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A change in her tone of voice caught his attention and he looked up. The supervisor, Mrs. Tyler, usually handled his requests personally when he showed up in the files division office and she had hurried forward when he arrived today.

She was a thin, almost shapeless, intense woman whose gaze had always bothered him. Today she was staring at him, almost through him, purposefully. In place of her normal impassivity, she wore a tight smile.

"Yes, I am planning on working this evening," and he indicated the stack of files with a polite smile. He assumed she was making casual conversation as he checked through the materials she had handed him. "This file seems to be missing." He handed back the pale pink request slip.

"How did I miss that one?" She took the form and turned back toward the file room, "Wait here, Mr. Skinner. I'll get it."

Her manner was odd but he cleared the frown from his face as she reappeared holding the missing folder. It was Friday afternoon. He supposed that even Mrs. Tyler was entitled to have a weekend to look forward to.

"You know, Mr. Skinner, I really shouldn't give you these files." Instead of handing him the folder, she held it behind her back and smirked at him, smoothing her short hair needlessly.

He stared at her for a moment, open-mouthed. "I beg your pardon?"

"You work too hard, Mr. Skinner. You should really take more time off."

Her behavior was...he hated to use the word coy, but there was really no other word for it. The personality sat on her uneasily, like an ill-fitting garment donned for a special occasion.

"I appreciate your concern," he answered, as politely as he was able.

"That's a lovely tie you're wearing." Her inconsequential remark took him by surprise and he looked down at the grey-striped silk tie.

"Thank you. It's...thank you." Too late, he heard the door behind him closing. Glancing over his shoulder, he wasn't surprised to see Agent Mulder. The man had a talent for showing up at awkward moments. Still, Walter was grateful for the other man's presence.

"Good afternoon, sir." Mulder nodded to him calmly and Walter couldn't tell whether or not he had heard any of the conversation.

"Good afternoon, Agent Mulder." He turned back to the Research supervisor and was dismayed to see her dropping his missing folder on her desk.

"Can I help you Agent Mulder?" She looked at the younger man coldly, her manner once again the colorless passivity she normally maintained.

"Mrs. Tyler," interrupted Walter. "My file." He gestured to the folder on her desk.

"One moment, please, Mr. Skinner," she said firmly. She turned back to Mulder with a touch of impatience. "Did you have a request?"

"I put in a request for this file a couple of days ago and it hasn't been delivered yet." Mulder handed her a copy of an internal routing form and glanced at Walter. There was a glint of amusement in his eyes.

"The form wasn't properly routed, Agent Mulder." She handed it back to him with an air of finality. "The block for your supervisor's countersignature is clearly empty."

Mulder's face clouded over and Walter spoke quickly. "Special Agent Mulder is a department head, Mrs. Tyler. As such, he's entitled to request any files he might have an interest in."

"Very well, Mr. Skinner." Her voice clearly implied, 'if you say so' and Walter knew Mulder didn't miss the inflection. "If you'll wait one moment, Agent Mulder."

She disappeared into the file room again and Mulder stared at the ceiling, whistling with elaborate casualness. Walter gritted his teeth and looked through the files in his hand. The folder on the woman's desk was just out of reach. For one moment, he fought the impulse to climb over the counter and get it for himself.

"Here you are, Agent Mulder." She reappeared and handed the requested file to the agent. "Please remember to notify my department if you intend to keep it checked out for any length of time." It was clearly a dismissal.

Mulder nodded politely and left the room without another word. Seconds before the door closed Mrs. Tyler underwent the same eerie transformation, smiling tightly at the Assistant Director and bending across the counter toward him in an obvious invitation. Only iron self-control kept the Assistant Director from backing away.

"I can't believe an attractive man like yourself doesn't have a lady friend to spend his weekends with." He knew that in another moment she'd be asking him out. Walter glanced toward the door, wishing that Mulder hadn't left so docilely.

"I don't . . . uh . . . ." What the hell was he supposed to say? Unfortunately, his silence was the only encouragement she needed.

She handed him the file, managing to pat his hand as he took it. "A man like yourself shouldn't have to look too far for . . . companionship."

