp, the gentleness of his caresses), at his mouth (the taste
of his kisses, the warmth of his lips), at his body (the scent of his
skin, the planes of his chest), giddy desire tempts me to shout "He's
mine!" and damn the consequences.
God knows what I must look like, struggling to maintain a facade of
professional composure, while thinking about making love to my boss.
Scully actually asks me if I'm unwell, at one point, and gets me a cup
of water.
Eventually, the meeting breaks up and we start moving off in groups to
the warehouse complex. Scully and I are assigned to the radio team, to
be available with any scrap of background data that might give us an
advantage in this unpredictable situation. Walter is with the assault
team, of course, since the contact is his informant and the man was
insistent that Walter had to be there in person.
The day is almost unendurable, as we wait for something to happen,
suffering that excruciating mixture of tension and boredom that so
often characterizes a field op. It's magnified a hundred-fold for me
today, as I catch only an occasional glimpse of Walter, wearing a
kevlar vest, his face grim and tense. Squashed at my post, I listen to
the back-and-forth of commands and status reports coming through my
earphone, Walter's terse growl sounding irrationally sexy even in the
midst of this tension.
Word comes at last that things are happening and my gut twists with
anxiety for Walter. This is how it is for him every time: having to
watch his people put themselves in harm's way, put themselves beyond
his protection. I don't know if I could live with it, I don't know if
I can live with this, now.
There is a half-hour of frantic noise and activity: gunfire and
plaster-dust thick in the air, jumbled voices - breaking up - on the
radio, shouts echoing around the vast space. I can't see Walter
anywhere amongst the splintered crates, the sawdust drifting in the
strobing headlamps, the unidentifiable crouching and running figures.
My mouth is dry with worry and I have to force myself to concentrate
on my job and not think of him...
The mopping-up operation takes an eternity, during which I have to
pretend an interest in how many crates of rocket-launchers we've
recovered, where the paper trail of manifests and invoices will lead,
whether we'll get anything useful from the interrogation of Strunz and
his nasty little band.
I'm aching and stiff from sitting tensed for hours, I'm cranky from
lack of food, and I'm in some state between incoherent panic and
unbearable frustration from lack of Walter. I suppose he'll be tied up
late into the night with the wrapping-up of the operation. I'm not
needed at this stage and Scully is taking some accrued vacation days
to visit an old college friend in Reno. Everything feels suddenly flat
and purposeless and weariness washes over me.
I wander over to where the EMTs are treating the casualties, and
Walter is there, sitting on a crate, still in his body-armour and
holding his glasses, while a paramedic inspects a bruise on his temple
and shines a pen-light into his eyes. I can only hover, hoping to pass
myself off as a rather over-eager subordinate, while my insides clench
with the new stress and my heart lurches at the sight of him.
"What happened, Sir, you're not hit, are you?"
"Only with the butt of a AR15 in that melee at the end..."
he grins, ruefully...
"I saw stars for a while, but *now* I feel just fine."
And his eyes meet mine, saying more in that innocent phrase than the
medic will ever realize. I let myself smile back at him:
"That's good to hear, Sir, but you should probably give the
wrap-up session a miss tonight. Wouldn't you agree?"
I appeal to the paramedic for support and he agrees that an early
night is recommended.
"I must say that bed is a very appealing thought right now,"
says Walter, giving me a wolfish grin while the paramedic turns to
pack his kit away.
"I could give you a lift back to the motel, Sir. I'm sure you
shouldn't drive after a blow to the head, and I owe you one
from yesterday."
"OK, Mulder. Give me five minutes to organize things here and
I'll take you up on that offer."
I leave him talking to Cummins and head for my car, barely managing
not to pirouette.
-------------------------------------------
On the drive back I try to concentrate on the road, but have to glance
occasionally at Walter, who leans back in his seat with his eyes
closed. I think how differently I feel about him now - not just
differently from before all this started, but differently even from
yesterday, when he drove me along this same road. What was mostly lust
then is now love.
