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More Than You Think You Are
Title:  More Than You Think You Are ch.8
Author: Goddess Michele
Date May, 2005
Fandom: X-Files
Pairing: M/Sk
Spoilers: lots
Rating: adult and all over the place
Beta: I am my own worst beta!
Disclaimer: C.C., Fox and 1013 own them, I’m just borrowing them for fun, not profit, and I promise to return them only slightly bruised,
but in that good 'thank you sir and may I have another?' way.
Feedback: Yes, please! starshine24mc@yahoo.com
Archive:  put it wherever you like, including atxf and SM, just leave my name on it.
Summary: A funny or not so funny tale I’ve been playing at for a while now, finally seems to be coming together

More Than You Think You Are Part eight

“Do you want to arrange a meeting with one of these doctors today?”

Skinner sipped coffee and gave me an unreadable expression, one that I was going to become familiar with soon. It was a look that said ‘I know what you should do, but you have to make the decisions here, not me.’

I thought about it, and Skinner didn’t push.

“Maybe…not…not just yet.”  I drank my own coffee and pulled the robe Skinner had given me closer around myself.

“Well, whenever you’re ready.”

I wondered if I’d ever be ready.  I knew more about myself now than I had a day ago, a week ago, a month ago; and I was still trying to wrap my head around the information I now possessed. I didn’t think I was prepared to have a doctor trying to force more facts out of my stubborn mind. Or into it, for that matter.

“Could we—uh—go out?” I asked, trying to ignore that awkwardness, that ‘I don’t belong here’ feeling that kept creeping up on me no matter how I tried to fight it. Whatever good home vibe had kept me sleeping soundly in Skinner’s arms all night seemed to have faded with daybreak, and I could feel myself wanting to squirm uncomfortably. 

He replied with a smile and a shoulder squeeze.

“Work won’t be harassing me until Monday, and today’s just Saturday, so it looks like I’m all yours.” He added another squeeze and offered more coffee.

“Sure,” I held out my cup. “And then maybe a shower?”

He frowned a little at that, and put the carafe back on the counter.

“You don’t have to ask, Mulder,” he told me. “This is your house; your home, and I want you to be comfortable here.”

“I know. And I’m trying.” I stood and hugged him, spilling my coffee a little. “I really am. But—“

He didn’t push me away; just reached out to take my coffee cup from me and set it on the table, and then he wrapped both arms around me in a possessive way that was one thing, at least, that was starting to become comfortable and familiar.

“But?” he asked, stroking my hair.

I turned away from him; spoke with my head leaning on his chest, my gaze on the floor. “But this is hitting me like a sledgehammer, Walter. It’s all new, even you—us—and I can’t just step back into a life I barely recognize, like some pair of old shoes.” I looked up at him then, smiled sadly. “I don’t even own an old pair of shoes.”

A soft kiss and his hands slipped under the collar of my—his—robe to rest warm on my shoulders.

“Let me help you,” he said. “I love you.” Another kiss, this one with a little more participation on my part. “Just tell me what you need.”

“New shoes?” I quipped as Skinner pushed the robe open a bit more and nuzzled at my throat.

“Done,” he murmured against my Adam’s apple.

“More coffee?”

“Sure.” He was nibbling at my jaw, and I was losing focus on the conversation. The robe was in serious danger of slipping right off my body and I tugged feebly at it, trying to pull it back up my shoulders. 

Skinner caught my face in both hands.

“A shower?” Trying not to sound like I was asking to use something that was supposed to be mine, I wound up sounding more like I was offering an invitation, I guess. Whatever my tone suggested, it resulted in a more thorough kiss, involving much tasting of my tongue, teeth, and lips until I was gasping for air. Without a word, Skinner abandoned my mouth and dragged me unresisting to the bathroom, which I’d obviously been either too tired or too nervous last night to fully appreciate.

Toilet, sink, utility cupboard, all pretty much standard, but the shower was a great walk-in space with jets on three of the four walls and slate gray glass that I guess I had just assumed was more wall at first glance.

I stood staring (probably gaping, truth be told) while Skinner opened the glass panels and adjusted taps to produce steaming water. I still had no words as he relieved me of my robe, pushed me naked into the spray, then shucked his sweats and t-shirt and joined me moments later.

I was pulled out of my immediate appreciation for the jets of warm water massaging my back and shoulders by Skinner’s hands on my chest, giving me something even better to groan over. His mouth was back on mine, lightly, and it didn’t take much teasing before I grabbed his head roughly and turned the kiss into something hotter and wetter.

He pulled his mouth from mine with a wet smack and shushed my protest with a hand on my lips.  I fought being turned around, but capitulated quickly when he dragged his hands down my back, massaging me far more effectively than the water had been doing. A second hard stroke from shoulder to ass pulled a moan from me.

“Too hard?”

“God, no!”

