The phone beeped and Skinner set aside the sushi he was making and wiped his hands.

"Skinner."

"It's me, Walter. I'm leaving now, so I should be there about nine. Keep everything hot for me..."

"Hmmpph." Skinner made a sound somewhere between a snort and a suppressed chortle. "You bet. Drive safely now, and no detours!"

"Who? Me?"

Skinner could imagine the look of innocent outrage on his lover's face and this time he couldn't stop a bark of laughter escaping.

They listened to each other breathing for a few seconds, then Skinner growled an affectionate "Don't be late," and hung up.

Still grinning, he went back to his bamboo mat and sheets of wakabe. So far it was all going to plan. He had plenty of time to finish the food, set the champagne to chill and take his shower. Enough time to set the perfect scene to greet his lover. Of course, when Fox Mulder was the lover in question, it paid to take nothing for granted...

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

Mulder put his cell phone away and smiled a slow smile. Tonight was going to be wonderful, the start of a perfect weekend with Walter. They hadn't been up to the cabin since Christmas and he knew it was the one place where Walter could truly relax and forget about his responsibilities, his job, and his AD persona. Actually, Walter was getting much better at forgetting about the Bureau once he left the portals of the JEH, but it still sometimes took him a whole evening to loosen up if they stayed in either of their apartments. Too many work associations, Mulder supposed, too many memories of confrontations and crises. Under the rustic wooden beams of the cabin they had known only love and laughter.

It still astonished Mulder that he and Walter were lovers. Through all the years when he'd baited Skinner, tested his tolerance to the limit, tried his patience, defied and mistrusted him, there had always been an undercurrent of... something... between them. It hadn't taken Fox Mulder long to realise that he had very specific feelings for the AD, feelings that he carefully concealed behind sarcasm, insolence, anger. Sometimes he fancied that he saw something in Skinner's face, in his eyes... but he never let himself hope that his fantasies could come true.

It had taken a stressful case, a Charleston hotel with defective air-conditioning and a mix-up over return flights to throw them together and make the miracle happen. As he crossed the echoing parking garage, Mulder started to grow hard remembering their first night together. He'd knocked on Skinner's hotel room door to beg the loan of a change of clothes after the arsonist they'd been pursuing had set fire to Mulder's car and with it, his luggage. Skinner had answered the door wearing only a towel wrapped around his shower-damp body, and Mulder had taken one look and pounced. They'd hardly left the room, let alone the hotel, for 48 hours.

Climbing into his car, Mulder sat for a few moments, playing back their first frenzied lovemaking, and the subsequent slower explorations of each other's bodies - in the shower, in the bath, on the sofa, up against the balcony windows, even in the bed... Mulder let his head loll back and his eyes close as he thought about Walter's glorious body. About the shock of being picked up bodily by his lover and carried to the bed. About the pleasure of thrusting and grappling with someone stronger than himself. About the breathtaking sensation of being sheathed in that powerful body, or the incredible ecstasy of watching Walter braced over him, of feeling Walter's mass and heat filling him...

That momentous weekend in Carolina had been six months ago and had changed both their lives for good. They had spent virtually all their free time together since then. Yes, there had been arguments and one serious sulk on Mulder's part, but neither of them could stay mad for long and there had been far more laughing than frowning, much more frolicking than fighting. Amazingly, the relationship worked.

Mulder pulled out into the heavy pre-holiday traffic and tried to concentrate on his driving. In a couple of hours he would be with Walter, showing him all over again how much he loved him, and being taken aback all over again at how intensely he was loved in return. He had a few new ideas to try out on the Big Guy this weekend. Smirking evilly to himself, he glanced at the seat beside him. Yes, everything was there. He was going to give his man such a good time...

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

Skinner arranged the delicate morsels of sushi on a square celadon platter, covered it carefully and put it into the refrigerator. He retrieved a dish of strawberries and a block of bittersweet chocolate and let his mind wander back to their last weekend at the cabin...

