SUNDAY MORNING
By Raven (raven@aeneas.net)


Walter’s eyes opened gradually. A lifetime of early rising made it 
almost impossible for him to sleep much past six, and the light
coming 
in from the windows was pale enough to prove that this morning was no 
exception. But he wasn’t looking at the dawn or the clock, or even
for 
his glasses. Instead, he was looking into the face of his lover. 
Mulder was watching him, Walter knew he’d probably been watching for 
an hour or so, he always did after...    

Skinner lowered his eyes at the rest of the thought, or would have,
but 
Mulder stopped him with the barest touch of a finger under his chin.
  

"Stop it, Walter. There’s no room for shame in our bed." The words
were 
spoken gently, lovingly, but Mulder was very serious, nonetheless.
He held
Walter’s gaze until the brown depths acknowledged, then gifted him
with
a soft, sweet kiss.    

Mulder’s hand traveled up his arm, caressing his shoulder. They were 
lying face to face, and weren’t really touching each other except for 
that hand. Walter felt himself mentally leaning into the touch,
hungry 
for it on a basic level. The hand moved to the back of his neck, the 
pads of Mulder’s fingers trailing ever so lightly before the whole
hand 
gave a firm, reassuring squeeze. That hand leisurely followed the
column 
of Skinner’s spine, feeling the ridge of muscle on either side,
pausing 
occasionally to trace a scar or idle over a favored spot. Mulder let
his 
hand linger on Skinner’s hip for a few moments, then moved down to
cup 
Walter’s left butt cheek.    

Skinner gave an aborted flinch, and quickly cut off a sharp hiss of
pain, 
yet Mulder’s hand remained where it was.    

"No."  The word was whispered, and accompanied by a kiss to his
forehead, 
but again Walter heard the reproof, however mild. "Don’t hide your
pain 
from me, Walter. No more hiding, not for either of us. The good, the
bad, 
and the ugly, we share it all, remember? "    

"I remember. But it isn’t easy." The last bit was said with just a
hint 
of defiance. His reward for honesty was a small chuckle, and
Mulder’s hand 
leaving his sore backside to caress his face instead.    

"No, it isn’t. But it is worth it. Jesus, Walter, it’s worth it."
And then 
Mulder was kissing him, and he felt himself letting go, the way only
Mulder 
could make him let go... "Let go, Walter." Mulder’s voice was loving
but 
firm. Walter hesitated only a moment, before shaking his head .    

Crack! The back of the hairbrush left a bright oval print on his
rear, and 
he couldn’t suppress a grunt. It wasn’t the first spank of the night
by any 
means, nor likely to be the last, despite the fact that his backside
was 
already well-shaded, and beginning to burn.Mulder had started out
with just 
his hand, as always.    

He’d taken Walter by the hand, slowly drawing him closer. There were
kisses, 
to his cheeks and forehead, his closed eyes and his mouth, little
kisses of 
love and comfort. There was an embrace, not the seductive hold of a
lover or 
the light touch of a friend, but a nearly parental wrapping of the
long arms 
around him.    

With his head resting on Mulder’s shoulder, Walter had listened
almost 
absently to whispered words of intent and purpose, of method and
motive, 
and of result. Skinner himself had said nothing, too torn between
the warmth 
of such intimacy and the chill of apprehension to give more than a
slow nod 
of required consent.    

And then Mulder had seated himself on the side of their bed, and
Walter was 
lying naked, face down across those long thighs. There was an arm
across his 
waist, securing him. His genitals had been placed comfortably and
safely out 
of harm’s reach. His own arms were crossed, his head nestled on top
of them. 
His eyes were open, though he wasn’t really looking at anything, had
simply 
been waiting patiently.    

He hadn’t even blinked at the first few slaps of palm to muscle, had
not shown 
by word or deed that he was aware of them in the least. The next few
had 
resulted in a long, slow release of breath, and the closing of
suddenly heavy 
lids. Two dozen later, Walter’s shoulders lowered a fraction, and
the last of 
the tension had left his body. There was a pause as Mulder picked up
the brush, 
then the sharp sound of wood impacting flesh. And it had begun in
earnest. 
Mulder was almost regretfully demanding, Walter was not yet capable
of giving 
in to the demands, and so the brush fell again. And again. And
again.    

Crack! The brush had fallen some thirty-two times by Mulder’s
careful count,
but his voice held only calm insistence as he demanded again.    

"Say it, Walter."    

The man over his knees had given a deep groan as his abused bottom
took 
another hit, and his body began to tremble. Nothing more than a tiny
shiver at 
first, it was now an intensive shuddering, as though he’d been
frozen before, 
and only just thawed out enough to react to how cold he’d been.    

It was what Mulder had been waiting for, and now he bit his bottom
lip, 
silently pleading with his beloved to say the words that would let
him stop. 
Skinner’s rear was the color of a bruised cherry, the junction of
cheek and 
thigh even darker. He didn’t want to spank him anymore, never wanted
to spank 
him again. He waited a moment more, then raised the brush even
higher. He 
wouldn’t ask twice.    

"It hurts."    

It was just two simple words, but the levels of meaning were almost
endless. 
On the surface it simply meant he was in physical pain, but it also
meant 
that he was suffering, meant that Mulder had hurt him, meant that he
was 
alive and aware and able to feel pain. He could admit that he was
vulnerable, 
that he wasn't impervious, that he was human and had needs. He could
be, for 
the first time in his life, a little bit less.    

The words sounded as if they had been pulled painfully from a too
tight 
throat, but Walter had said them clearly and distinctly. Mulder
immediately 
threw aside the brush. He carefully helped Skinner up, easing the now 
crying man to lie in his arms, soothing and comforting with
everything in 
him, but doing nothing to stop the tears.    

Walter cried for a long time, and he cried about many things.
He held on tightly to the man holding him so closely, and he cried.
And
with every tear, he was baptizing Fox Mulder in the name of love and
hope, baptizing himself in the name of redemption and gratitude.