Faith
by Te
6/98

Disclaimers: Neither Mulder, nor Skinner, nor even Scully 
belong to me. Yet. 

Spoilers: Not a one.

Summary: Sometimes we all need a little help to wind down.

Ratings Note: NC-17 for some questionable language, and m/m 
squelchy fun.

Archiving Information: Please ask first.

Author's Note: This is for the most sadistic Kassandra, to 
whom I sold my soul for Mr. X/Krycek. I do not regret the 
decision. ;-) Also, this can be considered a possible 
sequel to "Challenges," though it's certainly not necessary 
to have read that story to understand this one.

Thanks & Acknowledgments: To my beloved Sister Blue, for 
location, validation and inspiration on long, long legs. 
Also to Alicia for putting aside her massive squick with 
M/Sk to beta this for me, and to JiM and Dawn for helpful 
comments. And to BethLynn for the pet care products...

All feedback to: Daddy793@aol.com. Please?

Faith
by Te
******

River Front Motel
New Orleans, Louisiana

Fox Mulder was alone. It had been a bad one. Three solid 
weeks on loan to the New Orleans bureau office, trying to 
catch yet another in a seemingly endless parade of 
yesterday's troubled youth. He wondered, not for the first 
time, where to set the dividing line. When did a victim 
become a criminal, just another vicious little predator to 
be ground into meat

//for the beast//

for the nation's correctional facilities? He snorted to 
himself and took in the questionable splendor of his room. 
Frame bed, water damaged wallpaper, and a coverlet whose 
color scheme suggested nothing less than the mottled back 
of some sewer-bound cockroach midway through the evolution 
process. 

//The awkward millennia.//

When they'd arrived, the local SAC had offered to put them 
up at the Maison Pierre La Fitte, an obvious attempt to 
placate the adopted pet profiler. At first Scully had 
agreed to hole up at the River Front with him, but when 
she'd stuck to the carpeting in the lobby...

But places like this had their advantages. Even with the 
moderately frightening sink next to the bed, being here 
*was* better. What was the real difference between 
profiling and method acting, after all? You immerse 
yourself in the trappings of your quarry's existence in an 
attempt to know him, become him-- if only for a time. And, 
no matter where he was, these squalid little holes had a 
pleasant sameness. Someone had stayed here, fucked or died 
or hid here... and damn if they didn't all leave their 
marks. But as... something... skittered behind the next 
wall, Mulder did occasionally wish for nicer trappings.

1:57 a.m. and he'd just gotten off the phone with Scully. 
Disappointing on any number of levels, really. There was a 
time when she'd have let him ramble on until well past 
three. 

//Must be losing your quirky charm, Mulder...//

And times like these... Well, he could admit it. A voice of 
sanity, of normality and simple human decency was precisely 
what he needed right now. Some solid, tangible proof that 
the world had more to offer than just a great sucking wound 
that begged for a gun in its maw. Mulder put his head in 
his hands and chuckled darkly. It was time to get the hell 
out of here. 

******

There was something very wrong about a city in the wee 
hours. It was simple human nature that the vast majority of 
the world slept at this time, but he'd never gotten past 
the naive hope that it would somehow be different in the 
crowded places, that other spirits besides his own would 
leave their burrows to roam under the unnatural skies. 

He'd catalogued dozens of skies in his lifetime, and had 
never quite decided which made him angriest. The orange-
mauve of New York got points for being the ultimate example 
of loveliness in corruption, and this somehow soothing 
purple-grey, replete with the stench of polluted waters, 
had definite potential... but he thought that Washington 
remained the worst. That deep, royal blue bordering on 
indigo. When you added all the glimmering marble it seemed 
the perfect, shining example of the City at night. It was a 
lie, of course. Anything close to a steady look and the 
blue revealed its blandness. Nothing here, look down, look 
away, little worm. Just one richly colored veil... Nubilis, 
nubere... He toyed with the idea of holy matrimony and its 
relationship to a mendacious sky for a while, dreamy half-
smile on his face, drifting through thick, heavy silence as 
yet another metaphor screamed and twisted for mercy within 
his mind.

