A Quiet Moment of Comfort

by Darth Nonie (nonie@avalon.net)

This story is Katja's fault, because she said I couldn't write non-violent
slash.  <grin>
===============================

Mulder's office, 8:47 PM:

"Agent Mulder--" Skinner's voice stopped abruptly. Mulder was too tired to
raise his head and meet his superior's eyes.

"Sir," he said without moving.

"Agent Mulder, what is it? Is Agent Scully--" He sounded concerned.

"She just called from the hospital in South Bend, sir." He'd managed to
stay strong until he heard from her; now it was mostly the relief that
weakened him. Relief, and guilt over having put her in danger one more
time. "She says she's fine. The suspect attempted to flee; he's in custody
now, and she's being treated for minor bruising."

Mulder heard himself chuckle, or was it a sob: "I wanted to join her, but
she says she has two black eyes and refuses to see me until I promise to
swear off raccoon jokes for life."

Skinner snorted. "Well, Agent Mulder, it sounds as though she's in good
health. Are you all right?"

//Damn,//  thought Mulder.  //Say something; you won't improve your
standing with him if you have a nervous breakdown.//  But what could he say
except the truth?

"I'll be all right, sir. I just need a minute--" He cursed himself for the
unsteadiness of his voice. "She's been at risk a lot these last few years,
sir, and I just-- I find it a strain sometimes, sir, even after it's over."

"I understand, Agent Mulder."  He heard the sound of Skinner walking away,
but instead of the door opening, he heard the lock click shut. The AD's
voice was softer now. "Agent Mulder, you really don't need people walking
in right now. It would not improve your professional reputation."

//No, it wouldn't. But it was so hard to care, right now.//  "No, sir."

"At least we had your office swept for bugs again this afternoon."

"Yes, sir. --If you don't mind, sir, I think I'd rather be alone."

"Of course," said Skinner, still quietly, and then that strong calloused
hand came to rest gently on the back of his neck. "I'll leave if you
insist, but I'm not sure you should be alone right now."

//God, he didn't want to be alone, but he was just not up to dealing with
Skinner's authoritarian ways.//

But the man must be telepathic, because he was saying: "Mulder, let's leave
the titles outside for a little while. You're tired, you feel like hell,
and the last thing you need is to have to kiss bureaucratic ass."

//Kiss YOUR ass?//  The thought came out of nowhere, and shocked him with
its intensity. Heat spread from the touch on the back of his neck, and he
knew he was blushing.  //My God, where did that come from?//

Skinner's voice sharpened. "Mulder?"

"I'm all right, sir."

"Walter," Skinner corrected him. "I think I'd better take you to King's for
a drink before I drive you home, and you can't use titles with a drinking
buddy, can you?"

"I guess not, s-- Walter."  //Damn, the name felt strange on his tongue.
Did he sound strange too?//

He made himself raise his head and meet Skinner's eyes. Big mistake. He
found he couldn't look away, though his face was helplessly growing hotter
by the moment.

Skinner's brow creased. Without apparently noticing it, his hand slid
further up Mulder's neck and brushed lightly at the hair on his nape, and
Mulder realized with horror that he was arching against Skinner's hand like
a cat.

Skinner's head tilted, and Mulder could see his eyes darken. "Mulder,"
Skinner said softly, and drew his hand slowly forward until it rested
against Mulder's jaw.

He could pretend innocence and stand up, but-- Oh, God, he could feel his
own lips part, and Skinner's face was moving slowly towards him, still
caught in that quiet stillness of surprise.

Mulder could not stop himself. He let his mouth rise to the other man's,
and only knew the depths of his hunger when it was met with fire.  //My
God, such soft lips for so hard a man...//

And then his eyes were closed again, but he felt Skinner's breath catch,
that mouth opening against his with the inevitability of sunrise. And those
strong hands shifting to cradle his face, so gentle--

Mulder heard himself moan, and the sound catalyzed them both into action.
Those hands tightened on him, binding him into the kiss as he felt the
sudden shock of another man's tongue in his mouth.  //Oh, yes, so
strong--//

And Mulder's own hands were clawing at Skinner now, trying to draw him even
closer, reach through that suit to the massive shoulders below. God, how
different from a woman's softness, this iron and stone-- Skinner's jaw
rasped against him, and the stubbled roughness made his heat flare higher
like a match being struck.

"Oh-- Oh yes, yes--" Was that his voice, half muffled by the mouth upon
his, the conquering tongue? "Walter--"

"Mulder," murmured the voice, and those lips shaped the word against his
own.

Strong hands drew him up, and he was standing, was leaning, was pressed
against the older man with the security of a man leaning against a
mountainside. Yes, this strength was what he needed, this security--

Then Skinner drew back, and Mulder could see that he was alarmed. "Mulder?
My God, I'm sorry. Are you all right? I didn't mean---"

But Mulder closed that stern and beautiful mouth with his own, and gave
Skinner back strength for strength. "I want this," he said into those lips,
and his hands went up around Skinner's neck to draw him closer and make it
clear.