"That's . . . that's . . . thank you."

"You know, Mr. Skinner . . . ." She licked her lips nervously. "Walter . . . I could always . . . ."

"Thank you, Mrs. Tyler." He interrupted her quickly, afraid to hear what she was going to suggest. "I'll certainly consider the idea." Gathering the files, he hurried from the room, barely able to keep from running. He pulled the office door closed behind him and leaned against it, feeling like he'd just escaped being ravished by an animated filing cabinet. Never, before this day, had Mrs. Tyler entered his thoughts other than in connection with her reputation for running a very efficient department.

A noise caught his attention and he opened his eyes to see Special Agent Fox Mulder leaning against the other wall a few feet away. The agent was trying, and failing, to smother hysterical laughter.

Walter was at a definite disadvantage here. He eyed the laughing agent with disfavor. "Shut up, Mulder."

"I . . . I can't . . . stop." Mulder clamped one hand over his mouth ineffectually.

Walter was afraid someone from the office behind him would come out to investigate the unusual noise. Grabbing the agent's arm, he rushed him down the hallway and around the corner. "What the hell is so funny?"

"I don't know." Mulder seemed to be getting himself back under control now. "I guess I just never thought of you as a Mrs. Tyler's answer to Fabio before."

"It isn't funny."

"If you say so." Mulder was laughing again, but more quietly this time, thank God. "What? You don't see yourself painting the town with her? Saturday night bridge parties? Backyard barbecues with the neighbors?"

He said the only thing that came to mind. "Fuck you, Mulder."

"Yes, sir." He straightened up and breathed cautiously. "I think I'm under control."

"That will be the day." Walter stood back and gestured toward the elevator. As he followed the younger man, a thought occurred to him. "Agent Mulder."

"Yes, sir?" There was still a trace of humor lilting through the husky voice.

Walter clenched his jaw and glared at the back of the brown head. "I assume . . . I would prefer . . . ." He stopped.

"You don't want anyone to know you have a secret admirer?" Mulder hit the button for the elevator and leaned against the wall thoughtfully.

"I would prefer not to have this incident spread around the office." Walter couldn't quite meet the intense hazel eyes, for more than one reason. "Can I assume you won't . . . ."

"On one condition," Mulder interrupted.

"Condition?" Walter narrowed his eyes in warning. "You're hardly in any position to be making conditions, Agent Mulder."

"Don't be too sure of that. I'm not the one carrying on a torrid romance with the head of Files and Research, am I?" The elevator arrived, empty, and Mulder motioned for Walter to precede him.

"I am not having an affair with that woman!"

"You will be if she has anything to say about it." He pushed the button for Walter's floor and grinned. "This is a pretty hot item. I don't know if it's right to keep it to myself. It might even put that thing about Davison and the fax machine out of everyone's mind."

He knew when he was beaten. That last item of gossip had made the rounds of the office in record time. By the third day, Davison had given up and called in sick. "What condition?"

"Have dinner with me tonight."

"What?" He stared at the agent blankly. This couldn't be what it sounded like. His stomach clenched in anticipation. Christ, in another moment he'd have sweaty palms. He pulled himself together.

"Dinner. You. Me. Tonight." Mulder enunciated the words carefully.

"Why?"

"I want to talk to you." Mulder sounded determined and Walter could tell he wasn't going to provide any further details.

"We can talk in my office." He eyed the other man suspiciously. Had everyone in the building gone mad today? He ignored the fact that Mulder's request hadn't sparked the same blatant panic he had experienced earlier. After all, Mulder worked for him. This was obviously business-related. Obviously.

"I was hoping for more . . . neutral territory."

There was a suppressed gleam in his eye that Walter recognized from watching the agent's obsessive pursuit of an investigation. "Is there a problem, Agent Mulder?"

"No."

"Then why do you need to talk to me," he asked.

"I didn't say I needed to talk to you," Mulder pointed out. "I said I wanted to talk to you." 

"Very well. Why do you want to talk to me?"

