RATING: NC-17, slash

CATEGORY: SRH, I guess

SPOILERS: none

SUMMARY: What Mulder wants, Mulder gets... <g>

DISCLAIMER: not mine (sniff, sniff!) CC's, 1013's, Fox's... lucky folks.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Many thanks to Xanthe for the idea that set me off here - kudos to you, dearest!

**** This was written as a birthday gift for my dear friend Holmes. Have a good year, sweetie!****

~ Monday ~

Mulder wiped the sodden towel over his dripping face then draped it over his head, hoping to save himself the effort of blotting up the steady trickles of perspiration that were making his scalp itch. With any luck, it would also act as a crude disguise. He didn't want to be caught in the act of doing what he was doing - at least not by anyone who knew him, and most definitely not by the person he was hoping to spy on.

Fox Mulder, International Man of Mystery. He grinned to himself and settled onto one of the stone benches lining the walls of the Turkish Bath. Blinking to clear the droplets from his damp eyelashes, he made a leisurely survey of the vast room, pleased to find that his body had no particular reaction to the sight of so many naked bodies. Naked male bodies - of all shapes and sizes, but none of them the one he sought.

The vaulted roof rose thirty feet to a glass cupola where the dusk of a DC evening showed in a wash of purple sky, and the last streaks of a spectacular sunset. Suspended from the apex of the supporting tracery, pierced copper lanterns hung from long chains, casting a pattern of warm light splashes over the glinting tiled walls. Intensely-coloured mosaics of ceramic and copper leaf caught the light, a landscape of twisting vines, cascading fountains and exotic birds reaching from the floor to the shadowy spaces of the dome. An arching colonnade created a series of private recesses along one side and opposite these alcoves flat stone slabs provided more spaces for the bathers to rest and recline. A huge bathing pool took up the centre of the beautiful hall, its waters maintained at a steaming temperature.

From his vantage point on one of the stone slabs, Mulder could see most of the pool and he'd already walked the length of it, glancing casually into each of the lamp-lit alcoves across the scented water. His quarry was not yet here. He settled himself to wait, letting the moist heat sink into his pores and trying to empty his mind, to slow his mounting heart-rate. He turned the words over in his head: fixation, obsession, addiction... he knew the torment of all these, knew the ache of watching and wanting, of dreaming and desiring. All around him were men relaxing after the working day. Paunchy middle-aged bodies; slack and tired, young hard bodies; meticulously-toned and tanned. None of them attracted him, none of them soothed the butterflies in his stomach. His object of desire had not yet arrived. Mulder could only wait.

One hopeful young Adonis sauntered past and accidentally-on-purpose dropped his towel, bending to give Mulder an eyeful of glistening glutes. Mulder closed his eyes and tilted his head back against the cool wall. When he opened them, a silver-haired, nipped-and-tucked executive was poised to sit next to him, all gleaming smile and leathery skin. Mulder sighed loudly and covered his head completely with the damp towel. He heard the disappointed grunt and the slap of retreating feet. After a few moments he risked lifting the towel again, and the sight that greeted him sent desire slamming through head, heart and groin. Show time. He was here at last.

Chest-deep in the steaming water Skinner leaned back against the rim of the pool and spread his arms wide, rolling his head to loosen the knotted muscles in his neck. The stupor of a day spent in air-conditioned sterility slowly melted from him in the soothing heat and he felt his spirits lift. After a few moments, he slid under, rolling and twisting pleasurably in the torrid turquoise water before swimming to the far end with a powerful, economical crawl.

He was observed by a slack-jawed Fox Mulder, face screened by a carefully draped towel, lap shielded by a second towel and carefully spread hands. Mulder's burning gaze slid over his boss's strong neck and muscled shoulders, over the naked face with its strong planes and indefinable sensuality. The unguarded pleasure on Skinner's face sent a jolt straight to Mulder's cock... those lowered eyelids and parted lips powering a hard-on so ferocious and so instantaneous that Mulder groaned aloud. Unconsciously, his tongue flicked out to moisten his own lips as he watched Skinner's visible relaxation through slitted eyes.

