THE LOOK OF LOVE

By Sergeeva [34K, Feb. 24^th 2000]

Rated: NC-17, Slash

Heartfelt thanks to: Xanthe for inspired and speedy beta - the lovely bit about the stars is all thanks to her!

[Author's Note: A birthday gift for my dear Kolja - making use of the wonderful universe she created in her "Existence I and II"]

For their one-month anniversary, Walter had given him a travelling copy of Rumi's love poems, the antique leather binding soft and pliant, just the right size to slip into a jacket pocket. He'd left it in a motel in Wyoming ten days later, and then made Scully drive them back 20 miles to retrieve it. Walter had shaken his head despairingly when Mulder confessed his carelessness, and whispered a quotation to him, words interspersed with kisses until Mulder hardly knew how to still his surging heart...

Mulder was in Arizona when the three-month milestone arrived. He took an hour's break from poring over aerial photographs of tracts of desert for evidence of an ancient alien landing strip, and found a Starbucks. Sitting quietly with a chai tea latté he closed his eyes and thought of Walter, back in DC. He thanked the Fates for steering him into that other Starbucks to escape the Christmas shopping hell, for giving him the courage to act on his feelings. When Walter called him that evening he could only make inarticulate schmoopy murmurs (God, Walter... Yeah, I know... Oh babe... You... I... Oh god, Walter...) while they listened to each other breathing for 20 minutes, and it was the most intense phone sex he'd ever known.

To celebrate six months together, they'd gone up to the cabin in Maine, gorged themselves on seafood and made love in the shower, the hammock on the porch, the hired sailboat, the back seat of the Jeep and even the big old pine bed. It had hardly been warm enough for the outdoor escapades, but desire warmed them and they were as hungry for each other as two hormonal teens. Walter had given him a T-shirt with "Klaatu Barada Nikto" in silver letters on the front, and fed him homemade pecan brittle as they sat and watched the sunset.

In September he and Walter went on vacation together. Yosemite. Hiking. Walter's plan, Mulder's sacrifice for the sake of love. Spending two weeks lugging life's necessities around in a backpack and cooking re-hydrated stews over a campfire was definitely not Mulder's idea of a fun time, but nights under the stars, snuggled up in a sleeping bag with Walter, after a day of watching those l-o-o-o-n-g legs and tight buns striding along in shorts and boots - well that made it all worth while and Mulder had actually enjoyed the experience. Walter relaxed, got a tan, looked wonderful. He cooked delicious meals from the most unpromising supplies and named the constellations for Mulder, as they sat under the open night sky on the eve of their ten-month anniversary. Mulder, who knew the names himself, kept silent; letting Walter's dark brown voice melt over him, and watching Walter's dark brown eyes reflecting the heavens. It had been very special.

Everything was like that now. The most intense sensations, the most vivid memories: sensory overload every time they were together. As well as his subconscious, that dreamed of Walter every night they had to spend apart, there was also his wicked imagination, that made him smirk in the midst of budget meetings because he'd been visited by a sudden vision of Walter splayed naked over his big cherry-wood AD's desk. Even more intense was his own particular "sensciousness", as he thought of it, spooling out a continual sensual inventory of everything Walter while he worked, drove, ate... "Walter - the Movie" playing in his head all day long

He sat in the basement office and the scent of Walter was in his nostrils. He stood in the elevator and felt the heat of Walter against his skin. He dipped his head over the drinking fountain and his lips remembered the brush of Walter's kiss. His hand smoothed down the leg of his suit pants and his palm felt the heavy curve of Walter's shoulder, or the rippled muscles of his stomach. Idly rubbing at his temple while reading a case file, it was the tender roughness of Walter's fingertip that he sensed. Everything was Walter, and still he couldn't get enough.

Eleven months since that fateful meeting in a DC coffee shop, 47 weeks and 2 days of being with Walter, of being Walter's, of Walter being his. Over the months Walter had given him inspired presents, delicious meals, heartfelt poems, passionate nights, romantic getaways, and more love than Mulder could ever believe he deserved. Mulder had given him headaches, rugburn, a phone bill to rival the national debt, and a collection of tacky Elvis memorabilia that was...well, impressive.