As he broke up the squares of chocolate into a bowl resting over warm water, his fingers snapped and dropped automatically, his thoughts on a vision of Fox Mulder sitting naked on the edge of the hot tub, painting a moustache and beard on himself with chocolate body paint. He'd painted "hair" onto Skinner's bald head too, and scrolling patterns over Skinner's back and stomach... the process of licking each other clean had been hilarious and very sensual.

Skinner was about to rinse his chocolate-smeared fingers under the tap, when on an impulse, he stuck them in his mouth instead, closing his eyes and letting the dark sweetness take him back... Mulder's long, lean body stretched out on the bed while Walter Skinner, former Marine and FBI Assistant Director, licked sticky tiger stripes off his companion's naked butt. If anyone had told him six months ago that he would even contemplate doing such a thing, he'd have seriously doubted their sanity. Yet Fox had not only given him back a sense of fun, but also reawakened a heart that Skinner had thought fossilised and dead.

He couldn't imagine a life without Mulder now. Weeknights sprawled together on Skinner's big leather couch, both reading files, or curled around each other in bed watching CNN, or squeezed into Mulder's tiny shower, making the perspex panels rattle as two tall men tried to soap and rinse in too small a space. Weekends finding new ways to see stars as they loved each other in every possible way and place in their apartments or here, up at the cabin. If he kept his eyes closed, Skinner could smell the scent of Mulder's clean shiny hair against his cheek, feel the slip of warm smooth skin...

Not much longer to wait tonight, though. Skinner resolutely brought his mind back to the here and now and started to dip the strawberries into the glossy melted chocolate.

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

Having a tire blow at 50 mph is no fun, and Mulder was just glad he was out of the DC traffic when it happened, and on a relatively empty stretch of the Interstate. Unfortunately, it was also a relatively habitation-free stretch too, no gas station, truck stop or trailer park within walking distance. Resignedly, he opened the trunk and hauled out the spare. Thank god it was in good condition and he had the necessary tools in there too. He took off his suit coat and tie and rolled up his shirt sleeves. As he laid the coat on the car seat he spotted his cell phone and wondered if he should call Walter. No point, he decided. Why worry the guy unduly, when he'd only be delayed by a few minutes.

As he crouched by the wheel, his stomach rumbled and he thought longingly of the meal Walter would be making for them. Yet another unsuspected delight of getting to know the man better had been the discovery that he was a keen cook and very good at it too. He was particularly talented at Japanese and Thai dishes, which, he'd shyly revealed to Mulder one night, he'd been taught to make by a motherly Madame at a whorehouse in Hue City. A better legacy of his time in 'Nam than the nightmares and guilt. Mulder hoped Walter would be making something Asian tonight. There was a lot of fun to be had feeding each other the delicious mouthfuls with the aid of chopsticks or fingers.

He bent to his task and set the wrench to the wheel nuts. He strained and heaved and nothing budged. Damn the idiots in the car shop who tightened them so much only a garage could loosen them again. He wasn't going to be kept from his supper and his Walter by any lump of metal. He kicked sullenly at the wheel and squatted again.

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

The food was almost ready. The dipped strawberries were cooling in the refrigerator, the chicken satay was marinating nicely, the sushi would keep Fox happy while the chicken finished and Skinner could only speculate what uses his lover would find for the mango slices and rice crackers. For someone who seemed to live on fast food and sunflower seeds most of the time, Mulder had an insatiable appetite whenever Skinner cooked. And he made eating into a sensual exploration: watching Mulder peel a lychee, or suck the last drop of yellow bean sauce off a long finger was a deeply erotic experience.

It had started innocently enough the first few times they'd shared a meal, with suggestive looks over the cutlery and provocative licking and nibbling that made Skinner blush when they were out in public. Here at the cabin, it was now an unwritten rule that they nearly always ate naked and the clearing up sometimes didn't get done for hours afterwards.

It went against every tenet of Skinner's puritanical Pennsylvania upbringing, and his former lifestyle of joyless order and neatness. It had taken him a while to relax in the face of unmade beds, unwashed pots, heaps of damp towels and the wide range of general messiness that Mulder brought with him. It still made him itch to clear up and wash up and straighten and polish sometimes, but then he would look at his rumpled, flushed-with-sex, incorrigibly scruffy and wonderful lover and know that it was all worth it.