Some twenty minutes later Mulder found himself staring up 
at the unrepentantly ostentatious facade of St. Michael's 
Cathedral. For a brief moment he considered going in, 
imagined the vaulted ceilings, the softly nutty scent of 
old to ancient candle wax, the occasional tantalizing brush 
of incense... Why did people save such things for the 
religious? 

//I need... something.//

What sort of God hoarded such rarities of human beauty for 
Himself? It was an old bitterness, a fruit that had arrived 
at a certain level of rancidity and decided to *hold* to 
it. You had to admire the tenacity. Mulder stood on the 
steps hesitantly. He really didn't have anywhere to be, and 
the old fantasy of being burnt by the coolly gleaming brass 
of the metal pushbar had only fleeting entertainment value.

"Looking for absolution, Agent Mulder?"

The roughly professional tone had the same effect it always 
did. An infinitesimal, automatic stiffening in his spine, 
the hastily quashed desire to come to attention. He took a 
moment to settle himself before turning with deliberate 
slowness, executing a perfectly calculated sprawl against 
the doors that left his back *just* clear of the bar. 

"Just looking for something to do, Walter."

The steps gave him a rare vantage point over the older man, 
but he knew it wouldn't last. Times like these it never 
did... not in quite this way, at least. For a brief, heart-
stopping moment, Mulder caught the gleam of streetlights on 
strong even teeth...

"I think I could help with that."

"Could you?"

"Come and see..."

Mulder remained still against the old, dark wood for 
another few seconds, longing for the ability to pierce the 
glare hiding those deep chocolate eyes. A slow blink to 
register another failure of the night, and he moved slowly 
down the steps to face Skinner. 

"What are you doing here, Walter?"

The older man moved in, giving his cheek a slow and 
thorough nuzzle before settling a smile against his ear.

"Why do you always make this so difficult?"

It was a good question, and he resolved to give it some 
serious thought, but for now his palms ached to rest 
against muscled flesh, to run their fingers through still-
dark hair and tug and tease...

"Me first."

Powerful arms slipped around him, parting ways at the 
center of his spine to glide simultaneously down to his ass 
and up to his nape. Mulder remembered that first night, so 
cold but a thumb had pressed right *there*, digging gently 
into his scalp and making his body fluid in Walter's 
startled grasp. Another secret revealed and yes touch me 
there just like that. His eyes had closed but there was 
heat beyond the irrelevancies of the air just out of reach 
of his mouth and that thumb stroked and rubbed and 
pressed...

"Vacation, Mulder..."

He'd known for years that this alone could bring him almost 
there, had long since given up the struggle to deny its 
power over him from lovers. It was the only possible way to 
cope with the indignity of having such an obvious trigger, 
but still, when the *other* hand cupped him firmly and 
brought him close... A hardness against his own, so 
effectively hidden by the deceptive light and shadow of the 
city night... and that carefully adjusted trench. 

Mulder wanted to laugh but could only gasp at the 
discreetly powerful thrusts. He wondered if Skinner really, 
truly believed that such an impressive display of control 
at this moment would disguise the nature of their meeting 
from any unfortunately prying eyes. Or was he just 
bragging? Mmm.... Semper Fi... and then thought and wonder 
and cynicism were swallowed in the touch of expensive 
brandy and desire that entered his mouth with simple, calm 
possession. 

It never lasted, though. His mind wouldn't, couldn't seem 
to allow the impression of docility. Not for very long. He 
forced himself to submit to the kiss for a small stretch of 
eternity, before demanding with a series of small nips to 
have his arms freed, pushing the older man away with a 
lingering brush against buttoned, hidden abdomen.

"I *do* have a motel room."

"That's exactly what I was afraid of."

Mulder smirked. "You have to admit there's a certain charm 
to--"

"No. I don't."