From general stores, pharmacies, soda fountains and gift shops in every one-horse town, phenomenon-plagued burg, or serial-killer-haunted community Mulder had visited in the line of duty, he'd managed to find something Elvis-related to bring back for Walter. It had started as a joke - the lurid ceramic condiment sets and paperweights and ashtrays so out of place amidst Walter's elegantly understated décor that he fully expected Walter to ceremonially hurl the garish objects over the balcony rail. But Walter had kept every last one of them, lined up against the books in his study, affectionately and carefully moved when Walter actually wanted to get at a book. That touched Mulder more than just about anything about this remarkable man. Not just his unexpected sentiment and his incurably romantic heart, but the respect he showed for all of Mulder's many eccentricities.

Mulder loved Walter with all his heart. He'd even told him so a couple of times. In a casual, teasing, not-in-so-many-words sort of way. What he felt inside wasn't casual, though. The soundtrack to his new life, to "Walter - the Movie", was swelling violins, close harmonies of impassioned chords, spine-tingling carillons of chiming bells... What he felt inside was every romantic song he'd ever heard, every saccharine Valentine card, every cupid-cluttered cliché the copywriters had ever come up with. Sassy, smart-mouthed, ever-articulate Fox Mulder was struck dumb when it came to putting his enchantment into words.

Of course, there were other ways than words to show how he felt, and when he got Walter naked he certainly made sure his lover knew exactly how much he was desired and craved and needed. But Mulder felt badly that he hadn't been able to come up with some tangible something to give his lover, something that conveyed a more heartfelt emotion than a napkin holder in the shape of The King, emblazoned with the tender declaration of "I was a sell-out in Armpit, Nebraska". He'd cudgelled his brain for inspiration. Maybe matching identity bracelets? - but neither of them was really the jewellery type. A rare edition of Walter's beloved Whitman? - but Walter already had several. A romantic cruise? - but they'd already used up more vacation time than either of them had taken in years and the Bureau rumour-mill had quite enough fodder already... Nothing seemed to be good enough or original enough or personal enough to celebrate his love for this rarest of men. Their first anniversary was looming and Mulder was determined to make a statement, a declaration of his love. But how...? He'd even asked Scully for advice, but she just tapped his forehead and said it was the thought that counted, and it had to be his own thought.

The answer came out of the blue when he was least expecting it. He and Scully had to interview a Georgetown U. professor in connection with a case and they'd arrived early. While they were waiting for the class to finish, Scully spotted an old college friend who turned out to be teaching an extra-mural art class at the University. While the two women sat and chatted, Mulder amused himself by sprawling on one of the groups of seats in the corner of the foyer, watching the students come and go. When Scully walked back to join him, she had a glint in her eye and slyly handed over a sheet from a small sketchpad. Her friend Leonie had been drawing while they talked, a series of quick, impressionistic studies of Mulder himself, each one hardly more than an outline and a touch of shading, but yet full of life and very recognisably Mulder. He blushed and looked quickly up to wave a sheepish thank you to the departing Leonie. That evening, he pulled the folded sheet out of his pocket and looked at the clever thumbnail sketches. The woman was very good. An idea was slowly forming in Fox Mulder's head.

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

Two evenings later Walter gave him the perfect opening. They were sharing the long sofa, Mulder's stocking feet in Walter's lap, tucked up against the promising firmness of Walter's denim-clad groin. Toes wiggling teasingly, he tormented the big man until Skinner set down his book and grinned at Mulder over his glasses.

"Bored, my love? Because here's something to think about. It's your birthday in a few days and I wondered if you had any special requests?"

Mulder knew Walter was referring to the birthday dinner he had planned for Mulder, but he pretended to have forgotten about that. Pressing his flexing feet more firmly against Skinner's crotch, he slid further down on the cushions and looked up at his lover through lowered lashes, playing the wanton.

"Never bored, Walter, just wanting to play... and as it happens, I do have a request. I was thinking of it to mark our anniversary, but if you were looking for birthday ideas, it's something that would really mean a lot to me ..."

