Title : Too Much Thought
Author : Ivskn 
Email : lvskn@mindspring.com 
Rating : Pretty tame with a little bit of "adult" language.
Category : Skinner/Mulder
Disclaimer : As we all know, these characters belong to 
somebody else. But I can dream can't I?
Summary : Our favourite guy is a tough nut to crack - but he is 
cracking.
Too Much Thought
by Ivskn
For a moment Skinner couldn't remember what he was about to 
do. "Why am I standing here?" he muttered to himself. Looking 
around the kitchen, he figured he must have been getting 
something to eat. But I'm not hungry. After a couple more 
seconds it flashed through his head -- coffee. "Coffee. I want 
coffee." This lapse worried him.
Not just this particular lapse. The fact that it was one in a series of 
them over the last month, that worried him. His mind was foggy a 
good part of the time; he was suffering from a real lack of 
concentration and that was an unsafe state for him to be in. It 
wasn't good for him and it definitely was bad in a dangerous 
situation..
Coffee…oh, yeah. The coffee. He filled a huge mug.. "No 
cream…gotta stay away from that," he said as he lifted the 
steaming brew to his lips and took a sip. His face grimaced in 
response to the bite the coffee served up to him. "No….gotta 
have cream." Cream and sugar. He slid the mug across the 
counter to the sugar bowl and spooned in two rather large dollops. 
Crossing to the fridge he berated himself silently for what he was 
about to do. Inside the box, he saw the beautiful little container of 
heavy cream practically undulating for him, enticing him to wrap 
his big and powerful hand around it and lovingly empty it, 
somewhat, into his waiting coffee. And that's what he did, 
enjoying every second the thick, white fluid cascaded from the 
waxed, cardboard spout. He watched as the coffee practically 
stirred itself, the cream disappearing to the bottom of the mug 
then rising in the current it had created upon entry, then spinning, 
gobbling up the darkness until the mug beamed back an enticing 
caramel color. He lifted the mug to his lips the second time 
knowing exactly what was in store -- sweet warmth, thick, creamy 
pacification that later would deliver it's caffeinated kick. The hot 
rim of the mug rested on his lower lip as the coffee was poured 
and sucked into his mouth. Ah, yes. Now that's how I like my 
Mulder….hot and… "JESUS! What?" Suddenly the coffee wasn't 
as rewarding. It burned his tongue and the roof of his mouth. He 
thought it even burned his heart a little as it went down.
Mulder raced through his head way too often anymore. As foggy 
as his brain had been lately, the clear image of Mulder would hurl 
itself out of the mist and bounce around in his head. "Fuck. I 
don't need this." He sucked up an extra large mouthful of coffee 
and held it in his mouth. It felt like his delicate oral membrane 
was scalding and raising blisters. He swallowed. Then he took 
another large gulp and swallowed immediately, the Java scorching 
his esophagus as it dropped toward his stomach. The painful heat 
made his eyes water, yet the image of Mulder stayed. "Damn."
*********************
As he drove to work, parked, found his way to his office and 
proceeded to stumble through the papers on his desk, Mulder 
never left his thoughts. Skinner found he only heard parts of what 
anyone said to him. Yet he answered them, conversed. He felt he 
was pulling it off -- that he was okay, nobody noticed. He was a 
survivor and always had been. This was just another exercise in 
survival. But what was he surviving?
With the morning out of the way and lunchtime just around the 
corner, he decided exercise was what he needed. Burn off the 
fog. Get the pump going and circulate some oxygen. I'm 
suffocating here. Can't anyone see that? Did anyone care, he 
wondered.
Noontime at the Bureau gym was not the best time; way too many 
people and too much talk. But that could be good this time 
around. Distraction might prove helpful. Although swimming 
wasn't his favorite sport, he thought the water's density and the 
constant striving to reach the opposite edge and fighting the 
water…all of this would be a good thing. Distraction. In the 
lockers he felt comfortable. Everyone was in the gym, changed 
and engaged in their exercise. He was alone and naked and the 
slightly chlorinated, salty aroma of the changing room was 
soothing. It was a smell he remembered from childhood; soothing 
and slightly erotic. As he stood before his open locker his mind 
wandered to a time when he was about eight at the public pool. 
He could smell the same smell, but it was stronger then. Boys and 
men milled about him in various stages of undress. There was 
talking and laughing, measured against the beat of naked feet flip-
flopping across the wet cement floor. It all excited him and made 
him feel part of a special world. The world of men. Camaraderie. 
He didn't know the word then, but he could apply it to that feeling 
now. The word was a pacifier. Camaraderie made him feel 
special and male. Masculine. He was a man and he lived in a 
manly world and he worked at a manly job.
"Hello, sir," spoke a voice. But it was distant in Skinner's head. 
He was thinking it. A memory, perhaps? "Hello, sir. I don't think 
I've ever seen you here at this time of the day."
Oh, God. Mulder in my brain again. "Fuck," he said out loud.
"Sorry. Guess you want to be alone."
Skinner whipped around, finding himself face-to-face with that 
pesky little blot on his peace. "Oh! Agent Mulder."
Mulder perused the naked AD from top to bottom and back to 
top. "Day dreaming? Better watch that. Especially when you're so 
exposed."
Skinner was suddenly and forcefully reminded of his nakedness. 