"What's the problem here? We've faced blood-sucking worms, liver-eating mutants, and Senate Sub-Committees. Why worry about a little dinner?" Mulder grinned at him wickedly. "You're lucky. At least I'm not looking at you like you're the main course on my Sunday dinner table."

Abruptly Walter remembered the incident in the file room. He knew exactly what would happen if Mrs. Tyler's invitation became public knowledge. Mulder's teasing wouldn't be the half of it.

"Fine. You want to talk to me."

"Right. Dinner?" The agent wasn't giving up.

"Very well, Agent Mulder," he agreed formally.

"Good." Mulder nodded in satisfaction. "I'll pick you up at seven, ok?"

"You'll pick me up? This isn't a date, Mulder."

"Don't panic. It just doesn't make sense to take two cars to the restaurant and it's in your neighborhood." Mulder slid him a look out of the corner of his eyes. "I'll have you home and tucked up in bed at a decent hour."

Walter wanted to refuse the invitation but he couldn't think of any convincing excuse.

"I'll see you tonight." Mulder smiled again as his boss exited the elevator, then pushed the button again to ride back down to his basement office. 

"Why didn't you do that before?"

"If I'd gotten off the elevator earlier, you wouldn't have agreed to go out with me." The doors closed on Mulder's laugh.

"Dinner." Walter found himself talking to the wall. "Just . . . dinner."

"Mr. Walter? Is anything wrong?" He turned to see the worried face of a member of the clerical staff. She was buttoning her coat against the winter air outside.

"No, no problem. I . . . ." he ran out of things to say. "Have a nice weekend."

"You too, sir. Don't work too hard."

"What?"

The woman nodded at the forgotten stack of files he was holding. "It looks like a long weekend."

"Yes," he agreed glumly. "It does."

**** ****

He was watching the clock. In the files on the table in front of him, Walter had enough work to keep himself busy for more than the two days of the weekend, but he was unable to concentrate. As usual, he had arrived home late, which thankfully gave him less time to wonder what the hell Mulder was up to. It wasn't anything serious, he could tell that by the agent's unusually cheerful manner.

At precisely seven, the doorbell rang. Jesus He watched Mulder walk past him into the room and stare around curiously. He was wearing a black turtleneck, black jeans, and a leather jacket. Black. He looked like an invitation to a party. He looked like why the riot started. He looked . . . .

"You're going to want more than that." Mulder nodded at the light coat in his hands.

He started and looked at the agent curiously. "Why?"

"It's cold. And my heater isn't working too well. I suspect there's a reincarnated fifteenth century demon living in the radiator. They were known for smothering cooking and heating fires in the winter. Reports said that they could be bought off with the offering of the entrails of a goat, but I don't know where to buy any. Either that, or the fucking mechanic charged me for a tune-up but didn't do any work. You can't trust anyone these days."

"We can take my car," Walter offered, jumping at the chance to regain some control of the situation.

"No. It's my party." The agent sounded almost nervous. He threw open the door to the hall closet and started going through the coats. "Let me take a look."

"What the hell are you doing?"

"Looking for a heavier coat."

"Get out of my closet, Agent Mulder."

Mulder grinned. "If you insist."

Walter pulled on the coat he had been holding and slipped his keys into his pocket. "Let's go."

"It's after hours, you know."

"I'm aware of that, Agent Mulder."

"You don't have to call me 'agent' every few seconds," he pointed out reasonably. "Unless you want me to keep calling you 'sir' every time I open my mouth." He was standing too close to Walter in the elevator "We can do the guy thing," he offered. "You know, just last names. Kind of macho, don't you think?"

"I'm sure you worry about that a lot," Walter said dryly.

"What?"

"Being macho."

"Probably not as much as you do."

"What the hell does that mean?" Walter spotted Mulder's car in one of the visitor's spaces and headed toward it rapidly. The sooner this evening was over with, the better.

"You know. That whole 'Marine' thing. I always think some guys take it too far. Kind of butch, you know?"

"What are you implying, Agent Mulder?"

"Nothing. I was just making conversation. Sir." The agent added the last word pointedly.

Walter was irritated when Mulder held the car door open, motioning him inside but he couldn't think of any rational objection to the courtesy.

