Anyway, because I'm distracting myself from other writing projects...this is just for list only. To inspire sweet dreams...heh...

***

"Mulder, what is this?"

"It's, um...it's." Pause. "Macaroni and cheese?" Pause. "Potatoes?"

"Need I remind you this is my refrigerator? And I'm not licensed to run a path lab or breed new life forms."

"Mm, I'll bring it into Scully. Let her dissect it."

"I couldn't let you do that to her." Further inspection. "I'm not sure I have an appropriate biohazard container for disposal. ...Or a flamethrower."

"You are so anal." Grin.

"*You're* anal." Sudden smoldering look. "In a more enjoyable way." Flick of eyes. "Do you run around naked in your apartment, or just mine?"

Mulder smoldered pleasantly back. "Just yours." He stretched. "You lettin' me sleep over tonight?"

"Maybe I should call your mother." Skinner hesitated, then looked slightly uncomfortable. He glanced away, covering for his uncertainty by putting the monstrous leftovers back in the fridge. "Sorry."

"Don't apologize for off-the-cuff jokes, Walter. You'll never get ahead in life."

Skinner closed the fridge and felt a frissonic warmth blossom in his body like a depth charge as Mulder's arms slid around his waist. Hands played with his robe ties, twirling them like stripper's tassles. Bliss as hands dropped the ties, slid up his chest, over his skin. Breath on the back of his neck. Bingo. Abracadabra. He was hardening already. Again.

"What did we come out here for," Skinner murmured half to himself, his mind fuzzing and sliding away from him.

"Midnight snack."

"Mm. I have popcorn."

"Got any peanut butter?"

"I don't think so. . ." Skinner lazily reached and opened the nearest cupboard as two limber-fingered hands now undid his robe. "I do," he said, distracted but surprised.

"I think I bought that," Mulder said cheerfully. He of a sudden moved away and came into Skinner's line of sight, looking far too intent on the contents of the cupboard.

Offended, Skinner glared at the other man, who rummaged absently (and hummed while doing so) among the shelves. Then he reconsidered his glare. Why glare. Life was too short. New rule, he said to himself. Only glare when necessary. And only when the other guy's looking at you. He leaned against the fridge, robe open, cock hard, and watched as Mulder opened the peanut butter and fingered it with dismaying enthusiasm. He was going to eat it out of the jar--yes, he was. Incredible. . .incredibly damn sexy. Son of a bitch. How like a god. Somewhere in his most hidden soul Skinner laughed aloud. Above ground, in the rumbling ground of the body, he almost purred.

Mulder's head turned, not slowly, but it was a moment Skinner savored and it seemed wondrously prolonged: the other man with his finger in his mouth, sucking on it like an unselfconscious child, looking sleepy, his eyebrows raising in his grave face as he met Skinner's watching eyes. He smiled around his finger, sucked--Mona Lisa does peanut butter. Skinner's cock felt welded to his belly. He reached out, grabbed the other man's face, and it was a damn good thing Mulder got his finger out of the way because he was being kissed now and hard.

God, so this was how bliss tasted. ...Well, it was no surprise.

This was a man who would do anything--or everything asked of him so far. A man who liked to play. Skinner hadn't played in a long time, so it all seemed amazing, amazingly erotic. Mulder on his knees, looking intent despite heavily lidded eyes, looking brazenly naked, more naked than naked, against the clean tile of the floor. Even dim lighting could not render this less surreal, though it did lend a softer, dreamlike quality to the event. Skinner's mind wandered for a minute, as did his hands.

So male, so real stripped of his suit. Damn clothes. *Mulder should come to work like this.* Skinner's mind spun loose, considering a new bureau dress code. . .casual day. Oh yeah.

He looked down, and in the same instant saw and felt himself stroked with peanut butter. Insane. His cock swelled, and he was helpless to it. That mouth. He arched into it, his head dropping back, his balls lifting against his body. He achieved for a moment a pitch of voice that sounded new and undiscovered, and he marveled at it. A man his age.

And then a ragged locomotive of breath, an acceleration, a driving need. His right foot rose and fell, arching--heel lifting as he tried to angle himself and then dropping as he was off-balanced by his own greed. He could not stand for this, could he? He let Mulder take some of his weight. *Hold me up*, he tried to say, but couldn't. He was filling that mouth and it was he who could not speak. Was this gratitude--no, wait--was *this*, or--

"Oh god!" he cried aloud, his whole body an abandoned, rhythmic dance of motion supported by the slavish, wicked mouth of the one who tempted him. It was incredible to think that he could ever have tried to mimic this pleasure with his own hand, when--no, the mind could only be broken by this.

Slick, his body struggled with itself, hips lifting as if trying to topple the rest of his flesh and bones off their shelf. He caught Mulder's head harder as the last wave neared and came and peaked and crashed around him--felt his face seize, blaze, his throat clamp down as Mulder's was clamping down around him--too much, too good. Could it be too good? Oh no.

He shot hard into the other man's mouth, long pummeling streams of come that strobed and surged from him and filled that mouth. Himself, himself, he was using that folded kiss of heat. He was. And then Skinner's glass-eyed gaze was falling forward with his head and then he caught sight of himself, his rigid cock driven balls-deep between swollen lips, into a face so enraptured it seemed stricken religious, and if it was not a second climax that seized him then it was surely a heart attack.

Statistics be damned.

After a short time of mutual gasping, they slumped, both of them, to the floor, and Skinner touched the come-slicked chest of his lover and felt like a bear. Like a lion. King of all he surveyed. Fox Mulder had come sucking him off, not even touching himself, two greedy hands dug into his ass and urging him forward hard and deep, demanding him, feeding on him with a monstrous hunger that had subserved itself utterly to him.

In a thought he would never let himself speak, Skinner wished once again he could have gotten it on video.

*

G'night.