He felt embarrassed and shy and was about to cover himself with 
his hands. He thankfully didn't, realizing how idiotic he would 
look -- September Morn of the FBI. It would also have more than 
leveled the playing field and it was important to maintain his 
standing a few feet above his agent's. This didn't make him 
condescending or inaccessible, but it was necessary to seem 
superior as a superior. None of the agents resented it; it was a fact 
of life. "What are you doing sneaking up like that? Are you tailing 
me or something?" He couldn't believe he had let such drivel fall 
out of his mouth.
"No," replied Mulder as the corners of his mouth turned into 
small curls, "but that wouldn't be a bad tail to tail." With that, 
Mulder turned and headed out to the pool.
Skinner just stared, flabbergasted into muteness. "Did I just hear 
what I thought I heard? Did I…? Oh, God, Skinner. Shut up your 
brain. Stifle yourself. Stick your finger in a socket or get a 
lobotomy. Do something, anything…but stop thinking. He forced 
a gray horizon into his thoughts and finished dressing for his 
swim.
***********************
The water was a little too warm to be refreshing, but he was right 
about the density. It gave his body a weightiness that anchored 
him into the here and now. Even though he could float, I won't 
fly off.
He lost count of the laps, although he thought he was on about 20 
or so. He concentrated on the pool bottom and the lines painted 
there. The nice, straight verticality was comforting. Sometimes he 
would look to either side under the water and catch glimpses of 
kicking legs and arms rotating in this flooded land. He eventually 
became aware of a small bit of red that would pass him from time 
to time on his left in one direction, then his right in the other. It 
was moving in opposition to him. Why couldn't he just wear a 
black suit, or beige or anything but that red? Silly, he thought, 
anybody can wear any color they damn well please. This is not 
my private world. I am not king. But couldn't they?
It was at this moment, as his thoughts were lost in how to control 
his environment for his own peace of mind, that he collided with 
a firm object. Another person, he knew. Head to head bang. 
Dazed, he dropped under the surface confused. He rubbed his 
head, clenched his eyes and tried to shake it off. When he opened 
them he saw a pair of legs, nicely formed male legs, topped off 
with a red Speedo, dangling in front of him. Red…figures. Then 
the legs dropped down and pulled their owner with them. 
A smiling Mulder floated before him, hair weightless in the water, 
little bubbles escaping from his nose and that rotten little 
pacification-robbing smile; Howdy Doody in Waterworld. 
Or Satan.
Skinner popped to the surface swiftly followed by a buoyant 
Mulder. "Are you alright, sir? You okay?"
"Jesus, Mulder. Can't you pay attention to where you're going? 
Do you have to swim like you drive?" Skinner scowled and swam 
off to the pool's edge. More drivel, he thought as he pulled 
himself up and sat with his legs dangling in. Mulder paddled his 
way over but remained in the water before Skinner keeping 
himself upright and afloat with timely waves of his hands under 
the surface.
"I'm sorry, sir, but you crossed over."
Skinner was jolted. What is that supposed to mean, he thought. 
'Crossed over'. "Crossed over?" 
Mulder, seeing the confusion on the AD's face added, "The 
lanes…you crossed over into my lane."
Skinner looked up across the pool and it sank in. He had failed to 
concentrate again. He had lost focus and wandered. And, as 
usual, Mulder was there. Suddenly he felt an overwhelming 
nausea and a collapse of spirit. Mulder could actually see his 
boss's body fold in on itself. Skinner looked between his water-
magnified feet and barely uttered in a defeated voice, "Sorry." 
Then he immediately got up and walked to the lockers.
***************
When Mulder found Skinner, he found him in the shower. The 
far reaches of the shower, sitting with his back against the wall, 
the shower spray shooting out and landing about three inches 
ahead of him. Skinner's eyes shut against the world seemed to 
say, Do not come into my world. I do not want to speak. I do not 
want to acknowledge you. Keep out! 
"But certainly that doesn't mean me," said Mulder.
Skinner, without opening his eyes, "What? What doesn't mean 
you? And…oh...I don't want to fucking talk right now Mulder." 
After a pause Skinner quietly added, "And about the crash; I'm 
sorry. And your driving isn't bad. I obviously wasn't paying any 
attention. "
"That's odd for you," said Mulder as he stepped into the shower 
stream that cascaded to the spot in front of Skinner. "You're 
usually so, uh, there."
Skinner, noticing the shadow that cast over his shut eyes, opened 
them. He found himself staring straight into Mulder's scantily clad 
crotch. There was an impressively long, fat lump stretched out to 
the left from Mulder's groin. The Speedo clung obscenely to 
Mulder's skin. He is hung, definitely hung, thought Skinner. 
"Jesus, Mulder! Aren't you embarrassed to go out like that?"
"Very little embarrasses me, sir. And I'm proud of my assets….as 
they are."
Skinner crossed his arms on his upright knees and rested his 
forehead there. "Go away, Mulder. Please."
"I think you should get up, sir. It wouldn't look right for you to be 
seen like this by the other agents. It's not what they expect of 
you."
"I'm tired of expectations, Mulder. Especially when I have none 
of my own anymore." Skinner felt a hand grab him firmly under 
an arm and pull him up. "Or am I letting you down, Fox?"
"I don't think you could, sir. I know so much more now," as he 
lead Skinner from the shower to his locker and sat him down on 
the bench in front of it. Mulder handed him a towel. "Here, dry 
off, get dressed, and let's get you out of here. You're sick and 
need to go home."
Skinner acquiesced and dutifully followed Mulder's instructions. 
As he tied his shoes he asked, "What did you mean…about 
knowing so much more now?"