And they were swaying together, heat against heat, mouths sure now and
devouring, burning-- His hands slid down Skinner's back and came to rest at
the small of his back, and oh God he could feel the hardness that moved
against his own. Skinner was hard. He'd made Skinner hard. Skinner was hard
for him.

His own cock pulsed at the thought, so full it was almost agony. And
Skinner must have felt it too, felt the driving need for more, for real
touch, for skin against hot skin, because his hands were sliding up to push
the jacket back from Mulder's shoulders and loosen the necktie that bound
him to the world of office decorum.

Skinner's own jacket under his hands, and how could those shirt buttons be
so difficult to undo? Bare chest against chest now, so hot, but he couldn't
stop to feel it, because there was still too much cloth between them. Oh
God, Skinner's cock in his wanting hand, the feel of it-- He'd never
touched another man's cock, but this felt so right, this silk over steel,
this burning.

And the feel of Skinner's fingers on him, the slight roughness of callus
unbearably intimate, the commanding touch that closed on him and made him
moan. They had to stop now, or he'd explode without ever touching more of
him. And he needed to touch, and be touched; he needed them to brand each
other with more than this.

//Pull his trousers down, his boxers, and feel the swelling muscles of
Skinner's buttocks even as he runs a suddenly possessive hand across yours.
You've never understood why the ass was supposed to be an erogenous zone,
but now you feel it, you need it, you cannot live if you do not feel more
of this.//

No more hesitation; you can afford to pull away and remove the rest of your
own clothing, because you know there's no stopping, you won't lose him
now-- God, what a magnificent body; how can your own ever compete, but
Skinner says "Beautiful" in a tone of wonder, and draws those massive hands
softly down your sides like a sculptor admiring a masterpiece.

The touch of those hands-- Oh God, touching and being touched, all of it,
too much to endure but yet you need more, need it all--

And Skinner--Skinner!--is sliding down your body, settling to his knees
with the strength of a bronze statue, and my God he has taken command of
your cock and is rubbing it softly against his cheeks as if to mark you
with his scent. This is no submission; this is conquest: he owns your cock
now, and proves it by the utter possessive gentleness with which he brings
it to brush against his lips.

This man, this great man, has claimed your cock and signed his name to it
with his weaponed tongue. Oh God, this is unbearable, this need and this
fire--

But you do not need to bear it; the choice is not yours to make as those
strong lips open to take you in, and those teeth scrape you so lightly to
remind you where the true decision lies. You do not need to choose; you can
surrender utterly to who you are: Fox Mulder, owned and claimed, and free
to moan your pleasure as your fate takes you in.

So hot, so skilled-- Skinner's mouth on you is sweet torture worse than
dying, but you want it so badly, you need it so utterly. And then you look
down and see him, his mouth swollen and filled with your cock, and the
sight is too much. Your balls tighten; your cock swells; and he takes you
suddenly deep and hard as you feel yourself begin to fall. Screaming now,
feeling your whole soul burning through your cock, exploding into him,
spilling all you are into his devouring strength. And the feel of him
swallowing your come is almost enough to kill you.

He catches you effortlessly as you sag against him, and his hands
supporting your buttocks are strong. He eases you down against him, holding
you in a warm embrace as you learn again to breathe. Oh God, oh God...

Warm breath in your hair, and a smiling voice, "Oh, yes. Beautiful.
Beautiful, Fox."

And you can almost find enough strength to share a laugh. "That's Agent
Mulder to you, sir."

Walter snorts and runs his fingers through your hair.

***

But for a moment, you can see a flicker of hesitation in Skinner's eyes, so
you draw him down into another kiss. God, the taste of yourself in his
mouth. You've never tasted a man before, Mulder; now you wonder how he
would taste too. Why have you never wondered this before?

Even in your pleasant lethargy, you can feel him hard against your hip, and
you know you need to give him back a gift like the one you were just given.
But not the same; you know you can't begin to match his skill--God, that
strong mouth, so knowing--and you have the terrible feeling that you might
not be able to take it all.

Even now, when you should be sated, your hands go up to flatten themselves
along his chest. So greedy, your hands. You want to feel him all, drink in
the whole of him through your palms. So this is what a man feels like, and
this is the shocking softness of his aureole, his nipple--

The hunger is too much, and you follow your hands with your still-panting
mouth, feeling the tightening nub beneath your tongue. Bespelled, you let
your teeth scrape it, and that massive body shudders in your hands.

"Mulder--" His voice is deep, deep--

God, to know you can make him feel like this-- You nip again, more strongly
this time, and he surges against you and then his massive hands are drawing
you tight against him, burying themselves in your hair, your back, your
hips. With absolute possession, they slide down across your buttocks.

How can this feeling be, this heat and surrender? Nothing has ever felt
like this, nothing.

"Mulder!" That growl shakes you out of your melting dream and back into
this room, this office, this man holding you so tightly. "Mulder, I want to
fuck you. I want to fuck you in the ass."

"Yes yes O God please yes--" You can hear him laugh at the words that spill
out of you, but his voice is affectionate.

"Mulder, I don't want to hurt you. Do you have anything...?"

Have anything? Heart, cock, no mind left at all-- Oh. Lubricant, he must
mean. God, pull yourself together or you will never get and give all that
you want.