We reach the motel and I turn to him before we get out of the car,
reaching up to gently touch his bruised face. He opens his eyes.
"It's OK, really, Mulder... umm, Fox?"
He hesitates, unsure of my reaction to the name. I smile, fondly.
"I'm OK, too... *Walter*, but seriously, are you... ?"
"I was lucky. It's nothing that a hot shower and a
stiff drink won't fix, though I suppose I'll have to forego
the drink - whisky and Tylenol don't mix well..."
"Well, how about a stiff shower and a hot drink, then?"
I wiggle my eyebrows, Groucho-fashion. He bursts out laughing.
"You're... impossible! Come on: how about we try my
room for a change. The view is better."
"The view... ! *I'm* impossible?"
We get to Walter's first floor room and the door is hardly closed
before Walter is all over me - tugging my shirt out of my pants,
sliding his hands up my bare back, pulling me close against him as he
kisses my face and neck, then pulling away to gasp:
"Shower!"
He looks dazed: his lips parted and reddened with kissing. He grabs my
tie and leads me into the bathroom.
We strip, bumping into each other in the inadequate space. Walter
turns the water on, as hot as we can stand, and pulls me under the
spray with him. We wash with amazing speed and inefficiency, dropping
the soap and stepping on each other's feet, and stumble out into the
steamy room.
I look at Walter and all rational thought deserts me. I feel
light-headed and light-hearted. Before I start burbling that he is my
Excalibur, the Gold at the End of my Rainbow, my Answer to Life, the
Universe and Everything, I think I'll put my lips to better use. I
sink to my knees in front of him.
"Well, the stiff shower certainly worked...", I say,
... now for the hot drink..." and reach for him.
But he lifts me up and walks me back into the bedroom, not bothering
with towels.
"Fox, shut up."
He pushes me back onto the bed and resumes his assault on me with lips
and hands. Our wet bodies slip and stick unexpectedly as we tumble
over one another, touching and tasting everywhere, the clamouring
emotions of the day focusing themselves into the one clear emotion of
the moment: our need for each other.
We come to rest, panting, with Walter lying over me across the width
of the bed. He looks down at me, his eyes wide and almost black in the
fading light, then runs his hand down the length of my body, rolling
off me so he can continue the caress down to my groin. He massages me
gently, rolling my tight balls in his hand, smoothing along my inner
thighs, closing his warm fingers carefully around my twitching cock
and beginning to stroke. I writhe under his touch, ready to burst but
wanting something even more intense.
"Walter... fuck me."
His smile is dark, predatory and wonderful as he rolls off the bed and
gets lube out of the nightstand. My eyes widen:
"When did you have time to...?"
(I'll die rather than reveal that I made a morning dash to the
pharmacy too.)
"I thought living in hope was *my* forte," I tease.
"Yeah, well..." he blushes!
"I was a boy scout," he says softly.
He kneels on the bed and starts to smooth lubricant onto the thick
shaft of his erection. He brings the same concentration to this act as
he does to everything else and it is *so* erotic watching this
beautiful, serious man prepare himself for me.
I sigh, appreciatively, and it brings his gaze back to me:
"Are you sure about this? - I don't want to hurt you."
"I want this, I want you... I told you that.
You won't hurt me... I trust you."
"Oh, Fox...!"
He shakes his head, closing his eyes briefly. Then he reaches a hand
to my hip, rolling me over onto my stomach.
"Lift your hips,"
he instructs, and slides a pillow under me. I turn my head, arching my
spine so that my shoulders are pressed into the mattress and my hips
are pushed back and up towards him, offering myself as clearly as I
know how. I can hear him warming more lube between his hands and then
I feel his hand slip between my buttocks, spreading the slickness as
his fingers massage my balls, stroke along the tender skin behind them
and probe gently at my anus. I'm so eager for him I'm already
thrusting back and forth, trying to open myself even wider. I feel the
first finger slip into me.