He was way past feeling any guilt for spying on his superior this way. He was on a mission, to test himself and the veracity of his feelings for this man. A casually overheard remark as he waited in Skinner's outer office that morning had provided the information about the AD's after work plans, and all but prevented Mulder getting any work done for the rest of the day. Six years worth of searing looks, growled reprimands, unreachable calm and devastating glimpses of passion had brought him to a state of desperate longing for some connection with his boss, but Mulder had forced himself to consider the possibility that it was so intense precisely because it was an impossible fantasy. Would he still be so ardent and hungry if he could actually experience what he dreamed of?

He had lectured himself endlessly: what was the point in speculation when there was absolutely no chance of anything ever happening? What did it matter if his feelings were real when they would never be tested? Skinner wasn't interested in him, except as a thorn in his side. The list of reasons why nothing could or would or should happen between them was depressingly long. Mulder knew all the arguments, and they had as little effect on his libido or his imagination as a stop sign would on an advancing army. He had no good sense where Walter Skinner was concerned. Hence here he was, him and his raging libido, him and his Pavlovian penis, springing promptly to life at the first sight of his beloved.

When the big man slipped under the surface of the water Mulder instinctively sat forward to watch the ballet of the powerful body tumbling joyously over and over in the clear blue. Sneaking a hand under his towel, he touched the heat of his own erection, helpless to control his body's response to the sight of the man who filled so much of his thoughts, waking and sleeping. He wanted to move, to thrust his hips as if he were pressed up against Skinner's world class butt, to hold the big man still while he loved him to within a breath of unconsciousness.

He stood with difficulty and headed for the cold water plunge pool. He dared do no more tonight. Fantasy would have to satisfy him for a while longer, but he had a plan...

Xxxxxxxxxx

~ Wednesday ~

It was 8pm and Skinner's headache had just sharpened from a dull throb to a stabbing persistence. He'd put in a thirteen-hour day and his thoughts were turning in the direction of a hot shower, a scotch and something mindless on TV. He had long passed the point of being interested in anything to eat, what he *really* wanted right now was to close his eyes and forget about work.

He'd wondered about going to the Turkish Baths on his way home, but the way he was feeling, he'd be lucky not to drive his car straight into the Potomac. His in-tray was almost cleared, so he might as well stick it out for a bit longer. At least there were no interruptions at this hour. The phone didn't ring and the only passing footsteps were the security guards on their scheduled rounds. He pulled the next case report towards him and looked at the reference number to refresh his memory on the details. Damn, it was a Mulder Special. If he'd noticed it in the substantial heap of files he would have moved it to the top, so he could deal with it while he still had some energy. As it was, his weary brain rebelled at the thought of having to read one of Mulder's outrageous summaries, or an expense report that looked lavish enough to have funded a small summit conference. Sighing, he opened the cover and began to read.

Surprisingly, the account of the strange happenings at the laundromats in Colorado was clearly written and faultlessly restrained in its language. Skinner felt his headache recede a little. It wasn't even Scully's moderating influence at work - the phrasing was still unmistakably Mulder's and Skinner was beginning to wonder if he'd actually fallen asleep at his desk and was dreaming of reading a model report. When he turned the page, he was even more convinced of this.

Instead of the expected itemised details of expenses, there was a blank sheet of paper with the words RUB HERE pencilled half way down. He stared at the paper stupidly for a few moments, then sat back in his chair, the change in angle revealing the impression of some further words on the smooth sheet. Slowly, his overtired brain worked out the next step and he lightly rubbed his pencil over the faint markings. His brow creased when he saw what was revealed:

YOU WORK TOO HARD

Instinctively, he looked around the lamplit office, feeling as if he was being watched. He was alone, of course. He savagely crumpled up the piece of paper and muttered something about overzealous assistants. Kim must be having one of her maternal spells. Frowning at the damage to his equilibrium, he turned back to the case file and read on.

The exemplary report continued for two more pages then another blank sheet - or not totally blank. Another instruction to RUB HERE. This was too much - he grabbed the page and stuffed it in his trash. Turning his attention back to the file he read and re-read the next paragraph three times, before sighing in exasperation and retrieving the discarded sheet. He scowled at it balefully. He would have to have a word with Kimberly about this. Was he so unapproachable that she couldn't just tell him he was heading for an ulcer, as she had done periodically in the past when he'd been putting in extra long hours. Maybe he had been a bit of a bear with a sore head lately. Kim could blame Mulder for that - one catastrophe after another, each one more difficult to explain away to his own bosses.

