BACCARAT PIECE: EVERYDAY
By Sean Spencer
seans13@hotmail.com

CATEGORY:  VRA

RATING:  NC-17

SPOILERS:  None

KEYWORDS:  Mulder/Skinner slash

SUMMARY:  A tongue-tied moment

DISCLAIMER:  Fox Mulder, Walter Skinner and Dana Scully are
the properties of Chris Carter, 1013 Productions and Fox
Television.  Copyright infringement is not intended or
implied in their use in this work of fiction.


.......................


It's a freezing winter weekend.  The cabin's heat hasn't
kicked in yet but both of us couldn't wait.

We're snuggling under the warm comforter and we're already
intent on our goal.  Walter is sucking on my nipple, my
right one.  I can feel him hard already against my thigh.
I'm hard, too and he has his hand on me.

"Walter, I want..." his questing tongue in my mouth stops my
words.  I moan and can't think anymore.  We both want it
quick and hard.  His hand goes between my legs and I open
them.  Then he reaches over to the nightstand for some lube.

"Jesus, Walter!"  I cry out as he smears it on me.

"Sorry, babes, too cold?"

We do some more blind maneuverings under the comforter.  I
raise my legs with my feet on the bed and I feel his hands
under my buttocks.  I know he's about to enter me and when
he's about to do it, I like to hold onto his arm.  This is
one of the best parts of sex with him, just when he's about
to go inside me.   My other hand strays down to his buttocks
and feel his hips poise just for a second.

Once he plunges in, I gasp again.  Even if the lube was
cold, it still works well.  Nothing hurts at all and Walter
pauses for a second.

"Fox...good?"

"Yeess." I'm already panting with excitement.

Then the muscles of his buttocks bunch again and he starts
to push in and out.

"Walter...!"

"Come on, baby, come for Walter."

I can't even begin to describe how it feels for me once
we're really into it.  He is so strong over me and it's as
if he is passing on his strength to me.  It's maudlin but so
very true.

I don't know if I say something.  I must have, because he
gasps then chuckles.  He tolerates my tendency to speak too
much when we're having sex.  He tolerates a lot of things
about me.

He is so good. He is the best lover I ever had and I hope
that he'll be my only lover for years to come.  It's not as
if I can ever compare his technique to anyone else's.  I
always like to think that maybe I've been waiting for him.
His caring and consideration in bed is irreplaceable for me.

Only he takes my breath away and his warmth and humor and
protectiveness are what I've been searching for my whole
life.

He is so big and strong as he pistons inside me.  He's
concentrating with the tip of his tongue poised on his upper
lip.  I take in the view of Walter in complete arousal, his
forehead creased in concentration with those dark high
arched eyebrows, his eyes looking at me and yet not looking
at me, his nostrils flaring and the high color on his
cheeks.  There are beads of sweat on his upper lip and his
bald crown is glistening.  My legs are on those damp
muscular sides and I can't help but arch my back as he
drives his body into me.

He carefully takes my leg and we shift on the bed once more.
He takes my right leg over his shoulder and I feel him go
even deeper with each thrust.

I cry out almost continuously now and he encourages me to
cry out some more.  The ecstasy I feel is so overwhelming
that I could feel my body singing.  At this point, it's like
he is me and I am him.   I hold on to his back and I feel it
arch and relax in time with his thrusting.

"Feel it?"  He asks and I nod frantically.

I take his hand off my face and place it on my own hardness
and I shudder and moan as I splash myself between us.

"Oh, honey," he says.  I hear his voice thickened with need
as if from very far away as the bright shard of pleasure
bursts from my pelvis to spread throughout my whole body. A
low frantic sound escapes me as I clutch him to me, my arms,
my legs, my bottom.  Then I arch helplessly.

Walter grunts and finally succumbs to full gratification.
His eyes shut as he shudders and he collapses against me.
He is all sweaty under the comforter and I love it when he
buries his face in my shoulder.  We are still connected when
he gives a final half-hearted thrust.  I moan again in
surprise.  Then he gives a last groan of satisfaction.

I wrap my legs and arms around him and don't want to let go.
But he's shrinking inside me and reluctantly we pull apart.
The sound of our bodies separating is audible.   As he
leaves me, I feel the split second of looseness that
disappears as my body adjusts to being alone again.

I'm beginning to drowse and he laughs again when he sees my
eyes beginning to close.  He likes it very much when he
wears me out.   I think to him it's a testament to his
virility.

"Come here," he says and I snuggle up to his chest and my
semen smears between us some more.  He kisses my hair again
and then he bends down and kisses my mouth.

"Sleepy?"

"Uh-huh."  I can feel his hands with the washcloth as he
begins to wipe us off.   It's this part when he's very
gentle.  He knows I'm too sensitive sometimes after coming.
Then I'm out.

When I wake up I see that I've been asleep for half an hour.
He's still in bed with me and I hear the faint sound of some
sportscaster from the television.  My head is still on
Walter's chest, and I listen to his heartbeat for a moment.
As everything coalesces around me, I color when I notice I
drooled on him in sleep.  I use the sheet to clean it off,
then almost against my will, my hand strays to his chest,
right beside where my cheek is resting.  I play with the
springy, crisp short hairs and he notices I'm awake.