Skinner looked as if he was fast losing the will to carry on the conversation, with the ball of Mulder's foot massaging him steadily. His eyes were hooded and his breathing growing more ragged by the second. Mulder trailed his cotton-clad big toe down the zipper of Walter's jeans. Walter groaned and spread his thighs a little wider.

"Um, yes..." Mulder continued, casually. "I met this artist, a portrait painter. She's really good. Don't you think a portrait would be great? For our anniversary. " He circled one foot against Walter's now visible arousal and insinuated the other down between Walter's legs, back and forth along the crotch seam of the tight jeans. "Or for my birthday." He was squirming himself now; glad of the loose sweatpants he was wearing. His foot tracked maddeningly from the cleft of Walter's ass up to the beautiful bulge of his confined erection. Only a thin cotton sock, the worn, silky denim and Walter's Fruit of the Looms separated skin from skin. Walter moaned and made a superhuman effort to sit upright and regain some decorum.

"A painting? Of the two of us? I thought you hated to even have your photo taken?"

Mulder refrained from mentioning that he had no intention of being in this portrait. He managed with difficulty to control his own breathing and keep up the sensual caress of his lover's swelling groin. Walter would agree to anything when he was like this.

"It could be a drawing, a sketch - nothing too pretentious. Just to please me?" He was wheedling shamelessly and it was an unfair contest because Walter was flat on his back now, one long leg flung over the sofa back, his hips arching, no resistance left.

"Unnhhh... I guess that would be... aaooohh... okaaaYYY!"

Rolling forward on top of his flushed and gorgeous lover, Mulder grinned a wicked grin.

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

Walter was a gentleman. When Mulder reminded him of his agreement in the shower later that evening, he didn't try to back out of the plan. Mulder let him see the little-boy hope in his face and watched delightedly as Skinner's natural modesty was overtaken by his pleasure in giving Mulder what he wanted. Except Mulder didn't actually tell him what he really wanted.

Over the days leading up to his birthday, he managed brilliantly to avoid describing precisely what "the portrait" would be. He let Walter think that it was to be some sort of dignified "Victorian" portrayal of the two of them, something perfectly respectable and proper. What Mulder had in mind though, and what he'd arranged after a secret visit to Leonie's studio, was a sensual, lingeringly-detailed, erotic portrait of his naked lover in all his male magnificence.

Leonie was happy to take such a commission. She showed Mulder several nude studies she'd made and Mulder felt so comfortable with her, felt such sympathy radiating from her, that he poured out his passion for Walter and left her in no doubt how much this picture would mean to him. He told Leonie that Walter was shy but that he would bring him round to the idea of a nude portrait in time for their appointment at her studio on his birthday. Now all he had to do was break this news to Walter.

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

On the morning of Mulder's birthday Walter brought him breakfast in bed: freshly baked pancakes, blueberry syrup and a small square red box, tied with a silver ribbon. Inside the box was a lucite cube containing a little strip of film stock. Walter looked a bit sheepish, dipped his head and smiled.

"It's from one of the original prints of 'The Day the Earth Stood Still'. Just an out-take, but I though you might get a kick out of it. Happy birthday, Fox"

Mulder held the clear block up to the light and saw the huge silver robot standing on the ramp of the spaceship. He reached for Walter's hand, suddenly needing to clear his throat, and blink his eyes.

"How do you do it? Every time," he whispered, and leaned in to smear rather a lot of blueberry syrup over Walter's smiling lips. Several minutes and one long fruity kiss later, disaster almost struck. Gently disengaging from the clinch, Walter looked suddenly serious and businesslike:

"So what do you want us to wear for this portrait, then?"

Without thinking, Mulder licked his lips and smirked. "It doesn't really matter." As soon as the words were out of his mouth he wanted to claw them back. Walter was looking puzzled and a bit deflated, and he had to do something before awkward question were asked...

"Er... I mean you always look sensational, Walter, and I want you to be relaxed, so I didn't want to dictate... You should wear whatever you feel comfortable in."

Walter still looked a bit askance, but Mulder had the reins firmly in hand again now.

