RATING: NC-17 for m/m interaction

CATEGORY: SR, a bit A, slash (Mulder/Skinner>

SPOILERS: none, it features an entirely imaginary case.

SUMMARY: A day of torment, a night of bliss

DISCLAIMER: The characters of Mulder and Skinner are the creation and property of CC, 1013 Production, Fox Television and the talented actors who give them life. No money is being made from their use here, and no infringement of copyright is intended.

THANKS: to Hal for endless patience, intelligent comments, brilliant beta reading and the creation of some of the choicest phrases in this piece.

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

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

"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 non-plussed 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 tantalising: 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, revelling 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

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