"Just a minute, s-- Walter," you say, and find somehow the strength to
stand. Leaning stunned against your desk, you dig through the bottom drawer
to find that old bottle of lotion you used for minor burns after one
difficult case. Here it is--

And here is Walter behind you, not waiting, heat against heat and pinning
you against your desk with his body. A voiceless growl, and those hands
rake possessively down your sides and then take the bottle from your
slackening hand.

Oh God, he's going to fuck you in the ass-- Sudden panic makes you stiffen,
but the body behind you is so hot and so needed, and maybe you don't need
to panic after all.

Skinner's hands are gentle, and you shiver as fingers brush your nape
again. Then the hand trails down your spine like lightning striking, and
you feel the fire ignite all through you. God, you can't be hard again so
soon, and how can your ass feel like this, you've never felt this, you've
never--

And then the cool touch of lotion there, and those hands gentle you like a
shying horse.

Yes, hold me, Walter, steady me, command me with your touch and I will-- I
will--

He touches you again, still gently though you can feel his hard cock throb
against your hip. Those same hands that you have watched open your reports,
now open you with the same utter confidence, and you feel the first finger
enter you.

God! Oh God oh God you can't-- He can't-- So hot and your clawing hands try
to tear through your desktop and he doesn't stop--

There was never anything like this, no pleasure or pain like the imperative
of these hands, this invading touch that claims you utterly. But then he
moves, and you know this was only the beginning.

The growl at your shoulder is voiceless, those hands close around your hips
to hold you steady, and you feel him arc against you, his burning cock
resting so lightly along your crack. God, so big, how will you be able to
bear this? But you cannot bear not to have this, and you have no other
choice.

You arch back against him, and you know you are moaning. And that is all he
needs to hear. A rough harsh sound in his throat, and that massive tip
moves down to seek the way in. So big, so hard--surely you cannot take it
in, surely it will split you in half, but you want it, you need it. Somehow
you flex yourself against him and try to relax, and then that first
intruding touch nudges at you and you feel yourself open for him. Oh God,
unbearable this invasion, this stretching, so tight and you are going to
burst apart around him--

He rests there, barely inside you, and you can feel the control it takes
him, shaking all through your body. "Walter--" You have no words. What can
you do but surrender and welcome him. "Yes--"

And those hands sink cruelly deep as he enters you further. Just a little
more; just a slight touch of lightning that splits you like a burning tree,
and you really cannot bear this, you cannot-- Oh God, you do not have the
strength to bear this welcome pain. You have to move.

So you move back towards him, burying him even deeper in your seared and
riven flesh, and you hear his breath catch as you impale yourself on him.
Too much; you know he cannot hold himself back forever, and some part of
you surrenders to the triumph of it as he begins to move on you.

God, facedown on your desk and Skinner-- Skinner!-- doubling you over,
tearing you apart with his cock as he fills you and more than fills you, so
stretched and choking with it that your hands claw the papers off your desk
as you try to find some purchase against this painful joy.

You feel him against you as he fully sheathes himself in you, his balls so
hot and sweaty against your ass, and all the long muscled length of his
body weighs against yours with the inevitability of fate. God, all of him
against you, in you-- And those hands flex on your hips, and he pulls back
only to drive into you again.

"God! Walter, oh God!" That is your voice, forced out of you by the
strength of this cock that fills you so much you surely cannot remain in
this body, this tight and burning need. "God!"

"Mulder," growls the voice at your back again, and there is so much heat
and want in it that the sound alone could make you come. Oh God, how can he
do this to you, how can he make you shake and pound your fists against the
unyielding surface of the desk, how can he fill you so wide and so deep?

Moving, moving faster within you, and you hear his breath grunt out of him
as he sheathes himself fully, over and over. Surely no tide could batter
the rocks like this, no storm bend the trees as he bends you, an elemental
force of passion called forth by your need.

And you need this. You need even the pain, and then it transforms into a
greater fire. He moves on you, in you, more truly you than the battering
beat of your heart, the air driven from your lungs again and again as he
drives you into your desk and into the blazing fire.

Oh God, his rhythm is getting ragged now, his thrusts desperate, and he is
going to come up your ass. Yours! This is your gift to him, and your need,
and you drive back against him with equal desperation and try to close
yourself around his driving cock, to feel him even tighter within you,
pounding--

And then you feel the fire take him, the swelling burst of his heat within
you, over and over and he is crying out your name, "Mulder, Mulder!" as he
comes inside you and makes you his forever. The feel of him flooding you is
more than you can bear, and you scream again as you erupt and spill this
unbearable pleasure out of you.

"God, Skinner-- God!" and then your screams are wordless as the pleasure
takes you harder and harder, spasming around his still-buried cock and
emptying you of everything you have, everything you are--

There is no ending to this, nothing the world can do to take it from you,
and you are still crying out even as you slide together, still joined, down
the edge of the desk to a warm tangle on the floor. And you are crying, but
that's all right, because he's crying too, and laughing, and even when he
has to slide out of you he is holding you and you are holding him, and it's
all right.

Everything is all right.

==================
End