It's an indescribable feeling, a blend of shock and delight when I
think whose finger it is. It's one finger, yet I feel as if I've been
hollowed out and exist only as a sensitized sheath around that broad,
unmoving point of heat. I twist against him, wanting more already, and
get a burning protest from delicate tissues.
"Don't try to move yet."
I hear Walter's husky voice:
"Just relax and let me do the work."
A second finger joins the first, just gently sliding in and out, but
making me aware of nerve-endings I never knew I had. He's melting me
from the inside out.
He starts to turn his fingers inside me, curling them slightly to
stretch me. A knuckle grazes my prostate and I lift off the bed with a
gasp. He touches a concerned hand to my shoulder, but I gasp again:
"God, don't stop. Don't ever stop!"
I hate not being able to see him, to watch that focused, intense face
as he stretches me. He's doing it so gradually, building my pleasure
with every twist and crook of his strong fingers, using his free hand
to curl around my hip or slide under me and squeeze my cock in a
counterpoint rhythm that brings me almost to orgasm with each stroke.
I'm in delirious torment at his hands and then I feel the weight and
heat of his penis against my buttocks.
"Let me do the work, Fox,"
he whispers, his voice ragged now. I hold my breath at the momentary
burning pressure as he pushes into me and shifts minutely to get the
angle just right. Then I open myself around him, feeling his weight
against my pelvis, his heat within me - a delicious sensation.
Discomfort shifts sweetly into a deep loosening as unfamiliar muscles
flex.
He slides home into my slickness, a deeper penetration than I have
ever imagined. It feels as if he is everywhere inside me, filling me
totally. The bed beneath me is his muscled body that I try to embrace,
the sheet against my cheek is his smooth skin that I kiss fervently,
the air of the warm room around my naked body is his breath touching
me everywhere. And then he starts to move in me...
He curves into me, reaching impossibly deep, and then pulls back out,
angling against my prostate on every stroke. I meet his spiraling
thrusts, rotating my hips back against him, lifting my pelvis off the
bed as he starts to flex his hand around my cock too, so that I meet
his exquisite pressure whichever way I move. I clench my internal
muscles around him - impossible not to clutch at that smooth, driving
heat as it screws into me. Each thrust pulls a ragged breath from his
throat and I can't bear not being able to see him. He must look so
glorious, arching against me, every muscle taut... my vision spins
away into blackness and ringing in my ears as the orgasm rages through
me from the soles of my feet to the ends of my hair: a shockwave of
sensation running along every nerve, catapulting me out into a space
dazzling with stars.
A sobbing cry breaks from me, and I'm still shaking with the force of
that climax when my spasming muscles trigger Walter's own orgasm and I
feel his bowstring tautness thrust once more from behind me, as he
cries out. All my stretched spaces are filled with him and I can even
taste him in my mouth as if I had just swallowed him up.
I feel the soft brush of his chest hair against my back as he bends
low over me, still trying to support his weight on one shaky arm,
while he lifts the damp hair away from my neck and leans in to kiss
me. I arch back against his lips and the slight push tips us both over
onto our sides, still connected by his cock, now softening inside me.
We stay like that, curled together, sweat and semen drying on our
skin. Sheltered in Walter's arms, I feel sated, safe and incredibly
sleepy. I am just drifting off into dreams of him when his lips buzz
and tickle at my ear.
"Fox?"
"Mmmm?"
"Last one in the shower has to sleep on the wet spot."
----------------------------------------
I wake first again, stretching like a cat against Walter's warm back.
He doesn't stir and I allow myself to study him as he sleeps on...
He looks so graceful, so touchable lying there, all curves and sleek
muscles. The low light emphasizes the contours of his shoulders and
buttocks - so powerful even at rest. I lean in to gently kiss his
bruised temple, cupping the back of his head in my hand and continuing
the caress down the smooth skin of his neck and shoulders.