"I know you as an honest man, sir. Trustworthy. Very strong. You 
survive. I had my doubts. Doubts you earned. But I understand 
now. If you stumble I trust that you will regain your footing. I'd 
bet our lives on it."
Skinner muttered, "Our lives. Whose lives?"
Mulder stared him straight in the eyes. "Ours, Walter."
*********************
Skinner sat silently in the passenger seat of his car. He put up no 
resistance when Mulder took the keys from him and indicated 
that the AD should slide over by the passenger window and relax. 
Relax. Ha! I'm so tense I'm beyond tense. Skinner turned his head 
to the left and studied the profile of his demon. The first thing he 
noticed was how the agent had aged since the first time they'd met 
so many years before. It wasn't a dramatic change and would 
probably go unnoticed by most. But I remember your face, Fox. 
Your boyish bloom has the tinge of age. Mulder looked into the 
strong face. Mulder’s eyes seemed to twinkle and the corners of 
his mouth curled so slightly. He was bothered that Skinner was in 
such distress, but he was oddly happy; it was the proximity of the 
man.
"Mulder, where are we? This isn't the way to my place."
"I know. You're coming to my place," he said with his hands 
firmly on the steering wheel.
"Just take me home, please! I'm not in a mood for visiting and I'm 
tired. I want to go to bed." Skinner's voice was very edgy.
"You can sleep at my place. Pretend it's a hotel. The change will 
do you good," he said evenly as he kept his eyes on the road.
"You are fucking annoying. You know that, don't you? 
Obnoxious."
"Some people find these qualities endearing," and he smiled 
sweetly. The AD did find certain things ‘endearing’ about Mulder. 
Although that word would never occurred to him before. I find 
you stubborn, intelligent, frustrating, dryly funny, irrational, 
soothing…endearing and…uh…something else. "…and that’s 
when I knew I could get away with murder. But I try to be 
selective with my victims. Don’t want to waste the charm, you 
know?" Enticing. I find you enticing, Fox. Oh, fuck. "Or maybe I 
just bore them to death. As I seem to have done to you?"
"What? I didn’t…I was..." stammered Skinner.
"Yep, guess boring is more precise." Mulder pulled the car into 
the parking space with his apartment number on it. He turned a bit 
and rested his back against the door with his right leg on the car 
seat, his knee just touching Skinner’s left thigh. The sensation of 
Mulder’s touch caused a slight flinch in the AD’s face. Skinner 
looked a bit uncomfortable, but didn’t make any attempt to exit. 
They sat in silence with Mulder watching Skinner and Skinner 
staring ahead into a brick wall. The silence didn’t bother Mulder. 
As a person who spent much time in contemplation, silence was 
not dead air. Quite the opposite; it created vibrant air, air with 
possibilities, air loaded with thought. His voice didn’t break the 
silence but seemed to come out of it gently like a warm breath, 
soothing. "You don’t have to tell me what’s going on with you. 
I’m not here to make things worse for you." Can he hear my heart 
pounding? "I like you, Walter." Does he know I can’t breath? 
"You probably have no idea what that means to me, to say that 
out loud. I care about you. I want you here with me…" Does he 
know my fear? "...not just because you seem to need some kind 
of help and I’d like to be the one to help you. I want you here 
with me because it feels right to be near you. It feels good." 
Good? Why do I feel like I’m suffocating? Like I’m going to 
implode? "I’ve kept my distance out of respect for you and your 
position. Perhaps there’s been some fear thrown into the pot, 
too." He reached for Skinner. He was just going to shake his 
shoulder because the AD looked lost, in a netherworld of terror, 
and Mulder wanted to rouse him from it. "Wal…."
Walter snapped around as he saw the hand approach him and 
knocked it hard out of the way. He was flushed with anger and 
beginning to hyperventilate. "Don’t! God, don’t do this Fox!" 
Mulder’s face was blank for a moment. Then Skinner saw the 
slightest bit of water rise in his eyes, then subside. 
Mulder repositioned himself facing forward and turned on the 
ignition. As his hand went to the shift and put it in reverse, he felt 
Skinner’s hand cover it and a tired voice utter calmly, "No. Let’s 
go in, Fox."
********************
Mulder stepped aside for Skinner to precede him into the 
apartment. Once inside, he tossed his keys on the desk and as he 
passed into his bedroom said, "Feel at home. I’m going to change 
into mufti. See if I can get rid of some of this Bureau scent."
Comments like this bothered Skinner. The FBI was a large part of 
his life and had been for a long time. He owed it a lot. But it had 
cost him much, also. Maybe not as much as it had cost Mulder, 
though. Perhaps Mulder earned his right to denigrate it. 
Nevertheless, there was a need to serve it faithfully and to honor 
one’s oath. It was a marriage, of sorts, and with it came all the 
trials of such a relationship. But in a marriage there is joy. Have I 
ever known joy? Will I? He walked the living room searching for 
personal objects of Mulder’s, things that would give him some 
clues beyond what he already knew. He believed he knew much 
but there was so much more to the man than the constant search 
that kept Mulder pursuing his ghosts. Or running from ghosts. As 
he read the titles in the small collection of books, he was not 
surprised. Nothing supercilious there; He’s too caring and earthy 
for that. Nothing escapist either. Couldn’t Mulder use some 
relief? Something to take him out of himself? Or is Mulder 
inescapable from Mulder, as I am from him? A small framed 
photo of a woman, a boy and a young girl. The boy so obviously 
Mulder. Mulder, his mother and sister. Ghosts. And the father’s 
ghost snapped the picture. From behind the little photo frame a 
metal object stuck out. The fastening end of a cufflink. Skinner 
slid it from its hiding place with his index finger. He reeled at the 
realization of what it was: the "lost" link from the pair that Sharon 
had given him shortly after they married. A plain gold square with 
his engraved initials. Somehow he couldn’t believe it, even 
though the initials were his. He turned the link over and there was 
the solid proof. Sharon had each back engraved with two little 
words, "We two". We two can conquer all adversity. We two exist 
each for the other. We two are unending. We two were so young, 
thought Skinner. So much pain in the recollection. Why does he 
have this? He stole this piece of my life. This painful little piece. 