"How about that new dark red shirt and your black jeans? A nice compromise between smart and casual. After all, I chose the shirt and you know how I love your ass in black." And out of it, he thought to himself. Sliding slowly out of tight, black denim... pushing those skin-fitting jeans down over lean hips... He must have looked as turned on as he felt, because Skinner blushed and slid off the bed, walking towards his closet. Oh yeah, that ass was in fine form all right... grey marl boxer briefs clung enticingly to the tautest buttocks on the planet...

"Sounds good to me, Mulder."

Looks good to me, Walter...

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

Fifty minutes later and Walter was behind the wheel of the BMW, steering them towards Georgetown and the converted town-house apartment where Leonie had her studio. Time was running out. Mulder had some fast talking to do.

"You know when you asked what you should wear this morning?"

"Yeah. I knew you'd have definite ideas. This is your birthday gift, Fox. I want it to be right."

"You're great, Walter... I know this isn't really your sort of thing..."

"No, I don't mind, really. The film cell was just a joke gift, I can see this is what you've really set your heart on, so I'm happy to do it."

"I hope you will be, Walter. You see... um... I have something very particular in mind."

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

"No way!"

Only Walter's consummate driving skills and immense self-control saved them from swerving into a florist's plate glass window as Mulder nervously confessed what he had in mind. He wondered if he would have to take the wheel, and reached out a tentative hand in case Skinner burst a blood vessel. Walter slapped the wheel once, hard, and bit off an involuntary expletive. But then he seemed to calm, and Mulder could almost hear the muscles in his shoulders and jaw unclench themselves. There was a torturous silence for a minute, during which Mulder wondered if it would be less painful to jump from the moving car than await his lover's wrath.

"It's your birthday. I won't fight with you." The deep chest rose and fell in a couple of deliberate calming breaths. "I love you, Fox. Making you happy is a pleasure to me. I'm really not sure if I can do this, and you really should have told me from the start, but... " They pulled up at the address Mulder had given him. Skinner deliberately turned off the engine and swivelled in his seat to look directly at Mulder. "... I'll try. For you. Only for you."

Mulder swallowed hard.

"God, Walter, I'm sorry. I know I should have told you from the beginning, and I knew you would be uncomfortable with the idea, and I'm a bastard for using my birthday to con you into doing this, but..." he swallowed again and made his face and voice as serious as he possibly could. "... you are so beautiful. You have no idea, but you are. I don't need a picture to show me how beautiful you are, and believe me, I don't mean to make a public display of you, but to see you through someone else's eyes, to see you in all your glory, that vision captured forever... Well, normally, I'm so blinded by wonder and stupid with longing for you that I'm dazzled. This way, I can see what I'm missing." He ducked his head in embarrassment, partly at the less-than-romantic expression, and partly at having spoken his adoration out loud, more clearly than he ever had before. It was past time, and he had more to say yet, but right now he cared only that Walter understood why he wanted this.

Walter let one eyebrow lift with the possibility of umbrage, keeping Mulder on tenterhooks for one endless moment, then his face softened into warmth and affection. He smiled, wryly.

"Bastard. Devious, devilish bastard. It's just as well that I love you."

He swung his long legs out of the car and Mulder released the breath he'd been holding. Maybe it would be all right. Maybe.

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

The studio was not like most people's expectation of an artist's studio. No big windows letting in clear northern light. No paint-splattered easels or stacks of unframed canvasses leaning against white walls. It was a big room but the atmosphere was intimate and cosy, more like a living room than a workroom. The floor was carpeted in faded Turkish rugs, the tall windows were curtained in heavy velvet drapes, tiffany lamps and candelabra were dotted about, several vast tapestry-covered couches and divans were laden with silk pillows and shawls in rich jewel colours, The effect was exotic and yet welcoming.

Leonie herself was the warmest presence in the unusual room. Her ample body was swathed in layers of beaded silks and patchwork, her dark wavy hair was looped up with antique pins and combs, but corkscrew tendrils escaped to wreathe her welcoming face. She held a large grey cat to her bosom and offered the men an unexpectedly neat hand, unadorned by any jewelllery.

