TURKISH DELIGHT
By Sergeeva
 
RATING: NC-17, slash
CATEGORY: SRH, I guess
SPOILERS: none
SUMMARY: What Mulder wants, Mulder gets... <g>
DISCLAIMER: not mine (sniff, sniff!) CC's, 1013's, Fox's... 
lucky folks.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Many thanks to Xanthe for the idea that set 
me off here - kudos to you, dearest!
 
**** This was written as a birthday gift for my dear friend 
Holmes. Have a good year, sweetie!****
 
~ Monday ~
Mulder wiped the sodden towel over his dripping face then 
draped it over his head, hoping to save himself the effort of 
blotting up the steady trickles of perspiration that were making his 
scalp itch. With any luck, it would also act as a crude disguise. He 
didn't want to be caught in the act of doing what he was doing - at 
least not by anyone who knew him, and most definitely not by 
the person he was hoping to spy on.
Fox Mulder, International Man of Mystery. He grinned to himself 
and settled onto one of the stone benches lining the walls of the 
Turkish Bath. Blinking to clear the droplets from his damp 
eyelashes, he made a leisurely survey of the vast room, pleased to 
find that his body had no particular reaction to the sight of so 
many naked bodies. Naked male bodies - of all shapes and sizes, 
but none of them the one he sought.
The vaulted roof rose thirty feet to a glass cupola where the dusk 
of a DC evening showed in a wash of purple sky, and the last 
streaks of a spectacular sunset. Suspended from the apex of the 
supporting tracery, pierced copper lanterns hung from long 
chains, casting a pattern of warm light splashes over the glinting 
tiled walls. Intensely-coloured mosaics of ceramic and copper 
leaf caught the light, a landscape of twisting vines, cascading 
fountains and exotic birds reaching from the floor to the shadowy 
spaces of the dome. An arching colonnade created a series of 
private recesses along one side and opposite these alcoves flat 
stone slabs provided more spaces for the bathers to rest and 
recline. A huge bathing pool took up the centre of the beautiful 
hall, its waters maintained at a steaming temperature.
From his vantage point on one of the stone slabs, Mulder could 
see most of the pool and he'd already walked the length of it, 
glancing casually into each of the lamp-lit alcoves across the 
scented water. His quarry was not yet here. He settled himself to 
wait, letting the moist heat sink into his pores and trying to empty 
his mind, to slow his mounting heart-rate. He turned the words 
over in his head: fixation, obsession, addiction... he knew the 
torment of all these, knew the ache of watching and wanting, of 
dreaming and desiring. All around him were men relaxing after 
the working day. Paunchy middle-aged bodies; slack and tired, 
young hard bodies; meticulously-toned and tanned. None of them 
attracted him, none of them soothed the butterflies in his 
stomach. His object of desire had not yet arrived. Mulder could 
only wait. 
One hopeful young Adonis sauntered past and accidentally-on-
purpose dropped his towel, bending to give Mulder an eyeful of 
glistening glutes. Mulder closed his eyes and tilted his head back 
against the cool wall. When he opened them, a silver-haired, 
nipped-and-tucked executive was poised to sit next to him, all 
gleaming smile and leathery skin. Mulder sighed loudly and 
covered his head completely with the damp towel. He heard the 
disappointed grunt and the slap of retreating feet. After a few 
moments he risked lifting the towel again, and the sight that 
greeted him sent desire slamming through head, heart and groin. 
Show time. He was here at last. 
Chest-deep in the steaming water Skinner leaned back against the 
rim of the pool and spread his arms wide, rolling his head to 
loosen the knotted muscles in his neck. The stupor of a day spent 
in air-conditioned sterility slowly melted from him in the soothing 
heat and he felt his spirits lift. After a few moments, he slid 
under, rolling and twisting pleasurably in the torrid turquoise 
water before swimming to the far end with a powerful, 
economical crawl.
He was observed by a slack-jawed Fox Mulder, face screened by 
a carefully draped towel, lap shielded by a second towel and 
carefully spread hands. Mulder's burning gaze slid over his boss's 
strong neck and muscled shoulders, over the naked face with its 
strong planes and indefinable sensuality. The unguarded pleasure 
on Skinner's face sent a jolt straight to Mulder's cock... those 
lowered eyelids and parted lips powering a hard-on so ferocious 
and so instantaneous that Mulder groaned aloud. Unconsciously, 
his tongue flicked out to moisten his own lips as he watched 
Skinner's visible relaxation through slitted eyes. 
He was way past feeling any guilt for spying on his superior this 
way. He was on a mission, to test himself and the veracity of his 
feelings for this man. A casually overheard remark as he waited 
in Skinner's outer office that morning had provided the 
information about the AD's after work plans, and all but 
prevented Mulder getting any work done for the rest of the day. 
Six years worth of searing looks, growled reprimands, 
unreachable calm and devastating glimpses of passion had 
brought him to a state of desperate longing for some connection 
with his boss, but Mulder had forced himself to consider the 
possibility that it was so intense precisely because it was an 
impossible fantasy. Would he still be so ardent and hungry if he 
could actually experience what he dreamed of?
He had lectured himself endlessly: what was the point in 
speculation when there was absolutely no chance of anything 
ever happening? What did it matter if his feelings were real when 
they would never be tested? Skinner wasn't interested in him, 
except as a thorn in his side. The list of reasons why nothing 
could or would or should happen between them was depressingly 
long. Mulder knew all the arguments, and they had as little effect 
on his libido or his imagination as a stop sign would on an 
advancing army. He had no good sense where Walter Skinner was 
concerned. Hence here he was, him and his raging libido, him and 
his Pavlovian penis, springing promptly to life at the first sight of 
his beloved. 
When the big man slipped under the surface of the water Mulder 
instinctively sat forward to watch the ballet of the powerful body 
tumbling joyously over and over in the clear blue. Sneaking a 
hand under his towel, he touched the heat of his own erection, 
helpless to control his body's response to the sight of the man 
who filled so much of his thoughts, waking and sleeping. He 
wanted to move, to thrust his hips as if he were pressed up against 
Skinner's world class butt, to hold the big man still while he loved 
him to within a breath of unconsciousness. 
He stood with difficulty and headed for the cold water plunge 
pool. He dared do no more tonight. Fantasy would have to satisfy 
him for a while longer, but he had a plan...
Xxxxxxxxxx
 