This time he let the laugh free, soft, subtle, and private 
in the stagnant air. "Then where?" He moved forward, 
sliding his arms around the older man and resting his lips 
against Walter's throat, treasuring the brief shudder. 
"Hmmm...? An alley, your taxi, a confessional booth...?"

The hands had found there way back, stealthily, to his ass 
and squeezed hard, making Mulder bite back a hiss in the 
pulsing vein of the neck before him. 

"I... presume you didn't... take the time to get your *own* 
hotel room?"

The answering silence was only distressing for a moment-- 
the hands continued to rove and grip without a pause. 
Mulder tried to pin down the first time he had felt this 
simple... 

//faith//

confidence with another person, the ease that allowed (only 
semi- joking) references to his own irresistibility, the 
comfort that could wash it all away... He really, really 
didn't want to go back to the River Front. He felt lips 
nest briefly in his hair.

"So damned *difficult*... We *could* rectify that obvious 
error now?"

"That we could..."

His quick capitulation froze the other man, and the roil of 
pleasure and guilt was dizzying. Mulder could feel 
questions rumbling up through the massive chest. A pre-
emptive strike of lips and a slow threading of fingers 
through fingers. 

"Let's go, Walter."

******

The Radisson was far, far too nice. It was one thing to 
lose oneself in the crush of another person, but it was 
hard to slough the debris of that other world.  He had 
wandered onto the wrong stage. This place was not him, not 
now. Mulder stared at his reflection in the mirrored 
elevator doors across the lobby, took in the mussed hair, 
the tattered jeans and t-shirt, and felt like nothing more 
nor less than some rapidly aging rentboy. As Skinner tucked 
his credit card away he leaned in to whisper. "I'll expect 
you to leave the money on the nightstand, Sir."

Walter whirled to face him with shock and more than a 
little anger. 

"What are you--"

The older man's face softened abruptly as brown eyes 
flicked swiftly over cream walls, gold leaf... before 
finally returning to Mulder. A brief clenching of jaw, a 
narrowing of eyes, and then Skinner was loosening his tie 
and placing it deliberately around Mulder's neck, executing 
a perfect Windsor knot. The younger man just stared. Walter 
gave the knot an utterly unnecessary adjustment. Mulder's 
lips twitched. Walter made as if to snag a briefcase 
momentarily abandoned on the counter. 

This was quickly growing ridiculous. Mulder laughed and 
clutched the older man's arm, earning a quicksilver grin 
that made him squeeze involuntarily. Walter grabbed the key 
card instead and carefully removed the hand from his arm, 
running the strip of plastic along Mulder's jaw. 

"Shall we?"

******

"What floor did you say we were on?"

"Nineteenth."

"Hmmm..."

"Just what, exactly, did you have in mind, Mulder?"

Mulder toyed idly with the tie, and gave the railing a 
pointed glance. There really was little in this world more 
satisfying than watching the iron control crumble. Under 
that solid mass lay fault lines, and there were times--when 
he gave him that look, when he spoke in that tone--when 
Mulder could almost feel the earth trembling with the force 
of Skinner's passion. He wanted to roll with it, to lie 
down upon that fleshy earth and be taken by the shuddering 
inevitability of it all, to find some flash of oneness, 
some brief approximation of faith. He took a step toward 
the older man, smiling slightly, and was surprised at the 
depth of rage he felt when the elevator chimed at the third 
floor. 

Drunken tourists. Twenty-fourth floor. Joy. Skinner was 
grinning at him with evil amusement over the heads of the 
teenagers. 