Twenty past eight - he had just enough time to set the fire going, have his shower and set the scene before Fox arrived. He satisfied his need for some sense of organization with his careful planning of these weekends. This one was extra-special, of course, and he had taken extra trouble to ensure everything would be perfect. Now all it needed was Fox.

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

On the road again, only an hour and a quarter later than he should be, Mulder sucked at his scraped knuckle and pouted ruefully at his torn shirt. It had taken him 40 minutes to loosen the first bolt on the wheel, and then pure frustration had given him Hulk-like strength and he had actually snapped the wrench as he tightened the last one on the replaced tire. He hoped it was secure enough to get him to his destination and he hoped Walter wouldn't be too mad at his lateness. He'd never believe that Mulder had just had car trouble. Mulder could hear Walter's growls now...

He knew that Skinner had a reputation in the Bureau for being tough as nails and a heartless bastard to boot. He also knew how unfair that was. Yes, Skinner was tough - tough on himself first and on everyone else after. Mulder had discovered soon enough that his boss was fair-minded, patient and supportive of agents who worked hard and did their best. What he wouldn't tolerate was slackness, sloppiness or stupidity. Mulder had first-hand experience of exactly how tough Skinner could be on such behaviour.

In his position Skinner needed to have an unyielding image, but it wasn't the whole truth. He hid his feelings behind a gruff manner, concealing kindness and a tender heart behind a stern face and a steely voice. The first time Mulder saw him smile, he almost melted there and then. It was a slow, intense smile that started deep in the brown eyes and made Mulder feel as if the sun had just come out after a winter of chills and darkness. And his laugh - rich, warm, infectious. He laughed often when they made love, saying little but speaking with kisses and with that delicious low rumble that seemed so carefree and told Mulder, more than anything else did, that he made Walter happy. Walter was ticklish too, as Mulder was delighted to discover, and he would writhe and moan beautifully when Mulder sucked his toes or licked his ears or under his arms...

Mulder was blissfully planning exactly how he would make Walter writhe and moan that evening, how he would apologise in magnificent fashion for being late, when an old-fashioned baby carriage swept across the road only yards in front of him. He slammed on the brakes, wrenching at the wheel as the car skidded and came to a halt across the highway, the baby carriage rolling squeakily off out of sight into the woods on the left. As he sat, heart pounding and mind boggling, a thin distraught woman ran out of the field on his right and began pounding on the car window, screaming:

"They've taken her, they've taken my baby!"

Sighing, Mulder climbed out of the car, for once in his life not at all happy to be confronted with an apparent X-File.

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

Skinner stepped under the steaming spray of the shower and let it sluice down over his naked body. He had always looked after his health as a matter of efficiency, to be at optimum fitness for his demanding job. Now, suddenly, at 47, he'd been forced to see himself in a new light. He ran soapy hands down the length of his body and heard Fox in his head telling him he was beautiful. He felt embarrassed to be thinking of it, but Fox was so graphic in his appreciation. So many times they had stood close in the shower and Fox had run possessive fingers over Skinner's chest or ass and leaned in to whisper the most ego-boosting things in his ear. Describing what he'd like to do to Skinner's body, touching him with those knowing hands until Skinner was helpless with lust.

When he looked at Fox he was bereft of words. He had spent so many hours gazing at that lanky, elegant body and that unique face that he was incapable of being objective. He couldn't say if Fox was beautiful or not, he only knew what he felt when he looked at his lover - the tightness in his throat that made breathing hard, the fierce emotions that welled up, making him think of serious things like commitment and vows. Fox was all he wanted, all he wanted to look at.

When he looked at himself, he saw a hard body, scarred, and showing its 47 years all too clearly. He saw a boxer's broken nose, a bald pate, a gathering of lines around his eyes... It was hard to see himself as anything but workaday, yet Mulder looked at him with wonder and made him feel proud.