Skinner wondered what this clue meant. He began to put the 
cufflink in his pocket but then replaced it behind the photo.
He heard the sound of feet on the wooden floor and then 
Mulder’s voice. "Can I get you something to drink? Hard or soft, 
your choice." Skinner turned to him and Mulder couldn’t quite 
read the expression. "Have I grown a second head?"
"Maybe," was Skinner’s terse reply. Then the cufflink dissolved 
from his mind as he was struck by something simple and 
unquestionable about Mulder. He had beauty. Mulder’s body fit 
the jeans and T he had on in contrast to him seeming a misfit in 
the dark Bureau suit. His tall frame filled out the worn and faded 
Levi's and made them a skin. Soft and familiar and sensitive. If 
the denim tore, would Mulder bleed? There was beauty in 
Mulder’s natural comfort with himself: a beauty in coordination – 
a body that responded to his thoughts and did his bidding. A body 
youthful once stripped of the emblematic straightjacket of a 
uniform.
But the physical beauty walked hand-in-hand with Mulder’s 
mind: the caring, intelligent and…loving Mulder. I want to touch 
him. Mulder smiled broadly and Skinner wondered if he had 
vocalized his thoughts?
"I could live on looks like that, Walter."
Skinner wondered what his face had revealed. "Could I have 
something to drink?"
"Sure…hard or soft?"
"What?" Did everything Mulder say mean something else?
"It’s kind of early for booze, but maybe it would help you? Or 
you want iced tea? Then you could take a nap if you wanted."
"I’ll take an iced tea, thanks, Fox. I don’t feel like napping so 
don’t boss me." Skinner was not really annoyed now by Mulder’s 
mothering. He actually was starting to like it. It had been a very 
long time since anyone had expressed the personal feelings 
Mulder had. It wasn’t unfamiliar but it was definitely not 
common and it was appreciated. Mulder moved off to the kitchen 
and Skinner could hear the sounds of refreshments being 
prepared. "I’m sorry I got so angry in the car. I’m sorry I hit you. 
I have no reason to…not to you…" All the sound in the kitchen 
stopped for a moment but there was no response. After a few 
moments of silence the noises started up again. Skinner moved to 
an end of the couch and sat.
Mulder returned carrying two large iced teas. "I didn’t ask, but do 
you want it sweetened?"
"No, plain is fine for me."
Mulder handed him a glass and then took his down to the other 
end of the couch and sat back putting his feet up on the coffee 
table. "Why don’t you loosen up your tie and shoes? Pretend 
you’re at home. Unless FBI protocol is 24/7 for you."
Skinner said nothing but followed the suggestions. He even 
removed his shoes and then put his feet up on the table like 
Mulder. I’m a lamb to slaughter. "You want me to talk, don’t 
you? You want me to spill my guts out, purge my pain." Skinner 
spoke in very flat tones with almost no inflection.
"As I said before, Walter, I would like that. But it doesn’t have to 
be me. I do think it should be someone, though. Just remember, I 
have a background in psychology."
The silence lingered. Mulder watched as Skinner’s body began 
registering agitation – short breaths and slight flushing in his face. 
Then it suddenly stopped as Skinner seemed resigned and spoke, 
"I can’t get away from you, Fox. You are tattooed on my eyelids 
and my brain." 
"Is this a compliment, sir?"
For some reason he didn’t understand, Skinner chuckled. "I don’t 
know, Fox. If it is, it might be backhanded. I do know that 
something has been bringing me down for a while and every time 
I think about it you are there. It’s not pleasant. It’s confusing and 
frustrating. It disturbs me a lot." Skinner took a big gulp of his tea 
because his mouth and throat had gotten suddenly dry. He 
thought for a moment before speaking the next words. "There 
seems to be something…something sexual about it." There. I said 
it. I said what I never wanted to think about. And I’ve said it to 
him.
Mulder shifted his position so he was sitting up and angled 
towards the man. He pulled his legs up onto the couch and 
hugged his knees, resting his chin on them. He watched Skinner 
and grew more peaceful. Again, it was the proximity of the man.
"Nothing to say to that, Fox? No quip, be it funny or sharp? Have 
I let you down?" Skinner turned to the silent demon. "Am I wrong 
in thinking that you’re a prick tease, Mulder?"
"Ha! I never tease, but I have toyed some."
 
Skinner sat up straight and faced Mulder squarely. "Well I 
haven’t. Never. Not once. Never thought about it for myself, and 
never understood it in anyone else. Do you understand? This 
makes no sense to me. And it has muddled my mind. Do you 
have any vodka I can splash in this tea?"