"Mulder - I still can't quite get used to calling you that! - go down now, Pushkin - thank you for bringing Walter to meet me." She smiled up into the two tall men's faces without coyness or affectation. Her handshake was firm, and Mulder remembered why he had felt sure that she was the right person to entrust with this special commission. He turned to introduce Walter.

"Leonie Campion, Walter Skinner - my beloved."

Walter's jaw dropped, and Leonie's smile grew even warmer, as she took his hand.

"Well, now we all know what's at stake here. Not just any old portrait, but a portrait of his best beloved. I must do good work," she twinkled. "Walter, you know what Mulder has in mind?"

Mulder watched Walter assessing the woman: her straightforward manner, her relaxed good spirits, her unselfconscious enjoyment of being part of their special day. Inside his pants pockets he crossed his fingers, just in case.

"Yes, Ma'am. But I've never done anything like this before, so... " He trailed off, his ears blushing pink, his voice gruff.

"Well, I've talked to Mulder about this, and the most important thing of all is that you're comfortable. Let's start by taking our shoes off and having a comfy seat, shall we?"

Her accent was hard to place. Maybe a Brit who'd spent a long time here, but not quite lost her English vowels? She was younger than either man, but somehow managed to exude a comfortable, almost motherly matter-of-factness. She took Walter by the hand and led him to one of the squashy divans. He obediently toed off his shoes and sat beside her. Mulder followed, tugging off his own footwear and flopping down on the rug at their feet.

Coffee was served, and time passed. Leonie explained how she liked to use gentle lamp or candle light when she made her nude studies. Not only did it make for a far less clinical atmosphere, but it brought out the beauty of bare skin and the warmth of a person's presence. She got Walter talking about artists he admired and laid one of her own portfolios on the low table in front of them, slowly turning over each sheet without comment, allowing Walter to make his own assessment. Her style was distinctive: pure line to shape the body and the subtlest of stippling and crosshatching to shade the contours. Her portraits were of old women and young couples, rugged body-builders and slender dancers, all ages and body-types, all drawn with insight and appreciation and respect for each person's differing appearance. Mulder sat quietly and watched Walter relax in spite of himself, saw he was impressed with Leonie's talents.

After an hour or more, Leonie rose gracefully from the couch and announced she would get her materials together.

"Mulder, you can show Walter where to undress. I think the crimson would look good on him, and maybe on that sofa by the window. I'm going to really enjoy this!" She beamed, disarmingly and left the room. Walter began to get tense again, now that the moment had arrived, but Mulder stepped up close and took him in his arms.

"There's no one here but friends, Walter. I know your beautiful body as well as you do yourself, and Leonie's already confessed to me that she thinks you're stunning... "

"She has?" Walter's eyes were huge in the soft light, he looked as if he'd just stepped through the looking-glass into Alice's Wonderland.

"Mmm. You are stunning, Walter. Everyone who sees you knows it. Only you don't see it." He adored Walter like this - shy and bemused and almost nervous. Big, strong, Marine-tough Walter Skinner AD, gorgeous and clueless. While he soothed Walter's nerves, Mulder was unbuttoning his shirt and unzipping his pants. In no time at all, he'd stroked the crisp cotton off the broad shoulders and caressed the black denim down over that perfect ass and those narrow hips... Briefs and socks followed and before Walter had time to feel exposed or vulnerable, Mulder reached for a huge sheet of crimson silk, edged in gold embroidery, and wrapped it around Walter like a Roman toga. He sat his lover down on the brown velvet couch and began fiddling with the folds of the silk sheet.

Between Mulder's fussing hands and Walter's ineffective slaps and fidgets, neither man noticed when Leonie came back into the room and took up her position on a low ottoman across the room. Eventually, she coughed, softly, and smiled at the two engrossed men.

"Leave him be, Mulder. We can make adjustments as we go along. Let me see how the lighting is."

She directed Mulder to move a floor-standing lamp and a branching candelabra, so that Walter's naked torso was dramatically washed with the warm light, gilding every defined muscle on his chest and stomach. The rich red silk lay across his lap, providing a modest cover, that yet suggested in it's fluid fall, the curves of powerful thigh muscles and the mass of heavy cock and balls nestling between them. Walter sat with his weight on one arm, looking to the side, the strong bones of his face making a striking profile against the partially-draped window.

