CATEGORY: SRA, Slash (Mulder/Skinner)

RATING: NC17 for m/m ineraction.

SPOILERS: Nary a one

DISCLAIMER: These dear people don't, unfortunately, belong to me. The characters of Walter Skinner and Fox Mulder are the property of CC, MP, DD, 1013 Productions and Fox Broadcasting. No infringement is intended.

SUMMARY: Skinner angst, Mulder comfort.

THANKS: To Hal, for brilliant beta reading and for being, as always, uniquely wonderful and to Samantha, for soul-mateyness and enthusiastic encouragement.

EMAIL ME: Caring feedback is *always* appreciated (and answered) at: sergeeva@geocities.com

~~~This one is for Sean, who gave me the inspiration~~~

THE SERIES SO FAR:

The Walk (Rarest Man: Prologue)

Rarest Man: Test of Endurance

Rarest Man: Wet Dream

Rarest Man: Resolution

Rarest Man: Famine & Feast

Rarest Man: Duty Before Pleasure

Rarest Man: Body of Evidence

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"He is simply the rarest man i' th' world"

Shakespeare - Coriolanus 4,v,161

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I'm just starting to chop the vegetables for a stir-fry when I hear the front open and close. I hear my lover hang his coat in the closet and set his briefcase down by the chest in the hallway. I hear the clink of his keys in the walnut bowl and his footsteps moving into the living room, then silence. I call out,

"You've had a long day. I'm doing dinner, do you want a beer?"

Still silence.

"Walter, are you all right?"

I'm worried now, abandoning the peppers and mushrooms and going into the other room myself.

He's standing at the window, gazing out and biting his lip. His shoulders are hunched and I can see he's struggling with something difficult. I know him so well now I can read his body language: he has something to tell me and it isn't anything good. Anxiety settles coldly in the pit of my stomach.

"Walter, what is it... what's wrong?"

Finally he turns towards me, shoulders rolled forward, head bowed, looking as lost and miserable as I've ever seen him. I gasp in shock and he lifts his head at last to look at me. He clears his throat.

"I had my annual physical today."

Dread twists in my gut as I move to stand close to him. He suddenly realizes what a state I'm in and shakes his head.

"I'm fine. The doctor's actual words were: 'You're in remarkable condition for a man of your years, Mr. Skinner.'And that's the point. I'm old, Fox. I feel old today. I'm a staid old man who's dragging you down when you should be out having fun with people your own age. I should let you go."

Relief and anger wash over me in equal measure.

"Push me away, you mean..."

I take his hands in mine, walk him to the sofa, sit him down. He's already closing himself off from me, striving for detachment: eyes bleak, mouth narrowed with anguish. I could slap him for thinking so little of himself and for being so damn self-sacrificing and I could strangle that doctor (no doubt an arrogant young medic who thought a man of 48 would be flattered to hear what a fit specimen he was).

"You silly man! Don't you know how much I love you?"

I lean forward, trying to make him see how sincere I am, putting all the love I feel into my face, but he won't look at me. He's staring down at our still-linked hands, not hearing me, shaking his head over some inner argument.

I can see the frown knitted between his brows, the set of his jaw, the weariness of his posture.

I put my arms around him and dip my mouth to his but he turns away from my kiss, so that my mouth brushes over his cheek and I taste salt.

This is much worse than I thought: if I don't do something, he's going to wrench himself away from me, "free me", as he thinks, even if it breaks his heart. It would break mine.

I take his head between my hands, make him face me, wait until he looks into my eyes.

"Come with me."

I draw him to his feet and pull him after me into the hallway, up the stairs and into our bedroom. He comes docilely enough, but that awful pain is still in his eyes. I stand him in front of the full-length mirror.

"Stay right there - don't move."

I go into the bathroom and turn the hot water on at just a slow trickle, drizzle some ginger and sandalwood bath oil into the tub and hasten back to Walter.

He hasn't stirred. He's still gazing despondently at himself in the long mirror. I look over his shoulder at our reflection.

"I don't know what you see when you look in the mirror, but I'm going to show you what I see."

I put my hands on his shoulders and grin at his expression of startled doubt - at least I've got his attention now. I brush his temple with the back of my hand...

