relief
by Pares

There was a light, deep and red, as heavy as fingertips against his eyelids... Blinking, Fox Mulder sat up and scrubbed the morning glare out of his eyes. He'd woken up in a puddle of sunshine; Jesus, what time was it? He almost never slept past 6--

Scully.

He reached for the phone and dialed the hospital from memory.

"This is Special Agent-- yes. How is she doing?"

There was an agonizing pause, and then the sweet husky croak of a woman's voice met his ear.

"I'm fine, Mulder."

"You sound fine." He was smiling so hard that tears stood in his eyes. There was small pause, and then Scully's voice again, smoother, more like her own.

"Did you get any sleep?"

This gave Mulder pause. Closing his eyes, Mulder rubbed his left shoulder with his right hand.

"Yeah, actually." He sounded as surprised as anyone. "Listen, Scully... I'm just glad you're okay. I'm... really glad."

"Mulder--"

"I'll bring you a box of Creamsicles."

"Mulder!"

"Don't think I don't know about your unholy love for orange food, Scully."

She actually laughed, a liquid chuckle that smoothed his face and eased his hunched heart.

"I'll be around in a little while. Save some Jell-O for me."

He hung the phone back in the cradle, and let his smile linger. It disappeared when he realized where he was.

An empty bed.

There wasn't so much as the shape of Skinner's head in the pillow beside his. Mulder ran his palm over the slipcover, then leaned over, inhaling deeply. Skinner *had* been there... he could still smell him: another man's sweat, and... Had Mulder been forced at gunpoint to describe how Assistant Director Walter Skinner smelled, he would have blurted something about paper. Expensive stationery, clean and white and crisp. Mulder shook his head and gritted his teeth. Fisting his hand in the fabric, Mulder pounded the pillow against the mattress a few times, but wasn't appeased.

His head swung to the connecting door of his hotel room. It was still ajar, and Mulder could hear someone moving.

Throwing back the sheets, and still clenching the pillow in his hand, Mulder clambered from the bed and stalked toward the door. Slamming it open, he flung the pillow to the floor.

"*You son of a bitch.*"

Walter Skinner, in a fresh shirt and creased trousers, regarded the agent, unimpressed and unsurprised by Mulder's rage or his nudity. Face neutral, but eyes burning, Skinner spoke in measured tones.

"May I help you, Agent Mulder?"

"You fucking coward." Mulder advanced, but Skinner gave no ground. Mulder nailed an outstretched finger against the rigid plate of Skinner's sternum, accenting every word with a thump against Skinner's broad chest.

"Excuse me?" Skinner's brows knotted threateningly.

"You heard me. Who the hell do you think you are?"

Skinner did not dignify this with a reply.

"I'm not a fucking puppy, Skinner. I don't know what kind of service you think you've done me, but you jerked me *off*, God damn it, and you can't just go around like nothing's happened."

"Are you quite finished, Agent Mulder?"

"Not by fucking half."

Yanking down Skinner's zipper, Mulder shook off Skinner's hands and dropped to his knees.

"Payment for services rendered, *sir*," he spat, and reached in Skinner's trousers to pull him out.

"*Mulder!*," Skinner hissed. He shoved the agent's shoulder's back and moved out of reach. With staccato movements that merely hinted at his fury, Skinner tucked his shirt in and zipped up.

"I don't think I have to tell you that your behavior is way out of line, Agent Mulder. Your confusion is perhaps understandable under the circumstances, but your actions are-- Christ, Mulder! Do you really think that little of me?"

Mulder, flushed and panting, glowered at his superior from where he was sprawled on the floor before him and wiped his ripe mouth with the back of his hand.

Skinner's face was dark with unreadable emotion. He leaned over stiffly, and took two bottles from a brown paper bag sitting on the motel dresser. He tossed them to Mulder without comment.

Gatorade.

"You need fluids, Agent Mulder. The hotel was fresh out of electrolytes and I.V.'s, and due to the storm, there was some sewage backup. Drinking water will need to be boiled around here for a few days."

He turned his back to the naked man on his floor, and began packing his travel bag; only the uncommonly loud *snap* his clothes made when he shook them out gave any indication of his mood.

Mulder flushed and set the bottles down on the floor.

He sat up gingerly, and then got to his feet.

"Sir, I'm... I apologize. I thought--"

Skinner spun on his heel.

"I know what you thought." His eyes skipped down Mulder's unclothed body. "Get dressed, Agent Mulder. We'll discuss this later, after you've eaten." He turned away again, effectively dismissing his subordinate.

Mulder placed a hand on the man's massive shoulder; Christ, he had shoulder blades like meat cleavers: wide and sharp.

All motion ceased; Skinner stood so still, Mulder couldn't tell if he was even breathing.

After a long moment, Mulder rested his forehead against the older man's back.

"The thing is, Skinner... You already *know* I'm an asshole."

The AD turned again to face him, clearly agitated.

"Mulder, you're not thinking clearly. We will talk about this--"

Mulder covered Skinner's mouth with his palm. He leaned forward and kissed the back of his own hand, interested in the tickling, intriguing way Skinner's lips moved against his skin.

"Just... just let me say I'm sorry, okay? I almost never get to say it while it can still count."

Skinner didn't nod, but Mulder knew he was listening.

"I'm sorry about losing it last night," he began. He dropped his hand, and took a step toward his... he had no idea what Skinner was to him now. "And that I thought the worst of you this morning." He removed Skinner's glasses and folded them neatly, setting them on the counter near the grocery bag. "I'm sorry about a lot of things. But not about this."

He kissed the older man solemnly.

