JiM :: All Cats…

"All Cats…

…are gray in the dark"

Mulder had known from the first instant that moving the copy machine into the small storage closet at the end of hallway was a mistake. No windows, one door that stuck, one fluorescent light that flickered over the looming shelves of copy paper that threatened to cascade onto the unwary. He developed claustrophobia if he copied anything longer than five pages. Its only virtue was its uninviting atmosphere; if one wanted to be perfectly alone somewhere in the Hoover Building, this was the spot. A great place for going to ground and licking one's wounds.

He and Scully had just finished another unsatisfactory meeting with Skinner. Oh, the case review had gone well enough, and they had actually solved the crime this time. Skinner had been at his most mild and had even tossed them a managerial "good work on this one, agents," bone. Unfortunately, he also looked like why the riot started, at least to Mulder's longing eyes. His long-term simmering interest in Walter Skinner's body seemed to have heated up to a rolling boil some time in the past month. At first, he had chalked it up to springtime and a lack of anything resembling a social life outside of work. He hated the way his eyes strayed to the various intriguing bulges and bunches on Skinner's body; he despised the way his breath sped up when their eyes met during the most innocent conversations. He felt like a teenager with clammy hands and wooden tongue as an added delight on top of the rest of his unwelcome symptoms whenever he was in Skinner's presence. The man probably thought he was having a breakdown when the reality was so much worse—Fox Mulder had a crush on his boss.

Just the mere thought of it made Mulder groan and drop his head on top of the copier that was currently belching 500 copies of whatever idiotic report he'd had clutched in his hand when he had come upon Skinner in the empty stairwell ten minutes ago. Skinner had been leaning against the concrete wall on one of the landings, head back, eyes closed. His hands were in his pockets and his ankles crossed, looking for all the world like a tired man just lounging on a street corner, waiting for the sun to shine on him again. In that one unguarded moment, he was more approachable, more human, more beautiful than he had ever seemed before. It was obvious that he had not heard Mulder's approach. The breathy sound of Mulder's wave of adolescent longing made him open his eyes, though. His head shot up and he stared straight at Mulder, standing on the landing above.

Mulder didn't know how, exactly, but Skinner's lip quirked a fraction and he knew. Skinner knew everything going through Mulder's mind, probably saw the bulge in his slacks, the flush on his cheeks, the hunger…hell, Mulder was sure that he was drooling. Skinner said nothing, merely smiled that tiny knowing smile and then pushed himself off the wall and became the AD again, starched, impeccable, unapproachable as he opened the fire door to his right and disappeared through it. So Mulder had thumped his head against the cool concrete in relative peace, then fled toward the basement to regroup.

Terrific. His hardass boss, his guilty fantasy and his physical hunger had all met in a stairwell and Mulder felt like he had only been along for the ride. This new development would make the next department meeting a real joy. He wondered if he ought to kill himself now or wait for Skinner to cut his heart out in tiny slices. That small, knowing smile had boded no good at all. The copier jammed suddenly and Mulder swore viciously at it. He was just bending over to open the paper drawer when the lights went out.

In this windowless concrete room, the darkness was absolute. He was blind. Mulder straightened up and took one step toward the door, colliding with a hard, warm body in the dark. He stumbled back and raised his hands defensively. His shoulders were caught in strong hands and steadied as a voice whispered, "Shh. It's OK." Mulder's hands collided with a hard chest, covered in crisp broadcloth.

"Sir? What's happening?" Mulder whispered, not even sure why the dark seemed to require it of him. There was no answer. Then he was being drawn against that hard chest and a demanding mouth was moving over his, strong fingers tangling in his hair. His schoolboy fantasies hadn't been quite accurate—this was better. The man kissed like this was the first and last time he would ever do so. It was heady and frightening and hotter than hell to be the focal point of so much hunger. The scent of his aftershave, like sunlight on deep blue water, flowed around Mulder. He groaned a little in approval as that mouth shifted slightly and a poorly shaven spot on the other man's jaw began to sandpaper at his own chin, sending staticky little jolts through him.

"What do you want?" he murmured when the other had drawn back for a moment's breath.

"You," came the answer out of the dark. Hands began moving over his chest and shoulders, gliding up and down his arms before pausing at his throat to scrabble at the knot in his tie. He was gently but inexorably pushed up against the copier, then kissed until he was breathless again. Fingers began working down the placket of his shirt as that hot mouth began working its way down the side of his throat, undoing his will just as easily. Every time he reached for the hard body he knew was there in the dark, his hands were deflected by a shrug or the caressing movement of a strong forearm. By the fourth undone shirt button, Mulder gave up on being anything but the recipient of the attentions he had wanted so long. Next time, though, Walter Skinner was in for a hell of a surprise. Then one warm hand skimmed over his chest and the other began fumbling with his belt buckle and thinking became highly over-rated.

Time flowed strangely in the dark—it seemed like hours later that Mulder found himself spread out against the copier, shirt hanging open, undershirt pushed up beneath his arms, slacks open and tangled at his feet, briefs at his knees. His cock was held in a warm, strong hand and his face was pressed against a muscular neck, muffling his moans as he came into that large palm.