Mulder watched him move the seat back and stretch out his legs. "Put on your seatbelt," he instructed.

"I am well aware of the law," Walter snapped, grateful to be allowed to let off some of the tension building inside of him. Mulder smiled slightly and clicked the lock on the door before swinging it shut. Even that tiny gesture irritated Walter. He took the few seconds it took for Mulder to circle around to his own door to get himself forcibly under control.

"Did you have something special in mind?" Mulder slid the keys in the ignition and started the car, backing out of the space casually.

"What?" Walter dragged his eyes away from the intriguing twist of the agent's lean torso as he navigated the car backward around a concrete post. You sound like an idiot, he told himself. He stared out of the windshield, determined to keep his thoughts away from the memory of Mulder leaning toward him casually as the agent gauged the clearing between the car and the wall.

"A restaurant," Mulder said patiently. "If you don't have something specific in mind, I know of a place. They do great pasta and they've passed both of their last health inspections."

 "It's your choice." Walter realized he'd probably wind up the evening in the hospital. It was rash to trust Mulder's taste in food.

"Easy to please. That's good."

Walter didn't know what he meant by that, but he would be damned if he'd ask. They hadn't even left the parking garage and the evening was already living up to his worst nightmares. Every remark the agent made seemed to lead his thoughts down a path he was determined not to consider.

He brooded silently. When he had planned this weekend, he hadn't counted on being blackmailed to have dinner with his most controversial and attractive employee. No matter what stray fantasies he had entertained from time to time, this wasn't a situation he had anticipated.

Mulder was uncharacteristically quiet on the ride to the restaurant, paying close attention to the traffic. Walter huddled into his light overcoat and wished for gloves. Mulder had been right about the heater in his car, it was barely working. Fortunately, the ride wasn't long.

The restaurant was surprisingly elegant and uncrowded.

"It's a good place." Mulder was watching Walter's reaction to the room with pleasure.

"It is," he admitted. He looked around, not bothering to hide his surprise.

"They have great food and it isn't too busy. One of these days they'll be 'discovered' and you won't be able to get near the place, but for right now it's a quiet place to eat. And talk."

Walter felt a sudden, irrational impulse to demand to be taken to McDonald's. Or Pizza Hut. Any place that was guaranteed to be noisy and crowded. "What did you want to discuss, Agent . . . ." He bit off the title abruptly, unsure how to finish the sentence.

Mulder grinned at him as he seated himself across the table. "It's a hard habit to break, isn't it?"

"It's an important habit." Walter knew he sounded like an idiot again but he had to make some move to re-establish their business relationship if he was going to have any chance at all of getting through the evening without making a fool of himself. Fox Mulder in this relaxed, almost flirtatious mood was a new experience and it interfered with his usual control.

"When we're in the office. But this isn't the office," the agent pointed out needlessly.

"I assumed you wanted to discuss business."

"We have all evening for that," Mulder said.

Walter contemplated the prospect with a mixture of dismay and anticipation. He caught Mulder watching him and cleared his mind abruptly. He had the uneasy feeling that the other man knew exactly what he had been thinking but nothing in the agent's face confirmed it. Walter opened his menu and pretended to read it closely, taking as much time as he could to place his order.

"The only thing they don't have here are good desserts," Mulder told him. "If we want dessert, we'll have to go somewhere else." Mulder leaned back in his chair and smiled brilliantly.

"I . . . uh . . . I don't usually eat dessert." Walter's head was swimming.

"No? I'm big on dessert, myself." Mulder looked around the room in satisfaction. "This is a nice place, isn't? Kind of romantic, don't you think? You're the first person I've ever brought here."

"We're not here for romance." He jumped on the remark, the first one that evening he could legitimately argue with.

"That doesn't prevent the restaurant from being romantic, does it?" Mulder waved his hand, watching his companion closely. "Look around. Don't you think it's a romantic ambiance?"

"I suppose it is. I don't know much about romance." Walter refused to be drawn into the debate.

"No dessert. No romance." Mulder nodded.

"What are you doing, making a list?" He leaned back to let the waiter set a plate on the table in front of him.