Shaking his head at such woolgathering, he hastily finished washing and shut off the water. Knotting a towel around his hips he stood at the basin and shaved carefully, testing the smoothness of his jaw with a critical hand. Finally, he returned to the kitchen to check on the food one last time.

The kitchen clock surprised him - 8.50 and Fox would be here any time. All that daydreaming in the shower... Nice way to waste time, he mused, smiling softly, and felt again the surge of love at the mere thought of his lover hastening to be with him. He grabbed the ice bucket and the bottle of champagne and set them by the hearth, the sushi beside them. Soon the fragrant logs were crackling and the flames made the room look welcoming. One last thing to do and he would be ready.

When he came back to the fireside with his armload of pillows, comforters and other essentials, he thought that maybe the room was a little too bright, so he switched the lamps off, leaving only the candles on the window ledges and the leaping flames in the hearth to light the room. He carefully set lube and condoms and washcloths on the low table by the chimney breast, then spread the bedding out to make a thick cushioned nest in front of the log fire. 8.58, perfect timing.

He started some jazz playing softly as background music and settled down to wait. The warmth and dim light lulled him, the quilts were soft under his back and his head was full of sensual thoughts. He closed his eyes...

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

Mulder glanced at his watch again as he finally pulled onto the highway again, thankfully leaving the Clancy family far behind. 9.40, and he was still at least an hour's drive from the cabin. Walter would kill him for ruining their special night, and he would have killed the entire Clancy brood if he had stayed there a moment longer.

It had taken him over an hour to discover that the runaway baby carriage had never had an occupant for over twenty years. Just the imaginary child of the Clancy's deranged daughter, MaryLou, who swore she had seen "silver spacemen" take her baby into a blue ship and lift off from the forest. Apparently she had this vision regularly, especially after one of Gramma Clancy's moonshine parties, and Mulder was not the first passing stranger to be almost run off the road, just the first to be even remotely inclined to believe MaryLou.

But even Mulder had been forced to admit that, as the ludicrous facts emerged, there was no X-File here. By then, however, he had wasted even more time, time he could have been spending with Walter. He thought longingly of what he would do to Walter when he got to the cabin, assuming Walter didn't just shoot him on sight. They'd planned this romantic getaway weeks ago, and he was going to make it memorable. After dinner maybe a massage... Amongst the items on the passenger seat was a tiny black glass bottle of very expensive essential oil. He was going to smooth it into every inch of Walter's magnificent body, he could feel the ripple of muscles under his palms...

A jackrabbit dashed across the beam of his headlights, and his hands clenched on the wheel, then relaxed again as he returned to his fantasy. Once Walter was thoroughly relaxed, glistening with the spicy oil, skin supple and golden in the lamplight, he would kiss him to within a breath of unconsciousness. He loved Walter's mouth - warm and firm and infinitely tender... Then he would move his kisses lower, browsing over the expanse of shoulders and chest, down the taut perfection of waist and abdomen to narrow hips and sleek hard thighs... They would roll together, his mouth marking Walter's throat and shoulders, his hands sweeping down the strong spine, over the curve of buttocks and flanks, flexing under his fingers...

Suddenly the skies opened and torrential rain started lashing down, freezing rain: splattering the windshield with sleet and defeating the best efforts of his wipers. Shaking off the sweet fragments of his daydream, Mulder peered through the sheeting downpour and reduced his speed. It was a conspiracy. Things just seemed to happen to him. Walter would understand, wouldn't he? He pulled over and hauled out his cell phone without much hope. He punched in the number for the cabin but heard only crackles and white noise. The cowardly part of him was glad he didn't have to explain his lateness to Walter just yet. He could just picture his lover, grim-faced with worry...

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

Skinner was smiling to himself in his sleep, only peripherally aware of the rattle of hailstones against the windows. He was dreaming of what he would do to Fox when he got here, how he would strip the man slowly, touching every part of him as it was revealed. How Mulder's eyes would shine, how his mouth would demand to be kissed... And he had a few inventive ideas to try out too... Champagne dripped onto Fox's bare chest, sipped from his navel, mango juice licked from those long fingers, chocolate and strawberries passed from mouth to mouth... He stretched sensually, turning into the warmth of the firelight...