~ Wednesday ~
It was 8pm and Skinner's headache had just sharpened from a 
dull throb to a stabbing persistence. He'd put in a thirteen-hour 
day and his thoughts were turning in the direction of a hot 
shower, a scotch and something mindless on TV. He had long 
passed the point of being interested in anything to eat, what he 
*really* wanted right now was to close his eyes and forget about 
work.
He'd wondered about going to the Turkish Baths on his way 
home, but the way he was feeling, he'd be lucky not to drive his 
car straight into the Potomac. His in-tray was almost cleared, so 
he might as well stick it out for a bit longer. At least there were no 
interruptions at this hour. The phone didn't ring and the only 
passing footsteps were the security guards on their scheduled 
rounds. He pulled the next case report towards him and looked at 
the reference number to refresh his memory on the details. Damn, 
it was a Mulder Special. If he'd noticed it in the substantial heap 
of files he would have moved it to the top, so he could deal with 
it while he still had some energy. As it was, his weary brain 
rebelled at the thought of having to read one of Mulder's 
outrageous summaries, or an expense report that looked lavish 
enough to have funded a small summit conference. Sighing, he 
opened the cover and began to read.
Surprisingly, the account of the strange happenings at the 
laundromats in Colorado was clearly written and faultlessly 
restrained in its language. Skinner felt his headache recede a little. 
It wasn't even Scully's moderating influence at work - the 
phrasing was still unmistakably Mulder's and Skinner was 
beginning to wonder if he'd actually fallen asleep at his desk and 
was dreaming of reading a model report. When he turned the 
page, he was even more convinced of this.
Instead of the expected itemised details of expenses, there was a 
blank sheet of paper with the words RUB HERE pencilled half 
way down. He stared at the paper stupidly for a few moments, 
then sat back in his chair, the change in angle revealing the 
impression of some further words on the smooth sheet. Slowly, 
his overtired brain worked out the next step and he lightly rubbed 
his pencil over the faint markings. His brow creased when he saw 
what was revealed:
YOU WORK TOO HARD
Instinctively, he looked around the lamplit office, feeling as if he 
was being watched. He was alone, of course. He savagely 
crumpled up the piece of paper and muttered something about 
overzealous assistants. Kim must be having one of her maternal 
spells. Frowning at the damage to his equilibrium, he turned back 
to the case file and read on. 
The exemplary report continued for two more pages then another 
blank sheet - or not totally blank. Another instruction to RUB 
HERE. This was too much - he grabbed the page and stuffed it in 
his trash. Turning his attention back to the file he read and re-read 
the next paragraph three times, before sighing in exasperation and 
retrieving the discarded sheet. He scowled at it balefully. He 
would have to have a word with Kimberly about this. Was he so 
unapproachable that she couldn't just tell him he was heading for 
an ulcer, as she had done periodically in the past when he'd been 
putting in extra long hours. Maybe he had been a bit of a bear 
with a sore head lately. Kim could blame Mulder for that - one 
catastrophe after another, each one more difficult to explain away 
to his own bosses. 
Which made it even more ironic that Kim's solicitous message 
had been inserted in Mulder's case file. Grimly, Skinner took up 
his pencil and made the new message appear.
I WORRY ABOUT YOU
Skinner dipped his head and blushed a little. He was a grown 
man, not a waif and stray to be worried about. What had got into 
Kim? His head throbbed warningly and just for a second he 
wished someone other than his happily married, motherly 
assistant was interested enough to care about him. But then, 
shaking off the self-pity, he signed off on the report and moved 
on to the last two items in his in-tray.
Xxxxxxxxx
 