Mulder went to the kitchen and returned with an icy bottle of 
vodka. As he poured a big shot into Skinner’s glass, he placed his 
free hand on his shoulder. Skinner didn’t flinch at his touch this 
time but slightly tilted his head and let his cheek briefly caress 
Mulder’s hand. Mulder thought he would swoon at the touch -- a 
mixture of amazingly soft skin and the coarseness of stubble. As 
he pulled his hand away, he delicately let the back of his hand 
brush against Skinner’s neck, sending a shiver through both of 
them. He capped the bottle, placed it in the center of the coffee 
table and returned to his seat on the couch, but not so far away 
this time.
"Walter, do you wanna tell me how I fit into this picture?"
Skinner took a slow swig of his spiked tea and paid attention to 
how it felt passing through his mouth and down his throat. Icy 
cold with a bit of a bite, he wanted to be aware of the here and 
now. "I told you, I don’t know."
"I think you just won’t say."
"I can’t say, Fox. It means too much. It changes too many things."
"It doesn’t have to. It doesn’t have to change anything….or it can 
change everything. It depends on what you want to have happen."
Why does he stay so calm? He talks to me and the words fall into 
me as if they are a dream, so large and brightly colored then lost 
upon waking. I don’t want to wake. I want to sleep with his words 
in my head. I want them to overtake me, wash me in their sound 
and form and keep me from breaking into daylight.
"You’re a man, Walter. A big, strong, virile, handsome man. 
Along with that, you’re human. You are the male animal and you 
suffer the desires and fear we all share. You simply have to 
decide if you want to accept what you’re entitled to. You are 
entitled to me, Walter. Only because it’s what I want, too."
"Why am I suddenly entitled? Because you say so? And why is 
this happening now? I’ve certainly known men before who were 
a lot less obnoxious. And as I do with you, I respected them and 
enjoyed their company. But I sure as hell didn’t want to kiss 
them. Why you?" As soon as he said it he felt embarrassed. He 
felt hot, flushed and had to turn away. He stared at anything: the 
ceiling, the floor, the bookshelf…the framed photo. We two. "We 
two are at odds, Mulder."
"We two are imperfect, sir. We two flail about alone in the world. 
Somehow our paths crossed; long before we ever met our paths 
crossed and then crossed again when we met. And they are 
crossing again now. We two make an imperfect whole. It would 
probably never be complete; I think we’ve both had too much 
damage. But we two make a whole that is so full of possibility it 
makes me gasp for air." The words rushed out of him and his 
heart thumped in his ears. This man was hearing what Mulder had 
felt for so long, what he instinctively knew for years.
"God, this just doesn’t make sense. I don’t understand it. And 
what about you and Scully? I thought the two of you were…"
"Scully and I are inextricable one from the other. We are an 
unending circle, like a spiral in a spiral, like a wheel within a 
wheel. My apologies to Michel Legrand, but the words express 
too well the structure of our relationship. And she already knows 
how I feel about you."
Skinner felt a spasm as he realized someone else knew the depth 
of Mulder’s feelings for him. He felt insecure and on a precipice. 
"Scully knows you feel that way about me?"
"’That way’? Yes, she knows. She also understands, Walter. And 
she’s hurt because of how she feels about me and what she 
hoped our relationship could be. But she knows it won’t be that. 
Neither one of us would be happy. And I believe we all want 
happiness. Some kind of peace to rely on."
"Don’t depend on happiness, Fox. Don’t expect it."
"I expect it to come. With work, hard work, I expect it."
"You two love each other. Why can’t you apply that hard work to 
your relationship?"
"Because I have a definite tendency, Walter. And it has been 
made all the more definite by you."
Skinner had repositioned himself and was mirroring Mulder – 
hugging knees, upon which rested his chin.
"Did I do something to inspire this..infatuation?"
"It’s not infatuation, Walter. It’s so much more." Again Skinner’s 
face flushed from embarrassment. "I’m sorry you’re 
uncomfortable with this. But it can become easier. Better. You 
just need to try."
Skinner reached for his drink and was surprised to see the glass 
empty. Mulder got up right away and went to the kitchen with the 
glass. Above the noises of the fridge door, the ice tray and such, 
Skinner spoke, "I don’t know that I can do that, Fox. I feel like I 
have no fight left."
"Then just give in," Mulder hollered from the kitchen.
"That asks a lot of someone like me." Mulder returned with the 
drink. Skinner noticed quite a gap from the top of the drink to the 
top of the glass, which Mulder filled in with vodka. "Trying to get 
me drunk, Fox, so you can take advantage of me?"
"There’s an old saying to the effect that no one gets taken 
advantage of, they let themselves get taken."
Skinner took a big swallow. He was starting to get a buzz and 
couldn’t deny that he was enjoying it and wanted more. He 
wanted a roar to overtake him. The roar of loss of self. Total 
relinquishment of my inhibitions. To drown in my own lack of 
fear. "How do I know you’re not just a misplaced transference, 
Fox? Maybe you just represent something I want to be, someone 
who’s up front and fearless? Someone who’s not so much the 
‘company man’? Maybe my wanting to kiss you is just symbolic 
of my desire to embrace life…."
"Maybe you’re just grasping at straws. Tell me, Walter, would I be 
the long straw or the short? In your gut, what do you think?" 
Mulder focused on Skinner’s eyes and locked onto them.
In my gut. My gut wants to touch you and smell you. To hold on 
and love you.
"Then just do it, Walter. It’s the same thing I want."
"Do what?" 
"You said you wanted to hold on to me and love me."
"I said that out loud? I’m cracking, Fox."