"I love your face, Walter, it holds everything that you are... your strength..."

stroking down the angle of his cheekbone to cup his jaw,

"your gentleness..."

tracing the line of his brows, smoothing away the frown, running a finger down his nose,

"your honesty..."

unhooking his glasses and gently brushing my fingers over his shyly-lowered lids (he's blushing now), taking his strong chin in my hand, tilting his face up so he looks squarely into the mirror again,

"your passion..."

my thumb in the hollow of his upper lip, skimming the smoothness of his firm mouth, pushing between his lips to feel the silky inner surface and the line of his teeth.

This is making me light headed with desire and I sway against him, burying my head against his hair and neck, wrapping my arms across his chest, holding myself up with his strength.

He groans softly, rolling his head against mine and I lift my hand to his smooth scalp, caressing the beautiful curve of his skull, still cataloguing his wonders...

"I love your bare head, your soft hair, your neck, your ears..."

My fingers move with my whispered words, feeling the warm skin, the familiar and beloved geography of my life-partner. I hand him back his glasses:

"You'd better put these on again, I want you to see all of this as clearly as I do."

I take his jacket off, remove his tie and start to unbutton his shirt, watching my own actions in the mirror. My hand circles his exposed throat, down the bare skin to the tender hollow at the base where I can feel his pulse beating.

"I love the fine skin here, the way the sweat pools there when we make love, the way I can feel your heartbeat, so strong and so fragile, so near the surface when I kiss you there..."

I touch two fingers to that pulse, as I would my two lips, then continue to open his shirt and pull it off him.

"Your shoulders are magnificent. I never knew how beautiful muscles could be until I saw you shirtless for the first time. I love the way they flex - how every one is so clear, how you look as if you could hold up the world with that strength..."

I kiss across his back and bite gently at the curve of his shoulder, moaning against the smooth skin, overcome with my hunger for him.

Lifting my gaze to the mirror again, I splay my hands over his chest, letting the curling hair nestle around my fingers,

"Your chest is... perfect. You're so firm but your skin is like silk stretched over all that muscle. I love your chest hair - soft and springy, defining these gorgeous curves..."

my palms cupping his pectorals, watching his chest heave with his deep breaths, inhaling the scent of his warm skin.

"I love your nipples - so responsive..."

They peak under my teasing fingers even as I say the words.

"I love to suck on something so soft and sensitive and feel the velvet pucker against my lips..."

Walter writhes against my hands, his eyes closing sensually, his lips parted.

Shoes and socks next. I kneel and reach around to unlace his sober Florsheims with their mirror polish. I love Walter's work uniform: the heavy black shoes, the beautifully-tailored dark suits, the starched white shirts. No-one looks as wonderful as Walter in his executive glory, no-one can fill a Brooks Brothers suit the way Walter can, so that all you can think of is the body underneath.

Crouched here beside him, making him lift each foot so I can remove his shoes and socks, I'm so aroused by him I can barely breathe.

Shakily, I stand behind him again and begin to unbuckle his belt. Deliberately, I press my groin against him, knowing he will feel my erection, making it another affirmation of how he makes me feel, of how much I love him and want him.

I push his pants and briefs down off his hips and touch his thigh to get him to step out of them. He seems rapt, staring at my face in the mirror with wide eyes.

Now he is naked, as beautiful a sight as I have ever seen, standing tall and straight now, where before he was hunched with weariness.

He radiates health and physical power. His tanned skin glows, his body is toned and taut and as rampantly male as can be, his cock hardening and his incredible chest heaving with emotion.

I pull him back hard against me, crushing my own erection between us. I steady him, letting my hands linger over the flat belly and lean hips, dizzy with the scent of him, the heat of him, the sheer size of him.

But I haven't finished my positive reinforcement yet and it's so wonderful to see him regaining his self-esteem. My voice is husky with arousal now:

"If your chest is perfect, then your ass is a gift from God."

He lets loose a startled hiccup of laughter, even as he blushes again. How far we've come since he stood downstairs feeling worthless and miserable.

"I got hard the first time I saw you bent over the drinking fountain."

Another gasp of laughter, the dark brows arching upwards.

"I dream of this when I have to sleep alone, I torture myself with the thought of this as I sit at my desk..."

I slide my hand over the hard, tight mass of one high ass-cheek, squeezing gently.

"...and when I make love to you and I'm pressed against this gorgeous flesh, I could turn cannibal..."

I fall to my knees behind him, mouthing the beautiful satiny buttocks, nibbling and kissing, feeling my cock jerk with every brush of the hot, hard muscle against my lips.

Weakly, I lean against his hip, stroking his powerful thighs while I catch my breath. The quadriceps jump under my hands and his buttocks clench as he fights to stand upright. He spreads his feet slightly to brace himself and I move around him to kneel between his legs, abandoning the mirror-image at last.

I look up the towering height of him: my strong, beautiful lover - not old, but magnificently in his prime, the only one I love, the only one I want in the whole world.

I bend low and kiss each bare foot, then start to browse my way up his long legs, moving from one to the other, sharing my kisses equally.

"I love your legs, Walter. They're long, tanned, perfectly muscled, did I say long?, just the right amount of hair, all these interesting scars, just so long, such smooth skin, strong, graceful and so goddamn long!"

I'm mumbling now, my mouth against the silk of his inner thighs, nudging his legs further apart and moving upward until at last my lips brush his balls. I sit back on my heels and look at him.

His eyes are all pupil - velvet black. His lips are parted, his face and body sheened with sweat. In font of my face, his erect penis arches away from his groin, powerful, smooth-skinned, the veins prominent, the head glistening with moisture. His balls are heavy, the heat of him palpable against my face.

"And as for this..."

I kiss the beaded tip.

"Once in a lifetime, if you're very lucky, you find something as beautiful as this, and if you can, you make it yours for the rest of your life."

And I take the silk-over-steel of him into my mouth and lose myself in sensation.

After a while my hand strays to my own straining cock and it takes only two strokes before I let go and the stickiness spurts over my hand and over Walter's legs, just before he explodes in my mouth - his hot salt-sweetness more than I can swallow. His big hands are on my shoulders, all that is keeping him from toppling over. He's barely conscious now: tiredness, relaxation and the dying tremors of his orgasm taking his last reserves of strength.

I manage to lurch to my feet, cradling him tenderly against me as a mother would a sleepy child, and steer him into the bathroom.

The bath is just about to overflow and the delicate spicy scent fills the steamy room. I shut off the trickling faucet and let about eight inches of water out of the brim-full tub. Walter is leaning against the basin, his eyes closed, swaying with weariness.

I help him into the bath and wash him, sluicing the fragrant water over him and gently sponging his face and body as he lies back, letting me take care of him for once. After a few minutes, I climb in beside him and clean myself off too. The water is silky with the aromatic oils and the heady scent is making me drowsy too.

I get Walter wrapped in his big creamy cotton robe, belt my own robe around myself and we weave our way back into the bedroom, barely able to keep our eyes open by now.

We fall on top of the covers, still in our bathrobes. I hold Walter tightly, his head tucked against my shoulder, my leg hooked over his hip, keeping him close against me. Before we drift into sleep, I have to make sure he understands what I've been trying to tell him this evening.

"Walter, you are everything to me. I can't live without you, I won't live without you. Time moves on for us all and I'm glad of every minute of the 48 years that has made this face and this body and this beautiful soul."

I touch his cheek and then lay my hand over his heart. He lifts the hand to his mouth and kisses it, then lifts his mouth to mine.

We kiss each other towards sleep and I think he's actually snoring gently when I murmur:

"Did I tell you... I love your hands, Walter..."

THE END

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