Skinner's kiss was soundless and thorough, his tongue warm and oddly calming. Mulder felt his own dick go hard as Skinner's swelled against his groin.

"I don't think Hallmark has a card for this particular situation," he heard himself say. "So if you have any ideas on how I could express my contrition, I'd like to hear them."

Skinner didn't seem to have a verbal opinion on the matter, but his hand had closed again on Mulder's cock, and he scrubbed his smooth cheek against Mulder's.

"Let me," Mulder murmured. The hand paused and Mulder was half-glad... it would make it easier to focus. "Let me..." It felt like half an hour passed just trying to undo the older man's pants. Mulder wanted to do this, needed to, but Skinner had had plenty of time to second-guess himself. If Skinner let himself think too much, they'd both regret it. For the third time in two days, Fox Mulder went to his knees.

"Wait." There was a desperation in Skinner's voice that he'd never heard-- and he paused, as requested.

"Mulder, you are in no way obligated to--"

Nodding, Mulder parted his lips and took the man in his mouth. Tenderly, he curled his fingers around the straining shaft, squeezing experimentally. A stifled groan from Skinner and he hollowed his cheeks, *sucked*, and squeezed again.

The older man was crowding him, filling his mouth, his head: musky, showersweet, sour tang of pre-ejaculate... Jesus. Skinner's thighs were taut, and he was thrusting lightly, sweating with the effort of holding back. With his free hand, Mulder reached out to find Skinner's, and closed it in his own thick, dark hair.

Eyes slipping shut, Mulder could feel Skinner nod, and pet his hair, now urgently, now kindly. He tried to remember every blowjob he'd ever received, and a few he'd have liked to forget... if he curled his tongue and (watch the teeth)-- Skinner gave a startled grunt, bucked once, then slowed, fingers carding Mulder's hair. He seemed disinclined to *hold* Mulder's head, or guide him, but his heavy gasps, and rocking hips assured Mulder of his interest.

Thirsty, gasping, Mulder pulled off a moment, heard Skinner make a low, displeased murmur. The younger man licked his swollen lips, ran a finger along the ropy vein on the underside of Skinner's curving cock, and kissed the crown, lapping it lightly. He kneaded the velvety sac drawing up between the other man's powerful thighs, and rested his cheek against the narrow curve of Skinner's hip.

"This isn't an apology Skinner. This isn't some warped form of gratitude, either. I'm not sure what it is... But... but it's not that." He looked up into the flushed face of the man standing above him. Something deep, something inexpressible, was in the older man's eyes. He nodded, and tightened his hand in Mulder's hair. He guided Mulder's head down and Mulder's lips parted and again admitted the bittersweet heat of another man's sex.

"Mulder," whispered, then the short sharp exhalation that accompanied a warm jet of semen, and the flex of Mulder's throat and tongue as he worked to swallow it.

Finally, Mulder pulled off, and watched his lover soften. Mulder's own bones felt slack; he found himself resting his forehead on the floor, as if in atonement.

A gentle hand on his shoulder, one lifting his chin.

"Mulder..."

He was kissed, softly, and drawn up to be held against Skinner's broad chest.

"I appreciate you, Mulder, and your... skills. But I'd rather you didn't-"

"You don't want me on my knees," Mulder interrupted. Nodding, he continued. "Which is good, because they're killing me." He curled his fingers against the back of Skinner's skull and angled his head so he could kiss the older man. "Next time, I'll blow you in bed."

Skinner simply repeated Mulder's kiss back to him. For a long time, there were no words.

"I uh, I hate to do this, sir--" And with tremendous focus of will, Mulder drew away, Skinner's hands hot and still on his ribcage.

"Mulder. Do I look like a leather daddy to you?"

Mulder clapped his mouth shut; there was no right answer to that question.

"Okay, well, even if I do," and that firm mouth curved subtly, "I hate to be called 'sir' by the person I'm kissing. It makes me feel old."

With some effort, Mulder backed out of Skinner's grasp.

He couldn't help but smile when Skinner reached for him involuntarily.

"It's a little hard to concentrate with your... when your hands are..." He cleared his throat, suddenly electrically aware of his own nudity. Running a hand through his spiky hair, he had to laugh.

"I've got to get to the hospital. Scully's expecting me and--"

"And you need some time to sort this out."

Mulder suspected he was blushing.

"Yeah. As a rule, I don't generally spend my nights ravishing my direct superior..."

"Technically, it was the other way around. You ravished me this morning," Skinner corrected amiably.

In two steps he was within kissing distance, and he felt their teeth click when he brought Skinner's head forward.

"I want there to be other opportunities for mutual ravishment, okay?" His voice was unsteady, but his sincerity was plain. "Is that... will that happen?"

Skinner looked flustered, his shoulders twitching under Mulder's soothing hands.

"It's not supposed to," he said finally. "It would be risky," he added. "It's basically a terrible idea, Mulder."

"Yeah," Mulder agreed cheerfully. "It sucks as far as wise career moves are concerned." He lowered his head to lick the point of the other man's chin.

Skinner's eyes were wild; two hot spots of color burned in his cheeks.

"I want this," he husked.

"Jesus fuck, so do I." And Mulder kissed him again rather than crow in delight. Skinner's heavy hands began kneading his back again, his movements were absent, abstract, arousing.

Pulling away a second time, Mulder closed his teeth gently on the line of Skinner's jaw.

"I have to see Scully. But I'll be back."

"I'll pick up some breakfast while you're out."

"As long as you're here when I get in." He hoped he didn't sound as anxious as he felt.

Skinner cupped Mulder's face in his broad hands for a long moment before letting his hands trail down the agent's throat and shoulders.

Mulder knew it for what it was: a promise, and the first of many.

END