Which made it even more ironic that Kim's solicitous message had been inserted in Mulder's case file. Grimly, Skinner took up his pencil and made the new message appear.

I WORRY ABOUT YOU

Skinner dipped his head and blushed a little. He was a grown man, not a waif and stray to be worried about. What had got into Kim? His head throbbed warningly and just for a second he wished someone other than his happily married, motherly assistant was interested enough to care about him. But then, shaking off the self-pity, he signed off on the report and moved on to the last two items in his in-tray.

Xxxxxxxxx

~ Thursday ~

Indirect observations, unscheduled hanging about in outer offices and outright questions having all failed to produce any clues to the AD's plans for the evening, Mulder had taken a chance on Skinner turning up at the Turkish Bath tonight. He had taken his usual place on the fifth stone bench and was feeling the soporific effects of breathing the hot moist air and listening to the echoing sounds of splashes and voices, like white noise to his fevered brain.

He hadn't seen Skinner all day, except to acknowledge his boss's grave nod as they passed in the corridor mid-morning. He'd stuck his head into Kim's office twice in the hopes of engaging her in a bit of gossip, but the first time she was on the phone and the second time she marched out past him, shuffling papers and photocopy docket slips. He hung about for a few minutes, but she didn't reappear. Nor did Skinner.

He'd been reduced to playing Skinner's last voice-mail message to him a good 9 times over, while he lay back in his office chair and tried to ignore the startling effects that deep, delicious voice had on certain parts of his anatomy. The way Skinner said "consequences" and "mandatory" almost made him orgasm.

Now, back in the richly atmospheric surroundings of the Turkish Bath, he felt a thrum of anticipation. He felt sure that Skinner would be here soon. An hour passed, and he wondered if the Assistant Director was putting in another late night at work. He also wondered if anyone knew how dedicated the man was, or gave him any credit for how much of his life he gave to the job. Probably not. Skinner wasn't one to blow his own trumpet.

Mulder slung his towel across his shoulders and raked long fingers through his wet hair, making it stand up in glossy spikes. Squeegee-ing the sweat from his eyes with one spread palm, he blinked and looked again. How had he missed his arrival? Skinner lay stretched along the second farthest bench, flat on his back, towel laid over his hips, immobile and magnificent as any bronze statue.

Mulder raked his gaze over the sweat-sheened torso. An even honey-gold, the smooth skin caught the warm light of the lanterns on every taut curve. The light fuzz of dark hair on chest and forearms and legs was beaded with moisture and the sculpted muscles gleamed. Mulder swallowed like a starving man sighting a feast. He took an inventory: long lean feet (with toes tempting enough to nibble on), enviably long legs even for a tall man (with a delineation in the quadriceps that invited caresses), narrow hips and a flat abdomen (that draped towel dipping between lean hip bones, then mounding enticingly between the splayed legs), acres of glorious chest (smooth-curving pecs adorned with lickably-perfect nipples), Atlas shoulders (wider and wider to sweep down into the caramel curves of biceps and triceps), strong graceful neck and face as serene and impassive as any Buddha (that unlined brow, Slavic cheekbones, firm lips)...

He kept his hands off himself for half an hour, during which Skinner lay as one dead, except that Mulder's rapt attention noted every slow swell of the broad chest, every flicker of the silken eyelids. His breathing synchronised with Skinner's, Mulder was in a state of almost transcendental euphoria until Skinner sat up in one graceful surge and then that slick back and the delicious dimples just above that enticing cleft tightened his balls so suddenly he all but blacked out. He came in a continuous spurt, clamping his hands over his groin and tucking his towel between his shaking thighs. Unable to catch his breath, he started coughing and lurched away into the shadows of the perimeter before his choking attracted attention.