He still smells of sex, sweat and aftershave.   I'm sure I
smell like him, too.  The feeling of both of us very sated
and comfortable together under the comforter is such a
relief after a week of hard work.  He adjusts us on the bed.
I end up on my back with him over me.  He caresses my chest,
then my hips.  Finally, he reaches for the remote and lowers
the volume of the television.

"Okay, spill the beans."  He's gently resting on me and he
ruffles the hair on my head.

"What?"  Spill the beans over what?

"I saw you in the hallway last Wednesday.  I saw your face.
Something was bothering you; I can tell.  And you didn't
return my call even if I left a message on your machine."

At first I debated on whether to lie to him and tell him he
was deluded.  But he already knows me too well and will get
angry if I do lie.  I don't want him to be angry; I still
need his arms around me.  But I was reluctant to talk.

"Well, do you want me to guess?"  He takes my chin in his
hand and he looks at me.  Even without his glasses, his gaze
is piercing.  "Your dad called, didn't he?"

I look away.

"I didn't know I was that predictable," I mutter.

"So what did he want to tell you this time?"

"He was drunk, he didn't know what he was saying."  I'm a
psychologist by profession so I cringe when I hear myself.
I couldn't believe that I am defending my dad's harsh words.

"I'd like to hear what he didn't know he was saying."
Walter's voice turns to one of concern.  His voice loses its
harshness, the harshness it takes when he's interrogating
someone.  "Come on, Fox.  I want to know."

I draw in a breath and go for some humor, but it falls flat.

"You know, just the usual; I was a dumb fuck for losing
Samantha twice.  And I've been nothing but a disappointment
to them and I make my mom's life miserable."

I try to be nonchalant but I'm no actor.  I hate the way my
voice cracks.  I turn away but can't move to the other end
of the bed.  Walter's arms won't let me.

I breathe deeply and mercifully I don't break down.   All I
can think of is the fact that my dad has always talked to me
that way so I should be able to take it by now.  I should be
used to it.

Suddenly, I lunge forward and hold on to Walter.  I bury my
face in his chest and feel his strong arms around me.  After
a while, Walter's hand strays down between my legs and
softly rubs me there.  I recognize it as what it is: a basic
and primitive form of comfort.  I'm soothed by it and I know
he doesn't expect it to turn into anything sexual.

Then he pushes off me and lies on his side.  I notice he's
angry.  Now what did I do this time?

"So I guess your old man called, what, Tuesday night?"

"Yes."

"Since Tuesday?"  There's an aggrieved tone in his voice.
"Didn't you even THINK I'd like to know what's going on in
your life?  Didn't you think I'd like to hear about how bad
you felt?  Why weren't you returning my calls?"

I pause as I thought of a viable answer.

"Fox, in case it hasn't sunk in, what we have together isn't
just about the sex," Walter continues.  "I care for you
beyond Friday nights to Monday mornings.  I care for you
everyday, and more than that, I love you.  Everyday.  Okay?"

I almost say the words.  I almost tell him I love him.

We've been doing this weekend thing since summer and it's
winter now.  But I can't say the words.  They seem stuck in
my throat.  I've said those three fateful words to Phoebe
once, when I was young and didn't know any better.  Now that
I'm thirty-two, I don't know if it's about time for me to
tell someone else.

Instead, I chicken out.  I nod at him and tell him next time
something is troubling me I'll call him.  Even if inside I'm
sure I love him, saying it out loud will cause bad things to
happen.  I know these things.

Yeah, it's called magical thinking and in psychological
terms, it's an aberration of the psyche.

At first, I thought it was just the sex.   Maybe these cabin
weekends were simply times of physical release and nothing
more.

But if that was so, why does my heart skip a bit every time
I see him in DC?  Sometimes, I spot him in the Hoover with a
folder in his hand, reading while he walks, or else we're in
his office with Scully by my side.  Sometimes, I do remember
some of the wild moments, like how he looks when I have him
in my mouth, or how he feels when he's inside me.

But more often, what I feel is a calmness that paradoxically
excites me.  Here was someone who loves me, who can take the
occasional craziness that I dish out.  Who wakes up early on
Sundays to cook me breakfast.  Someone who stops the car at
the shoulder so he could give me a kiss or caress my face.
Someone who scours the city for those glass pieces.  Someone
who officially reprimands me in the office but is a teddy
bear the moment he makes a call that night.  He calls when
the cases are tough and demands to know if I'm taking care
of myself.  Someone who anonymously dumps a whole set of
over-the-counter stuff on my desk for the bad cold I had.

It took me a while to realize that in this relationship,
he's more of the romantic.   I never would have thought that
the stern, no-nonsense AD has such soft heart for the one he
loves.  And I never thought I'd be the recipient of such
attentions from anyone.

I try to say it. Besides, he's watching television now and
the mood is gone.  His attention is wholly focused on the
basketball game.  I really try to say the three words. My
mouth opens once, then twice.  But I can't.


Something bad might happen.



END OF BACCARAT PIECE:  EVERYDAY


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"A beacon in the night."
               Mulder in reference to Skinner
                  Nisei
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