He was kissed again then gently turned, a hand on the back of his neck guiding him. Mulder leaned over the copier and spread his legs even as the last tremors were still shivering through him. A blunt finger, slick with his own semen, breached his ass and began slowly twisting. The hand at his neck rubbed reassuringly as he gasped at the unfamiliar sensations. Two fingers inside and his breath came more sharply now as he trembled on the brink of pain. That hand slipped around his throat and gently pulled him upright, twisting his head until blindly seeking lips found his in the dark. The stroking of the tongue in his mouth began to blot out the rhythm of the fingers stretching him open. They plunged in deep and he felt a shock of something as sharp as pain but far brighter.

A third finger brought true pain with it for a few shadowy moments before those seeking fingers found that same spot again and the pleasure began to sparkle in the darkness. Then the hand at his throat and those invading fingers were both gone and he was left to rock against the stability of the copier. He had almost enough time to wonder what the fuck he was doing before he heard the sound of foil tearing. Then one warm hand was splayed across his abdomen, supporting him as fingers held his buttocks apart and something larger and blunter than those fingers began pushing its way inside him.

Mulder gasped at the pain and braced his arms on the copier. A second hand wrapped around him and there was warm breath against his ear, murmurs of encouragement and promises of pleasure to come. The burning sensation lessened the deeper he was opened and he let his breath out shakily. The cloth of their shirts whispered and snickered against each other as they came together. Slowly, surely, the rhythm began, careful at first as Mulder teetered back and forth from pain to pleasure but growing fiercer as pleasure won out in the darkness. The pounding felt like a heartbeat shared by two men and the sense of connection to Skinner was more than half the ecstasy for Mulder.

One callused palm had his cock at half-mast now, stroking in time to the cock filling his ass. He writhed between the two, held in place by the strong arm locked across his midriff. "Please…" he gasped and didn't know what he wanted. But the man behind him did and gave it to him. Whatever place he'd reached with his fingers was now stroked again and again by the hard flesh inside him and time eddied and pooled again as Mulder shook and thrashed and came hard, arms buckling as he slumped against the copier. The arm across Mulder's gut pulled him back into position and there was time for three of four more driving strokes before there was a harsh gasp in his ear and the hard thighs behind him pressed into his, straining deeper after pleasure. Then they were both slumping against the copier, breathing harsh and loud in the darkness.

After a time, lips moved against Mulder's ear, then there was a momentary slash of pain as the now-softened cock was pulled out of him. Mulder murmured a little against the loss of connection and lay his sweaty face against the now-cool copier. A hand covered in muslin stroked against his ass, cleaning him up. He could feel the handkerchief as it was dropped beside his hand on top of the copier. Then there were rustlings and the sound of clothing being refastened, retucked, restored to pristine office attire.

Strong arms pulled Mulder upright and turned him around. A kiss was pressed against his mouth, nearly bruising his lips. That rough spot burned his chin again and fine-grained wool chafed at his overly-sensitive cock.

"Thanks. I just needed to know, once, what it would be like to fuck you." The whisper swirled around Mulder's head, tangled up with that deep blue scent. He closed his eyes in pain at the word 'once' and didn't reopen them until after the door had opened and closed and he was alone again.

Then he turned stumbled over to the door, turned on the light and began putting his clothing back to rights.

---

Three hours later, the endorphin rush had faded, his ass hurt and Scully was giving him covertly worried glances from across the office. He felt like shit. Pencil-tossing and wastebasket basketball hadn't gotten him any closer to an answer as to why, though. This morning, hadn't he been feeling like an idiot for wanting Skinner and knowing he'd never have him? Now he had. Curiosity was satisfied, now he could go back to work and not waste his time fantasizing about his boss. He had known that tiny quirked smile boded ill -he was just surprised that Skinner had acted so quickly on his newfound knowledge. And decisively. There was no question in Mulder's mind now about what Skinner wanted. A one-time zipless fuck in the dark was the extent of his interest. Get over it, Mulder told himself, and reached for a file.

An hour later, his self-control finally snapped. He slapped down the file, ignored Scully's concerned, "Mulder?" and stormed out of the office. He took the stairs two at a time, letting the aching in his lower back and ass fuel his anger. He strode past Skinner's assistant's desk without a word and slammed into his boss's office.

Skinner was leaning against his desk, polishing his glasses. He dropped them on the desk top to stare at the man who was now standing directly in front of him, too close to be anything but a challenge. Mulder liked the look of startled confusion on Skinner's face, so easy to read by the bright sunlight streaming through the blinds.

"What the hell did you think you were doing this morning?" Mulder hissed into his face.

"Mulder, what are you talking about? I spent the morning in departmental meetings." Skinner's even tone, calming and soothing, the same tone of voice used to pacify psych patients, just caused Mulder to snap.

"I meant this," he growled, then grabbed Skinner's head and pulled it toward his, locking their mouths together. Passive no more, Mulder licked and bit at Skinner's lips until they opened and then his tongue was rampaging through the hard-edged mouth that had smiled at him this morning. Skinner was completely still for long moments, then his hands slowly came up to grip Mulder's upper arms. Just as his tongue began to stroke against Mulder's, three things occurred to Mulder through the haze of lust and anger.