Xxxxxxxxxx

~ Friday ~

Eating his sub sandwich and apple at his desk, Skinner was putting his lunch hour to good use and scanning the papers for that afternoon's review session on some of the current cases. Halfway through the pile he realised he was lacking some police statements and buzzed Kim on the intercom. She sounded marginally less wounded than she had done for most of the morning, but she still sniffed loudly when she slapped the relevant folders down on Skinner's blotter and inquired if there was "anything else that was unsatisfactory?" He had cautiously brought up the matter of the mysterious notes in Mulder's case file and been told in no uncertain terms that she would never dream of tampering with an official case file and that if the Assistant Director wanted to work himself into an early grave well she'd never been shy of telling him he was heading for an ulcer and she had no need of cryptic notes to tell him what she thought of the hours he worked. Somehow, he had mortally offended her professional and feminine dignity and she was going to let him know about it for the rest of the day.

So Kimberly was assuredly not the secret note-writer. Which leant a whole new mysteriousness to the business. Skinner didn't like mysteries. He liked facts and certainties and evidence. He didn't like sulks either, so he refused to dignify Kim's flounces with any show of temper himself. He thanked her gravely and opened the first folder. The top sheet was another RUB HERE message. Skinner closed the file hastily and poured a glass of water from the carafe on the credenza behind him. He stayed facing the window for a minute, sipping the water and deciding whether to be furious, alarmed, or just plain embarrassed. The jury was still out when his glass was empty, so he shrugged, squared his shoulders and turned back to the ominous yet innocent-looking folder.

He flipped open the cover, half expecting to find a regulation summary sheet. No such luck - the RUB HERE was still plain as day. He did as he was told and his jaw dropped as the words appeared through his pencil strokes:

I DREAMED OF YOU IN COLORADO

What was significant about Colorado? Why would someone dream of him being there? What sort of irritating guessing game was going on here? The only connotation Colorado had for him lately was that laundromat case... Mulder's case... No - it couldn't be? He wouldn't... well, he would, but surely...

He knew. Suddenly Skinner knew beyond a doubt who had dreamed of him, who worried about him. He felt dizzy with the thought, but sure as sure could be that his revelation was correct. Mulder, Mulder, Mulder... forbidden fruit of Skinner's most private fantasies. Infuriating, exasperating, impossible, incredible Fox Mulder. Mulder was sending him secret love notes. It was almost laughable, except that it took his breath away and made his eyes inexplicably cloudy and started an ache somewhere deep in his chest that stopped anything so casual as laughter.

On autopilot, Skinner continued to leaf through the file, even managing to smile when he found the next "unofficial" sheet.

I WANT MUCH MORE THAN DREAMS

Now he did laugh - a cracking, rusty shout of laughter that broke out of his throat like a battle cry. Mad, frivolous happiness rose inside him like a tidal wave. His fingers scrabbled at the pages of close-typed script, searching for... ah, here it was...

I WANT YOU, NAKED, WET, WAITING.

And yet another page...

YOU KNOW WHERE - STEAM, MOSAICS, STARLIGHT, 7PM

Xxxxxxxxxx

~ Later ~

How he got through the afternoon was more than he could fathom. Work held no interest for him for the first time in many a month, Kimberly thought he was having a breakdown and offered him variously Advil, Maalox, an appointment with her sister's psychotherapist, a shoulder to cry on and a piece of her own home-made chocolate coconut pie. He had smiled indulgently at her, glad to have cordial relations restored, and sent her home early, as soon as his 4.30 meeting broke up.

He'd forced himself to work on until nearly 6.30, signing 302s he didn't even read, initialling requisitions for enough stationery to last halfway through the next millennium, and reading and re-reading a handful of one-line notes in thin white grooves amidst smudgy grey pencil strokes. Mulder wanted him. Mulder wanted him, Mulder wanted him...

At 6.27 he capped his pen, locked his desk drawers and shrugged into his jacket. His love "letters" were folded carefully into his breast pocket, warming against his thudding heart. He didn't look in the washroom mirror as he rinsed his hands. He knew what he looked like and seeing his 47-year old face and body would only break the sweet spell he was living under, the enchantment of feeling desirable after so many months of loneliness. If he saw craggy old Walt staring back at him, he would lose his nerve and slink back to his condo to curse his ego for ever thinking someone as rare as Fox William Mulder could possibly want him. So, eyes down and no second thoughts. Maybe he was the biggest fool alive, but just for tonight he was happy. He would spin it out as long as he possibly could.