I pretty much gave up coherent thought then, except to briefly marvel at the size of Walter Skinner’s…hot water tank. It felt like we were in there forever, while I was treated to the most luxurious bath and massage I’d had since—since, well, ever.

Skinner added soap to his hands and it made them slippery and somehow warmer, soothing and vaguely herbal smelling, and he worked out tension I didn’t even realize I was holding. Every muscle in my back, neck, arms and legs was lovingly tended to; sometimes softly as if his hands were silk, sliding over my skin; sometimes hard enough to wring pained groans out of me, but definitely no complaints.

When he had relaxed pretty much every muscle in my body (with one starting-to-be-more-noticeable exception), he pressed my head under the spray, soaking my hair thoroughly, and then he was applying his stellar massage technique to my scalp. The shampoo smelled clean and citrusy, and when the pads of his fingers stroked the skin behind my ears, I swear I almost started kicking my leg like a dog.

Each hair on my head was shampooed, carded and basically loved while my knees grew weak.

After an unmeasurable time,  he turned me so we were chest to chest and I saw that his face was flushed and that he was enjoying this time as much as I was. He put one arm around my waist for support, then tipped my head back under the spray and held me there as the water rinsed away all the shampoo. He found my throat with his mouth, suckled just long enough that I knew I was going to have a hickey; knew, but didn’t care; then kissed and nibbled at my jaw, and placed sloppy licks on my chin. I could barely breathe, my cock was prodding at his, both of us equally hard and desperate, and I clung to his body for support.

Finally I guess the water must have been running clear, although it could have been beer pouring over my head for all I cared, and how Skinner could notice the shower and still be nuzzling at my neck at the same time was a mystery to me. At any rate, he let his grip on my hair grow lax and when I tipped my head up out of the water I found his mouth ready for mine. For long moments we stayed locked together, kissing and being kissed and I found myself repeatedly moaning and gasping for air, giving as good as I was getting, and basking in every minute of Skinner’s unabashed adoration. I felt gratitude on every level from physical to emotional, and some small part of me that was still paying attention prodded my actions with the memory of how he had taken me with his mouth the night before. I stopped kissing him and dropped to my knees.

I looked up at him, gave his shocked expression a grin, and then brought my gaze forward to rest on his long, hard cock.

Slowly, feeling something between reverence and reservation, I leaned forward and touched my lips to the crown; then I braced my hands on his thighs and gave both legs a hard squeeze.

“Oh, God! Fox!” His voice sounded loud in the acoustically stunning shower stall as his hips jerked forward, hard, pushing more of his cock into my mouth unexpectedly.

He tasted a little salty and a little bitter and my taste buds cramped.  I snuffled air through my nose and tried opening my mouth a little more, pressing my tongue to the smooth underside of his cock. This resulted in more groaning on his behalf, my name again in a half-strangled voice, and another brutal thrust, making me gag.

I wondered briefly if this was just a case of “been a long time”, or if I maybe I wasn’t as orally fixated as my eating habits would suggest. I swallowed around Skinner’s cock, and felt his hand brush first the top, and then the back of my head. He didn’t apply a lot of pressure, but it was just enough to make me gag again, and when I sucked briefly and couldn’t seem to draw air, I shoved at his legs. His cock slipped from my mouth and I fell back on my ass, gasping for breath.

“Aw, hell, Mulder; come here.”

As if I had a choice. Skinner bent and scooped me effortlessly into his arms. “Christ! I’m sorry Mulder.” His voice was soft and hurt in my ear and his cock was hard and insistent against my thigh.

I felt like an asshole.

“You should have told me,” I said. “You should have reminded me.”

“How could I know?” he asked, looking shocked. I just stared back at him, and there was a long and terrible silence. 

He broke it first.

“I mean--how could I tell you—how could I say something—like—“

“Like, ‘Mulder, you suck….badly.’?” I asked, trying to make my face smile.

“Shit.” He turned away, jaw clenched, eyes suddenly suspiciously too bright, and I could feel his desire fading along with the hot water.

And I thought I couldn’t feel worse.

I tried to slither out of his arms, thinking ‘if at first you don’t succeed…’, but he refused to relinquish his hold on me.

“No, Mulder. You don’t have to do this. I never should have—I—shit.” He wouldn’t look at me, and that seemed to hurt worse than finding out I was a lousy cocksucker.

“Skinner. Walter, please,” I replied, tugging on his chin to make him face me. When he finally gave me a miserable frown, I tried smiling again, not really sure if I was succeeding, but needing him to stop looking like it was the end of the world. “I want you.” I stated flatly. “I don’t know how I ever showed you that before, and I’m sorry if that car crash triggered some sort of blowjob memory lapse, but—“

His mouth turned up despite himself.

“Just—just help me to show you—you make me feel so good, and I only want to give back a little—you know?” ‘Please know’, I thought.