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

It had taken Mulder an hour to cover the last 12 miles, not daring to risk more than a crawl, with visibility so poor and the road awash with mud and debris from the wooded mountainside. The beams of his headlamps barely penetrated the torrent and he almost missed the turn off for the cabin. Pulling up in front of the solid wood-framed structure, he checked the time again, in case it wasn't as bad as he feared. It was. 11.32 - their precious evening all gone, Walter's lovingly prepared meal ruined, Walter... well, he didn't want to think about the reception that awaited him.

Grabbing his bag and the items on the passenger seat, he squelched up the porch steps and quietly opened the door. The sight that greeted him took his breath away.

The room was rosy with the light of a log fire, flickering reds and golds dappling over the wood floor and over the naked body of Walter Skinner, stretched out on the makeshift bed in front of the hearth. He was turned towards the light, showing Mulder just the gilded outline of shoulder, biceps, and the angle of a lean hipbone, where the sheet lay across him.

As silently as possible, Mulder toed off his shoes and draped his damp jacket over a chair. He selected one of the items he had brought with him and padded in his stocking feet over towards Walter. As he approached he unwrapped the paper from a bunch of long-stemmed, thornless, red roses. Of course, the paper crinkled and he froze, wondering if Walter would turn and see him. But the big man merely settled onto his back, revealing more of his bare torso and his peacefully sleeping face. Mulder almost laughed aloud to see that the lion he had imagined waiting angrily to savage him, was sleeping like a baby.

I'm glad he didn't worry, he thought wryly, perversely wishing Walter would wake and fuss over him a bit. He lifted one of the rose stems and let it fall, to land just beside Walter's nose. No reaction. One by one he took each bloom and scattered them over the sheet and comforter. Walter shifted slightly and rolled his head but didn't wake.

Mulder shook his head and smiled. "You're losing your edge, Marine," he murmured fondly. Something more was required. Kneeling, he bent over the sleeping man. Walter had always had a physique that any passing Ancient Greek would have recognised as impressive, but here, painted by the glow of the flames, he looked stunning - somehow erotic and innocent all at once. He was sprawled unselfconsciously, the thin sheet barely covering his modesty, all bronzed skin and rippled muscle, contoured by soft shadows and fiery highlights. A body made for love. But his face, flushed by the heat of the fire, looked almost boyish - soft curves of brow and cheek, smooth-skinned, calm. Dark lashes feathered over high cheekbones, clear jaw silhouetted against the firelight, wide bow of lips...

Mulder couldn't really be mad at Walter for being unaware of all his trials and tribulations on the way here. His gaze took in the champagne waiting in its bucket, ice long ago melted, the platter of exquisite nibbles, the lube and washcloths laid out ready, the inviting "bed"... Guilt and adoration took over as he looked tenderly down at the man he loved.

It was ten minutes to midnight, and he had something to do. Picking up a single red rose, he trailed it softly over Walter's bare head and down the line of his brow and nose. Walter's nostrils flared and he lifted a sleepy hand to brush the tickle away. Mulder grinned and repeated the caress, along the plane of Walter's cheek, around his ear and down his neck to his collarbone. The lion was stirring now. Once more: a velvet sweep across each eyelid and over parted lips. Walter opened his eyes, soft and unfocused.

"Fox..." The deep voice was husky and full of passion.

Before he could ask any questions, Mulder shifted back onto one knee and put on his most solemn face.

"It's almost midnight, Walter, and I have something important to ask you before today becomes tomorrow." Skinner looked bemused. "I'm really sorry that I'm so late and that I ruined the evening, but will you..." He held out the single deep red rose and continued... "Will you be my Valentine?"

Walter's answer was a kiss, the most consuming kiss Fox had ever experienced. Wrapped in Walter's strong arms, dizzy with love and lust, he felt a vibration against his chest and realised that Walter was laughing. Kissing and laughing together, they tumbled each other in the sheets. All the roses were crushed but they didn't care.

THE END