WAIT
by J. Millington
varmstro@earthlink.net
A Mulder/Skinner tale.
NOTE: This is a gift to all the M/Sk fans and in answer to the Slashingmulder Anniversary 1000 words snippet challenge.

---

"Wait."

The hands on his hips stopped their stroking, but didn't let go. His heart raced, sweat dripped into his eyes. He was on the verge of panic. Or ecstasy. He couldn't tell the difference anymore. He had never felt this out of control before.

* * * *

He hadn't been ready at all. In fact, he'd been in denial for so long, he was almost able to ignore the attraction. Almost. But there was something about the man that refused to be ignored.

It had started as fascination. He had walked into the office exuding a righteous indignation and unconscious sexuality and pissed Skinner off and turned him on all at once.

The man drew his eye, even as he drew his ire. From the start there was ambivalence.

The differences between them were enormous. All his life, he had been taught to be in control. To take charge and plan. To leave nothing to chance. He had taken that lesson to heart for so long he had lost track of his sensual side. Indulgence meant leaving common sense behind. Temptation might offer so much that was new and satisfying, but the risks were too great.

He thought that, maybe, if he waited, the desire would fade.

After all, to give in to temptation meant giving up control. And if there was anything constant that could be said about Walter Skinner, it was that he was always firmly in control. The only one who had ever made an attempt to breach that control was Sharon. But he had repelled her attempts. He'd kept his control and lost his wife.

He was in charge, but he was also always alone. No one noticed. Not until a whirlwind named Fox Mulder had invaded his life.

A whirlwind with a remarkable streak of patience.

Years of verbal sparing and innuendo had culminated days ago into a dinner invitation. No one could have been as surprised as Skinner when he invited Mulder to dinner after work that Friday.

Mulder's response had been to cock his head and reply, "Sure, but don't think you can have your way with me afterward." That million dollar grin had sent Skinner's heart racing and it hadn't slowed down for days.

Dinner should have been great. Reservations at one of those places downtown that always received rave reviews from the culinary snobs. But for all that Skinner had noticed the food, they could have eaten at Denny's.

Things were looking up; after a bottle of excellent wine the conversation was taking an interesting turn, until Mulder's phone rang just as the check came. Mulder excused himself to take the call.

When he came back, he shook his head and explained. "The D.C. police have our suspect in custody. I really have to go." Then he leaned in close, clasped Skinner on the shoulder and whispered, "Tomorrow night, my place."

So Skinner was left, frustrated, a little confused, and, after paying the check, over a hundred dollars poorer.

* * * *

That brought him back to now. To Mulder's apartment. To Mulder's ridiculous bed with it's mirrored ceiling.

He felt a warm sigh on his ear. "Are you still okay with this?"

Squeezing his eyes closed, he took a deep breath and nestled his ass back onto the man behind him. "Yeah." In fact he more than okay with it. He hungered for it. "Go on, Mulder."

Urgency overwhelmed them both and it was so hard to make it last. But when it was over he lay on the quivering waterbed, Mulder's limp form draped over him, and Skinner felt absolutely content. Except for one small thing.

He threaded his fingers through Mulder's hair and caressed head. "Hey, you still with me there?"

Mulder's moan rumbled on his belly. At least he was conscious.

He gave Mulder's head a gentle tap. "When's it my turn to be on top?"

Mulder nestled closer. His mumble sounded suspiciously like, "Wait."

Archived: 23:26 03/21/01

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