Skinner shut off the water, and I shivered. He took me back into his arms and found my mouth with his and for long moments we just stood exchanging tender kisses, both shivering as we air dried.

It didn’t take much to get me back into the game, and if the hard heat pressing up against my thigh was any indication, Skinner was right there with me. Both of us were groaning and whispering each other’s names as we went from ‘tender’ kiss mode to ‘devour’. And then we were back to square one: still in the shower, although far less damp, still naked and hard, both of us, and as far as I knew, I was still in possession of my fabulous new gag reflex.

Skinner pulled me off of his mouth, his hands warm on my face, and for what felt like ever, he just looked at me, eyes dark and sparkling with want. He was breathing quick and shallow, almost panting, and I had another ‘I am such an ass!’ moment when I realized what a prick tease I was being, even if I didn’t mean to. I had almost decided I was going to my knees again even if I choked to death doing it, when Skinner reached for my hand, squeezed briefly, and then guided my touch to his cock.

I startled, even as my fingers curled around him and I unconsciously weighed the heavy flesh in my hand. Skinner pushed forward and I inadvertently fisted his erection; he groaned and I felt him shiver as he pulled me close, leaning in to lick and bite at my neck, my ear. Then it was my turn to shiver, and my hand started moving up and down the length of his cock as his whispered words gusted hot in my ear.

“I saw you once, you know. In your office. Doing this.”

I startled again, squeezed. He shuddered and thrust, but didn’t let me go.

“I was dropping off files. It was late. I saw a light in your office.” Each short sentence punctuated with a flicker of his tongue over the sensitive shell of my ear, eliciting small moans from me that were quickly threatening to become unmanly whimpers.

“I didn’t know if you were there. It had gotten dangerous in that basement. So I just opened the door a little.”

“Cautious,” I breathed, feeling his erection growing slippery with his increased arousal. My own dick was prodding at his with increased curiosity, and he was still talking.

“I saw you. Sitting at your desk, and the only light was—was your computer. White shirt. No tie. I couldn’t see your hands but your—your shoulders were moving.” As he spoke, Skinner moved off my ear to bite at the joint between neck and arm, and then bite again harder when the first bite made me grip him tighter. “You were moving, breathing, that shirt sliding—sliding over your shoulders—looking like liquid in the half-light…

…I knew what you were doing.”

As I found increased excitement coupled with more confidence, I discovered a rhythm that probably mirrored the memory he was sharing with me, and when my actions made him stumble over his words, I thought ‘that’s me. I’m doing that to him.’ Just thinking it made me almost cum right then and there.

“You were—oh—were so absorbed—you couldn’t see me—didn’t hear—oh, yeah, like that—You—you tipped your head back and I wanted to s-suck on your neck like a—ah—ahh—a vampire.”

He forced my head back and clamped his lips on my throat to illustrate his point. My fingers were trailing slickly through pre-cum as I blindly pulled and stroked, my own hips bucking in tandem with his.

We rocked together and Skinner’s words heated my skin as he ghosted kisses all over my neck and face.

“Your mouth open…. eyes closed…so beautiful…so—God! —so open and wanting and I wanted you—wanted to be…. yeah, ohhh…. right there—wanted…” Thrusting harder, he found my mouth again, plundered it aggressively and one hand snaked down between us, found my cock and took up a fierce rhythm to match my movements that made me cry out as something that was part pain but mostly pleasure crashed through me.  Even as my orgasm hit and jerked my body on passionate puppet strings, I kept my hand busy and my last thought before things got too sex-foggy was of Skinner; the feel of his hand on me, the warm liquid bathing my own hand, the words whispered harshly in my ear as he pushed me back and only the wall was left to support us both in our release.

“I wanted it to be me!” he declared. “I wanted you to be mine. I wanted you so much!”

An unknown time later, still dazed, we rinsed away the evidence of our passion and staggered out of the shower. Skinner hugged me and handed me a towel. I kissed him and offered him a smile that was half-gratitude, half apology. He must have known where my thoughts were, because he kissed me back before I could say anything and gave me a huge smile.

“Thank you, Mulder. That was—“

“Adequate?” I couldn’t help it.

“Incredible!” he corrected me. “You are incredible.”

I blushed, unable to reply. I had no idea how Skinner could be anything but disappointed by my so-far decidedly amateurish skills. Hell, I was disappointed, and I wasn’t even the one who was supposed to—who deserved to get something out of this. I was sure Skinner was comparing his current ‘hand job only’ status with our lovemaking past, and was just being nice to his latest charity case, ‘Head Trauma Man’

“I love you so much, Fox,” he said. “I can’t believe you’re here. With me.” More kisses, another strong embrace.

Okay, so he was being *very* nice.

I accepted each touch and every endearment and decided my new life goals list was going to have several ‘Please Walter Skinner’ items on it.

Starting after breakfast, of course.


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 Copyright 2005 Michele. All rights reserved.  I went to law school.