As Leonie worked, she gave occasional directions, and Mulder, reclining on the soft rugs at her feet, was entranced to see Walter imperceptibly relax and allow her to lead him into revealing his glorious body little by little...

"Lean back to the right a little, try putting your leg up on the seat... there, now just move the edge of the sheet a touch... good... Turn your face to me, just a bit more... straighten your other leg, yes, like that... let the sheet just lie over your hip... Maybe a slight turn away, let me see just the curve of your buttock... ah, great shadows across your back now - beautiful! Don't worry about the sheet, you're not cold are you? Good... that light is gorgeous, just tipping your nipples..."

Mulder watched spellbound as Leonie cajoled his adorable self-conscious Walter into becoming the perfect model. After forty minutes he was standing, completely naked, his beautiful serious face concentrated and intense, his dark melting eyes fixed on Mulder, his body like a Rodin bronze, the epitome of power and masculinity. He seemed to be using Mulder as an anchor. Being openly admired like this was not easy for him, but Mulder gazed up at him with unwavering love and Leonie covered sheet after sheet with her lyrical, fluid lines and curves.

Letting the latest sheet of Ingres paper slide down to join the other on the floor, Leonie set the box of oil pastels down and arched her back, loosening the cramped muscles, shaking out the kinks in her arms and shoulders.

"I think some tea is in order," she murmured, seeing all too well that the men were lost in each other and didn't hear a word.

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

Mulder was the first to realise they were alone in the room. He kneeled up and moved close to Walter's bare legs. Putting his hands on the lean hips he pushed gently, settling Walter back against the arm of the nearest couch. Walter seemed to shake himself out of a trance then, letting his weight rest on the padded arm of the chaise, stretching his legs out on either side of his kneeling lover. Slowly, Mulder stroked his hands down Walter's muscled thighs, then, like a sleepy contented child, he laid his head against the smooth skin, nuzzling his face into the fuzz of dark curls, and kissing the dusky scrotum, the velvety cock. His eyes closed in bliss as he kissed and kissed, tuning his face against Walter's groin, lifting his hand to curl under the heavy testicles, cupping them for his softly lapping tongue...

Walter's heavy hand settled on Mulder's dark head, petting the soft hair, caressing but not directing. His bent head was in shadow, but his eyes were soft with tenderness and the edge of his teeth gleamed white where they softly bit his lower lip.

Coming back into the room, Leonie stopped dead at the sight of this transfixing tableau. Her artist's eye memorised the line of Walter's powerful torso, the grace of his braced legs, the elegant bones of his bare feet and his gentle, stroking hands. She took in the joy of Mulder's enraptured face and of his long fingers cherishing his lover's body. Backing silently out of the room again, she reached for another pad and pencil.

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

The sketches were carefully stowed in a portfolio for Mulder to take away with him, and it was a very different Walter Skinner who took Leonie's hand in his as they stood ready to depart. He still had a tinge of pink on the tips of his ears, and he was still calling her "Ma'am", but he was also smiling a wide, warm smile that made Mulder's knees go weak and started him calculating how fast they dare drive home and how soon he could get Walter where he wanted him... Walter lifted Leonie's hand to his lips and kissed it, like a courtier.

"Thank you for a... an unforgettable experience, Ma'am. I'm sorry I was such a trouble."

"Silly man! You weren't any trouble at all. Quite the reverse. I've done some of my best work ever, today. It's I should be thanking you, both of you. Take care now, and drive carefully!"

Mulder did a double-take at her comment - could she read his mind? Probably. He guessed he was making it pretty obvious what direction his thoughts were heading in. Probably his hand clamped over Walter's right butt cheek was a clue, and the shit-eating grin on his face, and the straining button fly of his chinos...

He kissed Leonie on the cheek and took charge of the portfolio. She also handed him a separate large envelope, merely smiling up at them both as she passed it over.