Xxxxxxxxxx

~ Later still ~

He saw the dark head first, tipped over the edge of the cushioned couch in the next to last alcove. The slightly shaggy hair fell softly back from the wide brow and was matched by the patch of dark pubic hair that curled around the naked cock of Fox Mulder. Skinner stood and gazed for a while, holding his breath as if he could stop time that way. Only then did it occur to him that he'd been so sure it was Mulder he would find here, that he hadn't even thought about any other possibility.

Lazily, Mulder rolled over, like a cat waking, and sensed Skinner's presence. His agate eyes slid open and he studied the man before him.

"For a trained Marine, you're not very good at following orders, Walter. I can call you Walter, can't I?"

Skinner nodded, dumbly.

"I believe the arrangement was 'naked, wet, waiting'... well I'm all of those, but you're not going to pass inspection, Marine. Get with the program - NOW!"

He leapt from the couch and snatched Skinner's briefcase from him. With deft fingers he divested his boss of overcoat, suit coat, tie and footwear in about 20 seconds flat. Then he slowed and stepped up close to the older man.

"I hope your kit is in order, Marine." He leaned in and drew a sensual finger down Skinner's chest and over the zipper of his pants. Skinner's cock stirred under the charcoal wool.

"Eyes front, ten'shun!" Putting on a mock stern expression, Mulder stepped back a pace and deliberately looked Skinner up and down from head to foot, slowly. Then he began to unbutton the starched white shirt.

Skinner tried to recall the art of the unfocussed stare that got him through several of Drill Instructor "Doberman" Pinsher's white glove inspections back at Fort Pendleton, a lifetime ago. He assumed the stance and looked straight ahead as Mulder's teasing fingers slid inside his shirt and over his ribs. He clenched his buttocks and braced his weakening knees as Mulder's hands snaked down into his unzipped pants and splayed over his stomach. He gave up and groaned aloud as Mulder's palms skimmed over his shoulderblades, down to his ass, and urged him close and closer still, until Mulder's mouth was on his and all he knew was that lean jaw moving against him, that silken tongue slipping around his teeth, those so-soft lips taking charge of him.

He floated back to earth to find that Mulder was a magician and had stripped him of socks and briefs too, while apparently never breaking that searing lip-lock. At last they were both naked, groin to groin, chest to chest. Mulder walked him backward out of the alcove and pushed him into the steaming pool. Gasping and snorting, Skinner kicked up off the bottom and shook the streaming rivulets out of his eyes.

Mulder watched his Poseidon rise godlike from the blue waters and felt like offering thanks to any classical deity who might be watching. Walter was a work of art and Mulder was a connoisseur. Hours of watching the naked male from in countless tacky videos had never had the effect on him that seeing Walter revealed for the first time did. He had no self-restraint left. Boosting himself onto the poolside, he reached down a hand to Skinner.

"No time to play now, Marine. Duty calls."

Skinner climbed out and Mulder led him, dripping, back to the alcove, drawing the heavy curtain across the arched entrance behind them.

Still holding Skinner's hand he let his expression soften from the pseudo-parade ground scowl to a tender smile.

"Let's review. Naked - check, wet - check, waiting...?" Skinner stood quietly, his glorious body rose-gold in the low light, droplets of water sliding down his throat, his breast, his belly... His fringe of dark hair was plastered close to his scalp, accentuating the curve of the elegant skull. His wide eyes were a warm sable, impossibly deep and soft. There was a shyness in his slightly bowed head, and Mulder melted to see it.

"... long enough. Check. You passed with flying colours, Marine. You've earned your R&R. C'm'ere..." And he reeled Skinner in and tumbled them both on the couch, plastering himself over the big man like a second skin. The first time, Mulder took Walter in hand, stroking his hot, sleek cock to rigid perfection, then sliding into his tight heat like a key into a padlock - matched, oiled, meshing flawlessly to open the vault of Walter's walled-up passions. Arching over that splendid torso, bending low to suck at the hard nipples and satiny skin, Mulder felt immortal - translated to bliss. He came in a shattering cadence of shudders, burying his cries in Walter's shoulder. When Walter came he arched off the cushions with such force he lifted Mulder with him, melded together like a human Ourobouros.

The second time, As Walter lay propped on one elbow, kissing his way down Mulder's moist, lithe body, Mulder simply grabbed one big tanned hand and laid it on his own groin.

"You know how this goes, Walter... RUB HERE."

THE END