~ Thursday ~
Indirect observations, unscheduled hanging about in outer offices 
and outright questions having all failed to produce any clues to 
the AD's plans for the evening, Mulder had taken a chance on 
Skinner turning up at the Turkish Bath tonight. He had taken his 
usual place on the fifth stone bench and was feeling the soporific 
effects of breathing the hot moist air and listening to the echoing 
sounds of splashes and voices, like white noise to his fevered 
brain.
He hadn't seen Skinner all day, except to acknowledge his boss's 
grave nod as they passed in the corridor mid-morning. He'd stuck 
his head into Kim's office twice in the hopes of engaging her in a 
bit of gossip, but the first time she was on the phone and the 
second time she marched out past him, shuffling papers and 
photocopy docket slips. He hung about for a few minutes, but she 
didn't reappear. Nor did Skinner. 
He'd been reduced to playing Skinner's last voice-mail message to 
him a good 9 times over, while he lay back in his office chair and 
tried to ignore the startling effects that deep, delicious voice had 
on certain parts of his anatomy. The way Skinner said 
"consequences" and "mandatory" almost made him orgasm.
Now, back in the richly atmospheric surroundings of the Turkish 
Bath, he felt a thrum of anticipation. He felt sure that Skinner 
would be here soon. An hour passed, and he wondered if the 
Assistant Director was putting in another late night at work. He 
also wondered if anyone knew how dedicated the man was, or 
gave him any credit for how much of his life he gave to the job. 
Probably not. Skinner wasn't one to blow his own trumpet. 
Mulder slung his towel across his shoulders and raked long 
fingers through his wet hair, making it stand up in glossy spikes. 
Squeegee-ing the sweat from his eyes with one spread palm, he 
blinked and looked again. How had he missed his arrival? 
Skinner lay stretched along the second farthest bench, flat on his 
back, towel laid over his hips, immobile and magnificent as any 
bronze statue.
Mulder raked his gaze over the sweat-sheened torso. An even 
honey-gold, the smooth skin caught the warm light of the lanterns 
on every taut curve. The light fuzz of dark hair on chest and 
forearms and legs was beaded with moisture and the sculpted 
muscles gleamed. Mulder swallowed like a starving man sighting 
a feast. He took an inventory: long lean feet (with toes tempting 
enough to nibble on), enviably long legs even for a tall man (with 
a delineation in the quadriceps that invited caresses), narrow hips 
and a flat abdomen (that draped towel dipping between lean hip 
bones, then mounding enticingly between the splayed legs), acres 
of glorious chest (smooth-curving pecs adorned with lickably-
perfect nipples), Atlas shoulders (wider and wider to sweep down 
into the caramel curves of biceps and triceps), strong graceful 
neck and face as serene and impassive as any Buddha (that 
unlined brow, Slavic cheekbones, firm lips)... 
He kept his hands off himself for half an hour, during which 
Skinner lay as one dead, except that Mulder's rapt attention noted 
every slow swell of the broad chest, every flicker of the silken 
eyelids. His breathing synchronised with Skinner's, Mulder was in 
a state of almost transcendental euphoria until Skinner sat up in 
one graceful surge and then that slick back and the delicious 
dimples just above that enticing cleft tightened his balls so 
suddenly he all but blacked out. He came in a continuous spurt, 
clamping his hands over his groin and tucking his towel between 
his shaking thighs. Unable to catch his breath, he started coughing 
and lurched away into the shadows of the perimeter before his 
choking attracted attention.
Xxxxxxxxxx
 