The differences between us fascinate me; we're almost exactly the same
height, but his mass and muscle are so different to my lanky body.
There's not an ounce of spare flesh on him, though. His waist is
probably as lean as mine and his legs have the strong bones and long
muscles of a runner. The delineation of his powerful chest and
shoulders is like an illustration in an anatomy text, except that the
feeling it inspires in me is anything but clinical. As my hands smooth
down his supple back the teasing thought in the back of my mind slams
into vivid focus: I want to seduce him, I want to watch him lose
control, I want to make his perfect body my own.
I settle across his back, my arms stroking down his sides, my cheek
resting on his shoulder. I breathe in the wonderful scent of his warm
skin, curving myself around him, then lifting a little so that my lips
can reach the back of his neck. I nuzzle the fine skin there, brushing
the curve of his ear with my mouth, rubbing my cheek against the
softness of his hair: the neat, close-trimmed band around the back of
his head is as sensual to me as the beautiful polished crown of his
bald head.
My breath in his ear begins to rouse him, but I move down his body,
licking and kissing my way to his buttocks. I splay my hands over the
tight muscles, squeezing lightly and feeling them flex in response. I
lean down close enough to kiss each cheek and boldly flick my tongue
along the cleft of his ass. That wakes him up, and he twists back to
look sleepily at me: all soft, unfocused, brown eyes.
"Mmmm... ?"
"Shh... now it's *my* turn to do the work."
I return to my delicious feast, spreading him with my hands and
breathing in the musky scent of him as I let my tongue explore.
He groans, incoherently, and I wonder just how awake he is.
Experimentally, I bite gently at the firm flesh, provoking a
pleasurable moan from Walter and a sensuous flex of those lean hips.
"Walter - wake up, I need to... to ask you..."
Nervousness and raging desire are making me incoherent. I struggle to
find words, finally deciding that straightforward would be best.
"Walter, I want...
I *really* want to fuck you, but I'm
new at this..."
I trail off, sheepishly.
"And you think I'm wildly experienced, right?"
I move over as he rolls onto his back, grinning up at me.
"I don't know, Walter."
I'm trying to be serious, but he just looks so delicious stretched out
there, so edible...
"When I look at you, I barely know my own name.
I only know that I want to make love to you, but I don't
know if you want...?"
"Fox - you remember what you said to me last night about
trust? Well, I trust you, too..."
He reaches up to touch my cheek, his eyes glittering.
"And I want you so much it hurts."
I look down at my straining cock, then at Walter in all his glory,
just waiting for me. He holds me in his compelling gaze and as he
looks at me his own cock rises and swells. It's the most perfect
compliment I've ever been given.
I have my answer.
Confident again, I fall on him without restraint. I kiss his
shoulders, finding the scars of old wounds. I spread his arms wide and
rub my face along the silky inner surface. I tease at his nipples,
circling my tongue over the taut pectorals and brushing each sensitive
point of flesh with my lips. Walter tilts his head back into the
pillows, gasping, and I can't resist that arching, muscular throat.
His skin smells like warm toast and I devour him, nibbling down his
chest and belly, flicking my tongue into his navel and the sweet dip
where hip meets groin.
I sit back on my heels between his splayed legs and stroke along his
inner thighs, letting my knuckles nudge his balls. His penis is long,
straight and heavy, the tip beaded with a pearly drop. I let one hand
move up his thigh to cradle his testicles, and trail the other through
the curling pubic hair to thumb the sensitive underside of his cock. I
kiss the luscious head, tasting the salty skin and bitter milk
together.
My own breath is ragged now, my self-control strained to
breaking-point. I want release, but more than that, I want to please
this man I love so much. He deserves nothing less than my best and my
own needs can wait for the moment.
