Category: V, Slash (Mulder/Skinner) Rating: NC17, Slash (nothing explicit this time) *****WARNING! This story contains scenes of loving and consensual sex between two men. If this idea offends you, leave now*****************

The Rarest Man: Duty Before Pleasure

by Sergeeva

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.
Summary: The title says it all.

This is from the same universe as my story "The Walk" and "Rarest Man:
Wet Dream", but it's a bit of fluff that can be read on its own, just
as well.

I make no apologies for being totally obsessed: I'm crazy, but

harmless. Caring feedback is always welcome at:
[email protected]

"He is simply the rarest man i' th' world"
Shakespeare - Coriolanus 4,v,161

Walter comes back into the bedroom with a towel slung around his lean
hips, his chest and shoulders still damp from the shower.

I've been home for an hour or so, so I had first turn in the bathroom
and I'm already half dressed. We've got plenty of time, so I sit on
the bed and just admire the view...

He's still winding down from the working day: settling things in his
mind so that he can forget work for this evening. He moves about the
room with his customary powerful grace, absently humming to himself: a
phrase of Mozart that he probably had playing in the car on the way
home. He's unaware of my appreciative gaze...

I love to watch him move - controlled and purposeful, his body like
some glorious machine, the bones and muscles moving smoothly under
tanned skin.

He's inspecting his tuxedo, where it hangs on the closet door - it's
immaculate of course, like everything he owns - and he unself
consciously pulls the towel from around his waist and dries off his
chest with it, ruffling the curling chest hair and inadvertently
offering me a glorious naked back view.

I feast my eyes on the length of him: from strong shapely calves, over
lean hard-muscled thighs, to the wonderful tight, powerful muscles of
his buttocks, the delicious hollowed flanks, the pair of dimples at
the base of his spine, then the strong springing line of his back. The
lean waist flares out into the impressive breadth of his magnificent
shoulders, the contours of his muscles clear under the smooth skin.

He moves to the armoire and puts on a pair of black boxer briefs: the
whole elegant operation is performed with a sleek flexing of muscles
that has me groaning aloud in appreciation. Snapping out of his
still-occupied thoughts, he turns to me with that shy smile and a
mischievous light in his dark eyes..."Are you all right?"
"I'm *very* all right," I reply, "are you quite sure we have to go to
this reception tonight?"

In turning, he allows me to see the full effect of how tempting he
looks in the form-fitting boxers: the waistband snug against his flat
stomach, the soft cotton fabric clinging to every curve, front and
back, the mid-thigh legs defining the long curves of his quadriceps...

I groan again, letting him see my longing in my face, and he blushes!
This perfect, glorious man actually has no idea of how stunning he is.
He doesn't answer my teasing question, just wads up the damp towel and
throws it at me. I catch it and inhale the delicious scent of him as I
hold it to my face.

He is putting on a crisp white evening shirt now and I admire the way
it hangs from his broad shoulders. I jump up and go to him in time to
take over fastening the pearl buttons - an opportunity to slip my hand
inside the starched cotton and run it over warm silken skin and the
fuzz of chest hair, to cup the hard curve of a breast and tweak a
sensitive nipple. Now it's his turn to growl seductively, his eyes
closing briefly at my caressing touch.

He puts his big hand firmly over mine, shifting it off his chest and
finishing buttoning his shirt with a stern look: a half-hearted
attempt to put an end to my seduction. Of course, that square jaw and
intense glare only make me want him more. However, I can tell he won't
play properly until we've done our duty at the reception and returned
home. Still - there's plenty of fun to be had before then...

We finish dressing together: fastening each other's cummerbunds, tying
each other's bow ties and most lingeringly of all - fastening each
other's cufflinks. He does mine first, holding out his hand for the
plain gold bars with the little gray alien's heads on the other end.
He says nothing about my choice, merely arching a long-suffering
eyebrow and allowing the dark, affectionate glow in his eyes to grow
even warmer.

He inserts the links in my cuffs efficiently, his long, square-tipped
fingers making everything behave for him (I've noticed how objects of
all kinds from cars to photocopiers to bow ties to cufflinks never
give him any trouble - as if even they recognize his inate authority,
his calm control). When both cuffs are dealt with he lingers, holding
both my hands in his for a long moment, his dark, penetrating gaze so
tender that I feel tears start to prick at my eyes. Eventually, he
looses his grasp and hands me his own links.

They are the ones that would have been my own choice for him - the
discreet USMC insignia on the plainest of gold oblongs. I take each of
his hands in turn, turning them first in my own, narrower hands,
feeling the weight and strength, admiring how darkly tanned they are
next to his snowy cuffs, how neat and clean his nails are. Before each
cuff is secured, I slip my fingers up around his wrist, surprised as
always by the fineness of the bone, the silken skin over his pulse. I
lift his hands to my mouth, kissing each palm and meeting his burning
gaze with my own adoring one.

He pulls me into his arms, tilting my head back into the cup of his
left hand while his right is splayed over my back, surrounding me with
his strength. We're almost exactly the same height but he stands so
straight it gives him the advantage. So - I look *up* into that
passionate, beautiful face and melt into the velvet of his mouth on
mine...

Reluctantly we break away - it would be so easy to let our mutual
desire take over now, but duty calls, and Walter has a very strong
sense of duty.

The End for now.

THE END

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