~ Friday ~
Eating his sub sandwich and apple at his desk, Skinner was 
putting his lunch hour to good use and scanning the papers for 
that afternoon's review session on some of the current cases. 
Halfway through the pile he realised he was lacking some police 
statements and buzzed Kim on the intercom. She sounded 
marginally less wounded than she had done for most of the 
morning, but she still sniffed loudly when she slapped the 
relevant folders down on Skinner's blotter and inquired if there 
was "anything else that was unsatisfactory?" He had cautiously 
brought up the matter of the mysterious notes in Mulder's case 
file and been told in no uncertain terms that she would never 
dream of tampering with an official case file and that if the 
Assistant Director wanted to work himself into an early grave well 
she'd never been shy of telling him he was heading for an ulcer 
and she had no need of cryptic notes to tell him what she thought 
of the hours he worked. Somehow, he had mortally offended her 
professional and feminine dignity and she was going to let him 
know about it for the rest of the day. 
So Kimberly was assuredly not the secret note-writer. Which leant 
a whole new mysteriousness to the business. Skinner didn't like 
mysteries. He liked facts and certainties and evidence. He didn't 
like sulks either, so he refused to dignify Kim's flounces with any 
show of temper himself. He thanked her gravely and opened the 
first folder. The top sheet was another RUB HERE message. 
Skinner closed the file hastily and poured a glass of water from 
the carafe on the credenza behind him. He stayed facing the 
window for a minute, sipping the water and deciding whether to 
be furious, alarmed, or just plain embarrassed. The jury was still 
out when his glass was empty, so he shrugged, squared his 
shoulders and turned back to the ominous yet innocent-looking 
folder. 
He flipped open the cover, half expecting to find a regulation 
summary sheet. No such luck - the RUB HERE was still plain as 
day. He did as he was told and his jaw dropped as the words 
appeared through his pencil strokes:
I DREAMED OF YOU IN COLORADO
What was significant about Colorado? Why would someone 
dream of him being there? What sort of irritating guessing game 
was going on here? The only connotation Colorado had for him 
lately was that laundromat case... Mulder's case... No - it couldn't 
be? He wouldn't... well, he would, but surely... 
He knew. Suddenly Skinner knew beyond a doubt who had 
dreamed of him, who worried about him. He felt dizzy with the 
thought, but sure as sure could be that his revelation was correct. 
Mulder, Mulder, Mulder... forbidden fruit of Skinner's most 
private fantasies. Infuriating, exasperating, impossible, incredible 
Fox Mulder. Mulder was sending him secret love notes. It was 
almost laughable, except that it took his breath away and made 
his eyes inexplicably cloudy and started an ache somewhere deep 
in his chest that stopped anything so casual as laughter. 
On autopilot, Skinner continued to leaf through the file, even 
managing to smile when he found the next "unofficial" sheet.
I WANT MUCH MORE THAN DREAMS
Now he did laugh - a cracking, rusty shout of laughter that broke 
out of his throat like a battle cry. Mad, frivolous happiness rose 
inside him like a tidal wave. His fingers scrabbled at the pages of 
close-typed script, searching for... ah, here it was...
I WANT YOU, NAKED, WET, WAITING.
And yet another page...
YOU KNOW WHERE - STEAM, MOSAICS, STARLIGHT, 7PM
 
Xxxxxxxxxx
 
~ Later ~
How he got through the afternoon was more than he could 
fathom. Work held no interest for him for the first time in many a 
month, Kimberly thought he was having a breakdown and 
offered him variously Advil, Maalox, an appointment with her 
sister's psychotherapist, a shoulder to cry on and a piece of her 
own home-made chocolate coconut pie. He had smiled 
indulgently at her, glad to have cordial relations restored, and sent 
her home early, as soon as his 4.30 meeting broke up.
He'd forced himself to work on until nearly 6.30, signing 302s he 
didn't even read, initialling requisitions for enough stationery to 
last halfway through the next millennium, and reading and re-
reading a handful of one-line notes in thin white grooves amidst 
smudgy grey pencil strokes. Mulder wanted him. Mulder wanted 
him, Mulder wanted him...
At 6.27 he capped his pen, locked his desk drawers and shrugged 
into his jacket. His love "letters" were folded carefully into his 
breast pocket, warming against his thudding heart. He didn't look 
in the washroom mirror as he rinsed his hands. He knew what he 
looked like and seeing his 47-year old face and body would only 
break the sweet spell he was living under, the enchantment of 
feeling desirable after so many months of loneliness. If he saw 
craggy old Walt staring back at him, he would lose his nerve and 
slink back to his condo to curse his ego for ever thinking 
someone as rare as Fox William Mulder could possibly want him. 
So, eyes down and no second thoughts. Maybe he was the biggest 
fool alive, but just for tonight he was happy. He would spin it out 
as long as he possibly could.
Xxxxxxxxxx
 