I grab the lube from the nightstand and, as I warm it in my hands, I
feast my eyes on Walter. He is sprawled luxuriously across the bed,
arms and legs flung wide, a man gloriously in his prime, waiting for
*my* touch.
And I do touch him, watching the reactions flicker across his
expressive face as I work my slick fingers into him. I try to be as
slow and deliberate as he was, building that dissolving heat inside
him, but the sight of his arousal is so tantalizing: his stomach
muscles clenching as he tries to stay still for me, his eyes so wide
and dark, his breath hissing between his teeth...
His hips lift off the bed as I stroke three fingers into him, and he
moans my name...
"Fox, Fox... *now*, Fox!"
He's pushed the pillow under his own hips for me, so I take a deep
breath, sliding my fingers out of him and pushing just the glans of my
cock into him. He lifts his legs, folding them back against himself
and curling his pelvis up to take more of me. I sink my full length
into him.
The sensation is so exquisite that I nearly let go right then. I am
sheathed, stretched and stroked by heat, an imprisonment in the tight
clasp of his muscles that I never want to end. Walter is so quiet I
fear I have hurt him. He looks astonished: sweat beaded on his upper
lip, his hands clenched in the rumpled sheet...
Concerned, I start to pull back and his eyes open even wider. His
hands reach for mine, and he hisses:
"Yesss... !"
Thrilled with his reaction, I start to stroke back into him with a
long, deep pressure, watching him rise to meet each push, feeling the
grip of his muscles on each withdrawal. One hand entwined with his, I
reach for his weeping cock with the other, working my fingers on him
in time with my thrusts. Everything is in synchrony - a pounding,
driving, unstoppable rhythm that urges me on through so many
sensations: the lurch of my own cock inside him and of his cock
pulsing against my fingers, the straining muscles of his neck and
stomach as he coils into each surge, the clench of his fingers around
mine, the roar of blood in my ears, the stereo of my grunts and
Walter's gasping moans... Together we hurtle towards orgasm and I
watch him plunge, his chest heaving, his head flung back, his body
stretched taut, bathed in sweat.
He comes with a shout, the semen spurting between my fingers and
splattering over his belly. His muscles give a mighty spasm around me
and within seconds of him, I climax just as explosively, collapsing
over him as I all but pass out.
I gradually become conscious of a thudding close to my ear and a
delicious warmth against my back. I open my eyes to find I am lying
with my cheek pillowed on Walter's chest, listening to his racing
heartbeat. His hand is circling over my shoulder blades.. I look up at
his face: so strong, so gentle, so sternly beautiful. His eyes open
and I have to catch my breath. The impact of that loving gaze is
awesome. His eyes are stunning... a deep, clear, tawny brown. At the
moment they're heavy-lidded, lazily unfocused, full of a deep,
affectionate warmth that makes my heart lurch.
I drift in and out of sleep until a full bladder pries me from the
comfort of the bed. I'm blearily brushing my teeth when Walter appears
beside me, stretching and seeming to fill the small room with his
vitality. He shoves me playfully aside to reach for the toothpaste.
"Not a morning person. I see!"
He is disgustingly wide awake.
"We'll have to work on that..."
He winks as I slouch back into the bedroom and I'm still standing by
the bed, yawning, when he comes at me from behind, tumbling us both
back onto the rumpled sheets. I snuggle back against him, reveling in
the strength of his arms, now folded around me, and in the sweetness
of his mouth, cool and tingly against mine... his delicious mouth,
firm yet gentle, taking my lips in his, searching out my tongue and
drawing it back into the velvet softness of his own mouth, around the
white teeth.
Eventually we pull apart, but he keeps my face near his with a hand
cupped around my cheek, his thumb brushing along my jaw. His eyes
suddenly open wide, and the power of that tender, intense look is like
sunlight.
It's a good way to start the day.
------------------------------------------------
[the end of "R.M. Famine & Feast, but not the end for Walter and Fox!]
THE END
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