First, Skinner had been cleaning his glasses with his handkerchief when Mulder had stormed in. Mulder had found the wadded up square of linen used to clean him on top of the copier after he'd turned on the light. He had used it to wipe his own come off the side of the machine before flushing it down a toilet. But there was a handkerchief on the desk beside the discarded glasses. What man carries two?

Second, Skinner's scent was spicy and green, a memory of deep woods at dusk. It was definitely not the scent that had made him feel drunken this morning, teasing him from the corrk of his lover's neck. What man changes aftershave in the middle of the day?

Third, and most damning, Mulder could still feel the razor-burnt spot on his chin. Only now, as he kissed Skinner, it was rubbing against silky smooth skin, not unnoticed whiskers. The sensation would have been marvelously soothing, if the ice-cold tsunami of realization weren't pouring down on his head.

The man he was kissing now, this man (his boss, who was kissing him back stealing his breath as if he meant never to return it, the administrator who claimed to have spent the morning in meetings, the man whose erection was now pressed against Mulder's thigh) was not the man who…oh shit.

Mulder jerked backward, breaking the kiss but unable to break Skinner's iron grip on his arms. He closed his eyes in misery at the confused look in the deep brown eyes inches from his own.

"Mulder, what is this?" No whisper, this husky voice.

"A mistake," Mulder said and tried to pull away.

"I don't think so," Skinner said softly and pulled him back against his chest. One large hand came up to cradle Mulder's head and pull it down against his shoulder. "Tell me," he ordered quietly.

"You were in meetings all morning?" Mulder asked.

"Yes." Skinner didn't question Mulder's elliptical answer. He just tightened his grip and waited.

"You never came down to the basement?"

"No," Skinner said calmly, still waiting.

"Then who the hell just fucked me in the copy room?!"

Skinner made no answer and Mulder stood, tense and miserable, face pressed against Skinner's neck, breathing in an unfamiliar and wholly wonderful scent that he knew he would never taste again. Then the shivering began, trembling beneath his ear and against his chest. When he tried to pull back to see what was wrong with Skinner, the other man just held on tighter. After a moment, Skinner gave a gasp, sucking in great draughts of air…and then he was rumbling and snorting with laughter.

It felt like an avalanche to Mulder, trapped against that heaving chest. Locked in the arms of the man that had been his obsession for a solid month, kissed breathless moments before, weltering with emotion, Mulder finally settled on one. Aggrieved, he snarled, "Are you quite finished?"

The snorts and chuckles checked for a moment, then rippled on at a lower volume. "Nope," Skinner gasped. "You don't know who you just fucked in the copy room and you came up here to check it out? What—you want me to sign a 302 for this investigation?" Skinner's laughter devolved into something perilously close to giggles.

Mulder scowled. "It was dark, dammit! I thought it was you."

Skinner's laughter ended abruptly. Big hands slid up to take Mulder's head between them and Skinner gazed seriously into his scowling face. "When I make love to you, Fox, it won't be in any fucking copy room. Got it?" Mulder searched his eyes for a long moment, then nodded slowly, feeling those callused palms rasp gently against his jaw.

But the laughter couldn't be held back entirely and Skinner's eyes began to gleam. "So—do you figure it was an alien shape changer? Or just an implanted memory?"

Against his will, Mulder's lips twitched. "Trust me, it wasn't a memory he implanted."

Something dark and possessive flashed in Skinner's eyes. But his voice was even when he said, "I think we should talk about this some place a little more private than this. And we'll address the issue of sex in the workplace and how stupid it is some other time. What were you thinking?!" Skinner demanded, voice rising near the end.

It comforted Mulder no end to realize that he wasn't the only one on an emotional roller coaster. He answered honestly. "I was thinking that this might be my only chance with you and I should grab it." His hands slid down to Skinner's waist and he gripped there, holding on tight. "Besides, that copy room door jams shut every time the door closes. No one could have stumbled in on us."

"I'll have to remember that," Skinner said dryly. Then his expression softened. "Go do some work. Meet me at my place around 7. We'll have some dinner and we'll talk."

"And…?" Mulder suggested hopefully.

"If you're up to it, maybe."

Mulder rubbed himself gently against Skinner's hip. "What do you think?"

"I think I'm a lucky bastard and you're a lunatic. Now, go." He kissed Mulder's forehead then gently shoved him away in the direction of the door. Mulder reached the door, then turned back for a moment. Skinner was polishing his glasses again. He slid them back onto his face, then shoved the handkerchief into his pocket.

"Oh, and Mulder? Stay out of the copy room."

Mulder thought about sticking out his tongue at his boss, but settled for a grin as he closed the door behind him. There had been a rumbling, possessive kind of purr beneath Skinner's words that he thought he liked. A lot.

---

Elsewhere in the Hoover Building, a tall man in a wrinkled broadcloth shirt and less-than-pristine wool trousers reached for a handkerchief to clean his glasses. Then he remembered just where he'd left it and smiled, a happy predator's smile. He polished his lenses on the sleeve of one arm and went back to work.