~ Later still ~
He saw the dark head first, tipped over the edge of the cushioned 
couch in the next to last alcove. The slightly shaggy hair fell 
softly back from the wide brow and was matched by the patch of 
dark pubic hair that curled around the naked cock of Fox Mulder. 
Skinner stood and gazed for a while, holding his breath as if he 
could stop time that way. Only then did it occur to him that he'd 
been so sure it was Mulder he would find here, that he hadn't 
even thought about any other possibility.
Lazily, Mulder rolled over, like a cat waking, and sensed 
Skinner's presence. His agate eyes slid open and he studied the 
man before him.
"For a trained Marine, you're not very good at following orders, 
Walter. I can call you Walter, can't I?"
Skinner nodded, dumbly.
"I believe the arrangement was 'naked, wet, waiting'... well I'm all 
of those, but you're not going to pass inspection, Marine. Get with 
the program - NOW!"
He leapt from the couch and snatched Skinner's briefcase from 
him. With deft fingers he divested his boss of overcoat, suit coat, 
tie and footwear in about 20 seconds flat. Then he slowed and 
stepped up close to the older man. 
"I hope your kit is in order, Marine." He leaned in and drew a 
sensual finger down Skinner's chest and over the zipper of his 
pants. Skinner's cock stirred under the charcoal wool.
"Eyes front, ten'shun!" Putting on a mock stern expression, 
Mulder stepped back a pace and deliberately looked Skinner up 
and down from head to foot, slowly. Then he began to unbutton 
the starched white shirt. 
Skinner tried to recall the art of the unfocussed stare that got him 
through several of Drill Instructor "Doberman" Pinsher's white 
glove inspections back at Fort Pendleton, a lifetime ago. He 
assumed the stance and looked straight ahead as Mulder's teasing 
fingers slid inside his shirt and over his ribs. He clenched his 
buttocks and braced his weakening knees as Mulder's hands 
snaked down into his unzipped pants and splayed over his 
stomach. He gave up and groaned aloud as Mulder's palms 
skimmed over his shoulderblades, down to his ass, and urged him 
close and closer still, until Mulder's mouth was on his and all he 
knew was that lean jaw moving against him, that silken tongue 
slipping around his teeth, those so-soft lips taking charge of him.
He floated back to earth to find that Mulder was a magician and 
had stripped him of socks and briefs too, while apparently never 
breaking that searing lip-lock. At last they were both naked, groin 
to groin, chest to chest. Mulder walked him backward out of the 
alcove and pushed him into the steaming pool. Gasping and 
snorting, Skinner kicked up off the bottom and shook the 
streaming rivulets out of his eyes. 
Mulder watched his Poseidon rise godlike from the blue waters 
and felt like offering thanks to any classical deity who might be 
watching. Walter was a work of art and Mulder was a 
connoisseur. Hours of watching the naked male from in countless 
tacky videos had never had the effect on him that seeing Walter 
revealed for the first time did. He had no self-restraint left. 
Boosting himself onto the poolside, he reached down a hand to 
Skinner.
"No time to play now, Marine. Duty calls."
Skinner climbed out and Mulder led him, dripping, back to the 
alcove, drawing the heavy curtain across the arched entrance 
behind them.
Still holding Skinner's hand he let his expression soften from the 
pseudo-parade ground scowl to a tender smile.
"Let's review. Naked - check, wet - check, waiting...?" Skinner 
stood quietly, his glorious body rose-gold in the low light, 
droplets of water sliding down his throat, his breast, his belly... 
His fringe of dark hair was plastered close to his scalp, 
accentuating the curve of the elegant skull. His wide eyes were a 
warm sable, impossibly deep and soft. There was a shyness in his 
slightly bowed head, and Mulder melted to see it.
"... long enough. Check. You passed with flying colours, Marine. 
You've earned your R&R. C'm'ere..." And he reeled Skinner in 
and tumbled them both on the couch, plastering himself over the 
big man like a second skin. The first time, Mulder took Walter in 
hand, stroking his hot, sleek cock to rigid perfection, then sliding 
into his tight heat like a key into a padlock - matched, oiled, 
meshing flawlessly to open the vault of Walter's walled-up 
passions. Arching over that splendid torso, bending low to suck at 
the hard nipples and satiny skin, Mulder felt immortal - translated 
to bliss. He came in a shattering cadence of shudders, burying his 
cries in Walter's shoulder. When Walter came he arched off the 
cushions with such force he lifted Mulder with him, melded 
together like a human Ourobouros.
The second time, As Walter lay propped on one elbow, kissing 
his way down Mulder's moist, lithe body, Mulder simply grabbed 
one big tanned hand and laid it on his own groin. 
"You know how this goes, Walter... RUB HERE."
 
THE END