//Oh, really?//

As the elevator began to rise again, Mulder undid the tie 
as slowly as he possibly could, watching Walter from 
beneath half-lidded eyes. When it was free of his neck he 
caught a brief taste of the other man's scent from the 
silk, and entertained thoughts of running it over his 
face... perhaps between his legs... but focused for a 
moment on the innocent (if drink-flushed) faces of their 
companions and decided to have done with corruption. For 
now. He settled for smoothing the silk around his wrists, 
winding and threading and winding some more, knowing the 
other man would catch only tantalizing glimpses of his play 
through the constantly shifting bodies between them. After 
a time he could feel Walter's gaze on his face, but 
resisted the urge to meet it for fear of his reaction. He 
found himself grateful for the relative speed of the 
elevator.

******

"A dog-grooming glove? What did *you* have in mind, 
Walter?"

A briskly professional walk down the quiet hallway, a slow, 
chuckling, mutual removal of clothing, and an insistent 
Assistant Director had them here, bare-ass naked in the 
sumptuous bathroom attached to room 1954. The older man had 
briefly left him alone as the tub was filling, claiming to 
have forgotten something, only to return with the electric 
blue latex glove. With lots of little rubber nubs. Mulder 
supposed he could grow accustomed to Skinnerkink...

An innocent blink. "I just wanted to get all traces of the 
River Front off you, Mulder."

"Uh-huh."

"Get in the tub?"

"You won't be joining me?"

"Not for the moment..."

Mulder grinned and settled himself gently into the steaming 
water, watching the other man pull the ridiculous glove on 
before plunging it into the bathwater... a good two feet 
away from any available skin.

"Tease."

Walter raised an eyebrow and gazed at him sternly. The look 
would probably have been more effective were the lenses not 
completely obscured with steam, and Mulder leaned forward 
helpfully to remove them, stroking the older man's ears 
slightly while he did so. A lingering kiss on the inside of 
his wrist, but no other contact as Walter reached across 
him for the soap.

The first touch of slick rubber to his chest made Mulder 
squirm. Ticklish, lightly painful as the glove caught and 
dragged... He pressed into the caress, encouraging Skinner 
to roam. Delicious to feel it scrub slowly over his back, 
up his legs, only to be removed to get more lather... down 
his arms and when he grabbed it with his own hand the soft 
groan Walter returned was exquisite. Back to his chest to 
linger just a little too long over nipples that craved the 
subtle torture.

"Walter..."

The hand stilled in the center of his torso before sliding 
down and down and beneath the water to grip him gently--and 
then continued. Mulder decided he'd never be able to look 
at pet care products quite the same way again. A slow, 
delicate massage along his perineum and beyond and he found 
himself bracing his feet precariously along the sides of 
the tub and his spine against the back in a slippery effort 
to give the other man easier access. The hand shifted, a 
finger made tiny circling movements along his entrance and 
suddenly Walter's mouth was claiming his own in a roughly 
brief kiss.

"Jesus, Walter... let me come..."

And finally, finally the hand ceased its teasing and began 
to stroke him, slowly at first to test his sensitivity, but 
when Mulder began to buck (losing his tenuous balance on 
the porcelain, slamming his calf hard enough to bruise, and 
splashing water all over the place), Skinner complied with 
the silent pleas for speed and Mulder could feel his hips 
twist and writhe in a battle with himself to both escape 
and feel more of the curious sensation.

//*This* is what I needed...//

And then he was losing himself, faceless predator, dusty 
hustler, FBI Agent it was fading to ash, all of it 
meaningless, helpless against the force of his orgasm and 
he might have been screaming...    The patter of water on 
his chest, the deep gurgle that warned of the plug's 
removal, and he made his way back to something resembling 
himself. Walter had turned the shower on and was in the 
process of joining him in the tub. 

"Hello there..."

"Planning on standing anytime soon, Mulder?"

The younger man pursed his lips in consideration, watched 
the play of muscles in strong calves as Skinner shifted. In 
one smooth motion he had risen to his knees and darted his 
head around to nip at the back of the older man's thigh. He 
was rewarded with a slight buckle and grinned against 
Walter's skin.

"No."

Mulder kissed his way back around front. "No?" A catch in 
the gruff voice. Glorious.

"I think I may have found something to do."

******
End.
******