Mulder moved in closer and was relieved to see that Skinner 
didn’t back away. He put a hand on one of Skinner’s, "No, 
you’re not. You’re just opening the door a little and letting the 
light shine in. Somewhere beyond your mystification, don’t you 
feel some relief? Don’t you want to put your lips to my hand right 
now and kiss it? I can tell you, that’s what I want you to do. I 
want no more from you right now than that." Mulder’s face was 
close to his. Skinner could feel the warm breath of this man 
he…loved? How can I love a man? Skinner slowly put his lips to 
the hand that covered his and gently kissed it. He then closed his 
eyes and rested his forehead on it. A sigh escaped him that 
seemed to be all of the breaths he had ever held throughout his 
life. He felt he was expelling a sorrow so great that when the air 
ran out, he would be near death. His lungs would collapse and he 
would be too weak to ever inhale again. Mulder put his free hand 
behind the man’s neck and kissed the top of his head. "I can only 
tell you that I love you, Walter. I have no reason for it other than 
who you are and who I am. This will require a lot of work, but 
it'll be easier if we can just let the fear go. I’m scared, too."
He released Skinner from his grasp and pulled his hand away. He 
gently pushed Skinner back then pulled his legs down towards the 
other end of the couch. "Mulder, I don’t think I can…I don’t even 
know what to do."
"Shh," hushed Mulder as he sat with the man’s feet on his lap. He 
pulled off Skinner’s socks and began to massage his feet. Skinner 
moaned a combination of pain and joy. Then he began to cry. 
Not huge sobs, but soft tears and gasps. Mulder continued to 
massage. After a while the crying stopped, evolved into sighs and 
then was born again into a steady, gentle snore. Eventually, Fox 
slipped into a peaceful sleep.
***********************
Some time around 8 P.M. Mulder woke up. At first he was a bit 
confused as to where he was. The apartment was dark and only 
the faintest bit of light broke through the windows. He felt 
heaviness on his lap and then recalled what brought him here. 
Them here. He felt he had wakened from a wonderful dream and 
entered another. This man whose face was highlighted in the 
darkness had gently and shyly proclaimed his feelings for him. 
Then he had cried for some lost thing, a lost time and, perhaps, 
for something found. Mulder lightly caressed his feet. He had to 
pee, desperately, but didn't want to disturb Skinner's rest. The 
man needed some moments of peace and quiet. Mulder planned 
for there to be many of those.
Out of the darkness Mulder heard a voice, "Fox, I'd give the 
proverbial penny to know what's going on in there."
"I thought you were still asleep, Walter. I didn't want to disturb 
you. But, if you must know, I have to piss like a horse. So, lift 
your legs a sec, but don't get up. I want you right here when I get 
back." 
Skinner lifted his legs enough for Mulder to slide out and then put 
them back down on the leather couch. Mulder's spot was very 
warm and the heat felt great on his feet. He could hear Mulder's 
piss splashing against the porcelain and had an overwhelming 
wave of comfort sweep through him. It was a feeling akin 
to…joy. Is this domestic bliss? My...my man is pissing and I'm 
finding happiness in the sound. My feet absorb the warmth from 
where he sat and I find joy. The toilet flushed and Mulder 
stepped from the bathroom's darkness back into the living room's. 
As he passed around Skinner's end of the couch a hand reached 
out and grabbed his.
Skinner's voice was oddly calm when he spoke, "Thank you, 
Fox." Without releasing him, Skinner rolled on his side and slid 
back so he was pressed against the couch back. Then he tugged 
on Mulder's arm and pulled him down to sit within the crook of 
his midsection. "I don't know how to do any of this with a man, 
Fox. I feel like an oaf around a house of cards. I don't want to 
touch the wrong thing, breathe too hard or bump the table. I don't 
think I want everything to come tumbling down. I'm feeling 
clumsy and foolish." He pulled Mulder down to him so their 
faces were almost touching. "Can I kiss you?"
"You don't ever have to ask, Walter." He leaned in so their lips 
met in a soft kiss. Lips slightly parted, Skinner applied more 
pressure and let his tongue gently slide across Mulder's lips then 
dart ever so briefly into his mouth.
"Oh, Walter, giving me tongue on our first date," said Mulder as 
he pulled back just a little. "You must think I'm easy."
"Was that kiss alright?" 
Mulder restrained the impulse to chuckle at Skinner's concern. 
"Give me your hand, Walter." Skinner placed his hand in 
Mulder's. Next thing Skinner knew he was feeling the heat and 
hardness in Mulder's crotch. "The kiss was more than alright."
"I've never…."
"No shit, Walter. I assumed you'd never felt another guy's hard 
cock before." Skinner cringed a little at the words. "What? Too 
soon for genital references?"
"No," said Skinner rather hesitantly. "It's just, it's makes me feel 
kind of strange. I'm just not use to it, you know?"
"Do what I tell you. I want you to say 'Mulder's hard cock 
Mulder's hard cock Mulder's hard cock' several times until it just 
doesn't seem to mean anything. Come on, 'Mulder's hard cock 
Mulder's hard --"
Skinner silenced him with a kiss, longer than the first and deeper. 
When Mulder came up for air he said, "Well, I guess we'll work 
on language later and just stick to the physical stuff for now." 
Skinner gasped loudly as he felt Mulder's hand grasp his erection 
and squeeze. "Walter's hard cock Walter's hard cock Walter's hard 
cock. That's a mouthful, Walt. Are you blushing? Here, let me 
turn on the light, I want to see."