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

Mulder insisted on driving. He nudged the speed limit every foot of the way back to Crystal City. Walter sat quietly, watching Mulder from the passenger seat, holding the portfolio on his lap. They stood facing one another in the elevator up to Walter's apartment, not needing words to know what was on both their minds. Mulder shoved the apartment door shut with his butt and walked Walter backward, straight up to the bedroom, peeling his clothes off him as he walked, their eyes locked together. They stepped out of the last of their clothing and fell on the bed, moaning urgent kisses into each other's mouths, rolling over and over on the comforter, sliding long legs between and around, skimming hungry hands over chests and backs and bellies, dipping nips and licks over hardening nipples...

"You were unbelievable, Walter! You are unbelievable... wait until you see yourself... I wanted to cry a couple of times, you looked so fucking beautiful."

"Don't, Fox, I'm just a battle-scarred bald guy - nothing special. You're the one with the fire inside. Your eyes, right now, they're all lit up, with I don't know what... "

"With love, bald guy. With love. I love you, Walter Skinner." There - he'd said it. The simple truth. He knew it the way he knew how to breathe - like it was something impossible not to do. I live, I breathe, I love Walter. Suddenly out of the quiet joy the ravenous lust arose again. He rolled Walter beneath him, running his hand hard down the sculpted body, down to the springing, heated cock.

"And less of the 'nothing special', you hear... you're special to me. I'm addicted to you, Walter. Right now I want to be inside you, and around you and joined to you... I want to watch you come for me, hear you roar, I want to make love to you for all the perfect days and nights you've given me."

Walter pulled him down to meet his kiss, Wrapping one big arm tight around him, reaching out with the other for the lube on the nightstand. With chuckles and curses they squirted each other with lube and elbowed each other in the ribs and finally got the right bits slicked. Walter lifted his hips and Mulder slid home and it was so resoundingly home that he cracked out a sob of pure happiness at the feeling of rightness. And Walter flexed his beautiful muscles and curled up to kiss the single tear off Fox's cheek, and they rocked together and found their rhythm. Fast and hard, and then slowing, deepening, until he was hardly moving inside Walter, just settling his weight in a tantalising slide across Walter's prostate with a tilt of his hips, again and again and yet again... One final arch of pelvis against pelvis and his fist, teasing Walter's silky hard penis, pulling up sharply, and there was heat and liquidity and burning shivery tightness and release, and their cries, an octave apart, almost synchronised.

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

It was one of those perfect autumn dawns. Crisp, clear skies, sharp frost. Pink and gold and pure bright blue.

Mulder sat cross-legged on the bed, looking at the sketches. He had a tissue crumpled in one hand and his nose was a little red, but his eyes were smiling. All Walter's powerful presence and grace were captured in the studies... his confidence in his own strength, his unconscious masculine sexuality, his unexpected gentleness, his sheer physical magnificence... Mulder looked at the man sleeping peacefully beside him, ran his hand gently over the smooth skull. One big tanned hand was spread on the pillow next to Mulder's hip. He laid his own, narrower hand over it, closing his eyes to concentrate on the feeling of warm skin against his palm.

One-handed, he broke the seal on the large unmarked envelope and let the contents slide out. Turned the leaf of drawing paper the right way up. Saw himself leaning against Walter's groin, the big, graceful man bent over him, with a look of such wordless adoration that Mulder felt his heart clench inside him. He'd told Walter that to see his beauty through someone else's eyes would make it all the more intense. To see Walter's love for him through someone else's eyes was... beyond words.

He pulled down the sheet and contemplated his warm, naked bed-mate. His fingers closed over the big tanned hand and he whispered the words of Rumi, the Persian poet who had brought them together:

"In your light I learn how to love.

In your beauty, how to make poems.

You dance inside my chest,

where no one sees you,

but sometimes I do, and that

sight becomes this art."

Suddenly a thought struck him, looking at the sketches spread around him. Once again, he'd got the star prize. A birthday gift to beat all birthday gifts. And he still had less than a month to come up with an anniversary present worthy of Walter... He bent over the smooth curve of Walter's ass:

"Well, let's start with mind-blowing sex every day for the next month..."

THE END