TITLE: Mornings At Seven
AUTHOR: Blue Mohairbear
PAIRING: Skinner/Mulder
FEEDBACK: bluemohairbear@t-online.de
WEBSITE: http://www.squidge.org/3wstop
DISCLAIMER: You kidding? Or did you see Skinner in my bed? So there.
SUMMARY: Hot coffee and a sexy early-morning surprise for the guys.
WARNINGS: If you decide to paint your garden bench in the barn, make sure your kitten is outside and cannot "help" you - unless you find it funny to scrub dozens of tiny blue paw prints off the floor. And wouldn't that make them "blueprints"? LOL. Oh, you mean warnings for this snippet?! Nope. None. <g>
NOTES: This is a "thank-you"-snippet for Kit Mason, who got me the mentioned shirt and the coffee press. Thanks again, hon, I love the stuff!

Mornings at Seven
by Blue Mohairbear
July, 2000

Saturday mornings were not his favorite time for grocery shopping, but years of military training still made him wake up at five-thirty, no matter which day. That way, he could hit the supermarket before screaming children and their Terminator mothers made the place a hell.

On the way home, he passed a Starbucks and decided to indulge himself with some of that rich, strong Gold Coast coffee blend he liked. It was still early and the coffee shop was almost empty.

While he was waiting in the short queue, his eyes fell on a colored... something in the shelf with the Starbucks paraphernalia. A something that turned out to be a coffee press. A travel coffee plunger with Doonesbury on it, designed for one cup of coffee. Definitely not made for people like him; people who lived off coffee, and way too much of it, during endless office hours.

He bought a supply of the Gold Coast for home and sat down at one of the tables with a steaming mug and a muffin. With a contented sigh, he inhaled the strong exotic scent, leant back and sipped from the dark brew.

He felt the coffee flowing down inside him as it left a delightful hot trail behind it, then spreading a pleasant warmth in his still empty stomach. When he reached for his muffin, his eyes fell on a customer who had just entered the shop. Tall, lanky figure, sleepy almond eyes, the auburn hair suspiciously looking like bed-hair or not-combed-after-shower-hair.

Skinner found himself grinning.

Immediately put a stop to it.

The tall lanky figure lined up in the still short queue in front of the counter. He wore a grey t-shirt which said "YOU DON'T KNOW ME", in big bold letters. Beneath, in smaller writing, "Federal Witness Protection Program".

Skinner rolled his eyes. An FBI souvenir. He supposed that Fox William Mulder was probably the only FBI employee who'd wear such a stupid shirt. And *still* look good enough to eat.


Had he just thought *that*?


He had indeed, obviously.

Obviously, because he felt heat pooling in his groin and the stirring of an erection between his legs.

He sighed resignedly and took another deep swallow from his coffee.

Watched Mulder bouncing on his heels to some strange inner rhythm only the man himself could hear. Couldn't suppress a smile when he saw Mulder's eyes lighten up as his gaze fell on the Doonesbury coffee press in the shelf.

Mulder grinned like a ten-year-old as he grabbed the plastic thing and began to play with the cap and the plunger. As he looked up, his eyes met Skinner's.

The AD set up a neutral, non-committal face, but smirked inwardly as Mulder's eyes grew big and the sensual mouth with the luscious pout opened in stupefaction.

However, the Agent recovered quickly from his early-morning-shock. Skinner swallowed and stared in utter disbelief as his subordinate upped the ante.

Mulder gave him an incredible grin that was sexy and evil at the same time, as he slowly pulled the plunger out of the coffee press, then licked his lips and slowly, very slowly, let it glide back in. His hazel-green eyes sparkled.

"Can I help you, sir?"

Skinner couldn't help but admire Mulder's reflexes as the man turned to the girl behind the counter and, with a polite smile, bought a pound of Kenyan blend and the coffee press.

When Mulder was finished packing his stuff, Skinner was already standing close behind him, bluntly invading his Agent's private space and fighting the unease his much too tight jeans gave him.

"Have you had breakfast yet, Fox?"

Skinner sniffed the clean scent of soap and shampoo and just a whiff of fresh sweat that tickled his nose most enticingly. He knew Mulder could feel his hot breath at his neck, and, with deep satisfaction, noticed the light tremor that run through the well-muscled body before him.

Mulder didn't turn round, just slowly shook his head.

"Come, then", Skinner ordered. "I've got everything we need."

And he left, buzzing with the hot thrilling ecstasy of the tiger on the prowl, not looking whether Mulder was following him or not.

He *knew*.


     In the end there can be only one.
     May it be Walter Skinner, the Assistant Director.
     Find my Skinner-slash at: http://www.squidge.org/3wstop