"No, Fox! Just leave it off for now."
Mulder then laid down on his side and curled into Walter's body. 
"We're spooning. You know that?"
"Yeah, Fox. I probably know that word better than you do. It's 
from my generation." Skinner moaned a bit as Mulder pressed his 
butt into the man's crotch and rubbed up against his hard cock. 
Without being coaxed, Walter reached around and cupped 
Mulder's own hardness. Fox's hard cock Fox's hard 
cockFox'shardcockFox'shardcock. "Fox's hard cock," he 
whispered into Mulder's ear. "I would only do this for you."
"I would hope. But I want you to do it for you, too. For us."
All fell silent but for the steady breathing into Mulder's ear. They 
both seemed lost in thought until Skinner spoke. "Why did you 
take my cufflink?"
It took a long time for Mulder to respond. "It just sort of 
happened. It was at the Bureau party for the head of the San 
Francisco office. I'd been tailing you all night." Skinner grunted at 
that. "Don't be so disapproving. Be flattered." Skinner responded 
by flexing his hard cock against Mulder’s ass. "That's better. I saw 
something fall from your sleeve and after you moved away I 
went over a picked it up. I thought it was a nice bit of jewelry but 
somehow a little un-Skinnerish. Then when I saw the inscription 
on the back, those simple words - "We two" - it seemed so right. I 
figured it was a loving gift from Sharon. 'We two.' I knew I 
should give it back but it put me in touch with a part of you that I 
could never get near. At least, not then. And in some silly, 
fantastical way, I pretended they were words exchanged between 
us. Just we two."
Their world grew hushed as the darkness and their own warmth 
enveloped them. Skinner suddenly realized that Mulder must 
have been just as fucked up as he had been. All that time they 
were in turmoil. "I do want the cufflink back. That isn't ours…it's 
mine and Sharon's. It's another lifetime of mine. We have to 
make our own stuff."
"I'm sorry, of course it's yours. This sounds like you're serious 
about us, Walter. I know I've pushed this but I think you need 
some time to think. I think you have a lot more to lose if any of 
what's going on gets out."
"Don't you think I've thought too much already? I get the feeling 
you have, too. I'm tired of thinking. WE have to do some talking. 
More than some, lots. Are we to become a covert operation? Do 
we care if our relationship is discovered? Should anyone know? 
What about Dana?"
Mulder laughed a bit. "I doubt I would have to say anything to 
Scully. She's wise beyond my own good. Will that embarrass you, 
Scully knowing you're a pervert?"
Skinner poked him in the ribs. "I don't think I'm completely 
perverted yet."
"Ah, sex rears its ugly head. Really, though. Will Scully knowing 
about us bother you?"
"I guess so, at first. She means a lot to me. And you've already 
said she's been hurt by your relationship with her. What will this 
do to her?"
"I'm not going to say anything to her until you're ready. I think I 
can play it pretty cool 'til then. But I need to feel sure about your 
feelings, Walter. And I think that will take you some time."
"Then where do we go from here?"
"We go step by step from here to there and to there…"
Skinner began walking his fingers up Mulder's body from his 
crotch. "To there, to there, to there." The last finger-step landing 
on Mulder's lips. "Don't try to turn down the heat now, Fox. I've 
gone this far. Turning back would be such a let-down."
"Oh, I don't want you to turn back. I'm ready to bust a nut just 
thinking about you. I've had blue balls for my Walter for an 
awfully long time. But I want this to be more than sex."
Skinner leaned over Mulder and kissed him warmly on the 
mouth, then kissed him again with more passion. "It's not just sex, 
Fox. I could go out and fuck any woman if all I wanted was an 
orgasm. Or just do it myself. But that's never been something I 
could do easily."
"You don't beat off?"
"No…Yes, I beat off. I just don't go out and have casual sex. Shut 
up and let me talk. You’re so much more than sex. Yeah, I think 
you’re…."...cute. Go ahead and say it. Cute. I think you’re cute, 
Fox. Really cute.
"I’m what? What do you think I am?"
"I think you’re…cute. And you don’t have to turn the light on, I 
am blushing. You’re handsome, too, and you’re…oh, 
God…sexy. I guess you’re sexy."
"You ‘guess’ I’m sexy?," Mulder tried to sound hurt.
"Don’t pout. It’s unbecoming."
"Some people find my pouting endearing," he said in mock 
agitation.
Jesus, it’s true. His pouting is endearing. "I find your intelligence 
sexy, too. Even more so than the rest of you. It’s beyond the 
physical stuff, Fox. I love your brain."
"Finally, loved for my mind. No longer a man men use and 
forget." Silence engulfed them once again. Mulder felt incredible 
security from being wrapped in the man’s arms. This man he had 
thought about every day for years had expressed desire for him, 
had revealed a long-held yearning for him. This was not the kind 
of kismet he had come to expect in his life and he felt a gust of 
howling wind within him that scared him. He revolved in 
Skinner’s embrace so they were face to face. He slid the tips of 
his fingers into the waistband of Skinner’s pants letting his hands 
hang and spoke quietly yet deliberately. "Earlier today I said 
some things that…I told you you had a choice to make and your 
decision would either leave things as they were or change our 
lives in a huge way. The choice was yours and I would abide by 
it. What bullshit that was. How pompous of me. The truth is I was 
terrified you would take the safe way out and leave me 
alone…completely desolate. I think it would have destroyed me, 
Walter. You’ve got to trust me that this is going to be good. I have 
nothing to back this up with. Any relationship I’ve ever had 
disintegrated, and I let it happen. But this one is different. I want 
it. I’ve wanted it for forever it seems." Mulder leaned in and 
kissed Skinner gently. "I’m no expert but I know this can work. I 
know it takes dedication. I’ve got a lot of fight in me, Walter."
Skinner stroked Mulder’s hair. It feels good to touch him. "I’m 
not any example of success in the relationship department either, 
Fox. I’m sullen and private much of the time. I withhold." But 
I’ve told him so much tonight. "While it all seems okay at this 
moment in time, I’m going to wake up tomorrow and probably 
wonder what in the hell we were thinking to let things go this far. 
I’m probably going to backslide more than once. Your gonna 
have to watch my ass."
Mulder slid a hand around Skinner’s ass and pulled him close, 
their crotches pressing hard one against the other. "I think that’s a 
job I could get into."
"And what is it we do...sexually…together?"
"Walter, don’t tell me you’ve never read a vice report or heard 
some of your butch male friends talking about what queers do?"
"You’re goading me, Fox. And don’t say ‘queer’."
"I’m not afraid of the word, Walt. Come on, say it fast several 
times. Queerqueerqueerqueer –"
Skinner was agitated when he broke off Mulder’s speech, "Not 
now, Mulder. Can it!"
They were both silent for a minute as they thought about the 
sudden tension, until Mulder chirped, "Guess I broke the mood. 
Sorry. So, how would you like me to refer to those of our ilk? 
Nancy boys? Skin flute flautists? Glory holers? Friends of 
Dorothy?"
Mulder was relieved to hear Skinner laughing. "Oh, God…gimme 
a break, Fox. It’s gonna take time."
"Okay. Time I got. I’m not really into the whole categorizing crap, 
anyway. We’re both men and that’s enough for me. Now, as far 
as what we men do, pleasepardontheexpression, sexually…here’s 
a little song that will help you in your education:
I fuck you, 
you fuck me, 
and we suck off constantly – "
Laughingly Skinner said, "Jesus, I never knew you had such a 
foul mouth Fox. You eat with that thing?"
"Damn straight. I even swallow." He allowed time for a pregnant 
pause. "Did that make you blush? Jeez, you’re easy."
I think I’m going to like all of this, his joy and his playfulness. He 
makes it easier than it should be. "Hate to say this, but I’m 
hungry."
"For me, right? Take me, I’m yours." Mulder attempted to roll 
onto his back for dramatic effect, but as it was, his available 
space on the couch was limited and he rolled off onto the floor. 
Skinner peered over the edge of the sofa at him. "You okay?"
"Just a bruised ego," he mumbled into the area rug under the 
coffee table. He maneuvered himself onto his back in the narrow 
space between the table and the couch. Skinner dangled an arm 
over the side and let his hand rest on Mulder’s chest. "So, you’re 
gonna turn me down for a sandwich, huh? The romance didn’t 
last very long." Skinner took pleasure in Mulder’s deadpan 
delivery and smiled. He started to play with one of Fox’s nipples. 
"So, you’re a tit man! Well, if you keep that up, you’ll never get 
fed."
Mulder jumped up very energetically and pulled Skinner up from 
the couch. He turned the end table lamp on and squinted in the 
sudden burst of light. "Let’s get our shoes on and skeedaddle. 
Can I assume that you’ll be coming back here after dinner?" An 
offer to spend the night. Skinner could feel his face flushing. 
"Well, look at that. Red as a beet. So easy, it’s almost a crime."
Once they were completely dressed and heading out the door, 
Skinner couldn’t help but feel a warm familiarity with their 
situation. They’ll come back later and cross the threshold of a 
new life. At the same time he wondered if he would make it all 
the way. Could he go the distance? He held Mulder in the 
doorway by an arm. "I want this, Fox. It scares me how much. I 
don’t want to fail you."
Fox gave him a peck on the cheek, pushed him into the hallway 
and locked his apartment door.
*******************
Skinner stood on the balcony of his summer rental and looked 
around. It is a breathtaking view, he thought. 'Stunning 360° view 
of Colorado's most spectacular mountains. Privacy and comfort. 
The perfect getaway…" etc. Yes, it is definitely that. A getaway. 
Get away from the lousy memories of the past four months. My 
boring conformity and unwillingness to free myself. He noticed 
the movement on the rise 75 yards ahead. The backsliding I 
warned about. The awful arguments that bloomed out of trivia 
and ensnared us in gloom. A man stepped from the trees that 
grew at the foot of the rise and entered the sun drenched clearing. 
I just want to remember the moment my fear broke and my 
courage to love took over. The man in the clearing was bare-
chested. From his hips down he was swathed in skin of denim, 
his T-shirt was wrapped around his head like a turban. And 
remember the moment my love no longer needed courage to back 
it up. The chestnut-haired beauty was about 50 yards away now. 
He looked up to Skinner and shaded his eyes against the sun, 
calling out "Walter, I'd give a proverbial penny to know what 
you're thinking."
Too much thought. I don't want to think anymore. Skinner 
hollered back "I love you, Fox," and the words echoed back to 
him from some unseen canyon -- 'I love you love you love…'
"I've always known that, Walter," -- 'always known always 
known always…' 
***************
 
"The Windmills of Your Mind", 1968, Words and music by Alan 
Bergman and Michel Jean Legrand