"Yes." Mulder mocked him gently. "For Mrs. Tyler."

"Shit." Walter had forgotten how he'd gotten into this situation. Compared to his reaction to Mulder's innocent flirtation, the problem of fending off advances from the unnerving Mrs. Tyler seemed trivial.

"Don't tell me you didn't know," the agent said in disbelief.

"Know what?"

He was incredulous. "She's done everything but a backflip for months, trying to get your attention. You didn't notice?"

"No, I didn't notice." Walter wanted to ask him what to do. People were always throwing themselves at Mulder, men and women, in spite of his odd reputation. If he'd wanted to, the agent could have slept with half the Bureau by now. But he was famous for his complete oblivion to the longing stares that followed him through the building.

 "All work and no play, Walter . . . ." Mulder shook his head mockingly.

"Don't call me 'Walter'," he snapped.

"Do you prefer 'Walt'?"

"I prefer . . . ." He bit off the remark. "I thought we agreed on last names." He had been involved in some idiotic conversations with Mulder but this one was unique.

"Do you want me to keep calling you 'sir'?" Mulder smiled lazily, his eyes alight with humor and something else. "I don't mind calling you 'sir'. It . . . suits you."

Walter took a drink of his ice water. It was far too warm in the restaurant. Mulder was watching him almost constantly as they ate and it was making him nervous. Shit

"What am I going to do?" He asked the question abruptly.

"About Mrs. Tyler?" Mulder shrugged. "I don't know. Stay out of her way, I guess. Unless you want to tell her flat out that you're not interested."

He tried to picture that scene. It would be awkward, to say the least. "I can't avoid her entirely."

Mulder grinned wickedly. "I would. She looks like the type to run amok with a hatchet some day. I can see the headlines, now. 'Woman Slays Twelve, Including Lover, Self Over Doomed Office Romance'." He took a bite of his lasagna and chewed thoughtfully for a moment. "With my luck, I'll be out of town on assignment right about then."

"This is not an X-File, Agent Mulder," he said with disapproval. "It's just a minor personal problem that I need to handle. Preferably," and he looked at the other man pointedly. "Without an audience. They do have all the files for the department down there. I don't want the entire building involved."

"Try planning ahead," Mulder advised. "If you're going to bury yourself in work all weekend, decide what files you need ahead of time and send Kim after them."

"I suppose." It felt like cowardice, and he didn't like it. Still, it could create a very awkward situation in the office if the woman continued to pursue him. If Mulder had noticed, it was a good bet that others had also.

"Of course, there is an alternative," Mulder offered.

"You mean go out with her?" He was appalled.

"No, of course not." Mulder's eyes wandered over his face slowly. "I get the feeling she's not your type. Is she?"

"No." He stared at the agent, lost in that intense gaze for a few heart-stopping moments before he could tear his own eyes away. "What is the alternative, then?"

"Find something else to do with your weekends."

"What?"

"Stop working all weekend. Get a life." He grinned wickedly. "Get a lover. Someone who is your type."

"A . . . ."

"A lover." Mulder's voice was husky. "You need a lover, Walter."

The waiter arrived with the check at that moment, earning his undying gratitude. He didn't even think to argue with Mulder about who would pay it. He took advantage of the respite to struggle for control, for what felt like the tenth time in the past hour.

He was on autopilot as they got back in the car for the mercifully short drive back to his place. Then he concentrated on the cold, using it to focus his attention. The temperature had dropped ten degrees or more in the time they'd been in the restaurant and he was freezing by the time Mulder pulled back into one of the spaces marked for visitors in the garage.

"It's been nice talking to you." The agent shivered slightly and smiled at him. "Sorry about the heater."

"Not a problem." That reminded him of something. "What was it you wanted to talk about? You never did say."

"Oh. That." Mulder shivered again. "It's a little chilly for that now."

It was inevitable, but that didn't stop Walter from resenting the need to issue the invitation. "Do you want to come inside?"

"I'd love to." Mulder climbed out of the car quickly and stood waiting for him. "You can make me some coffee."

 "Coffee? I didn't know you drank coffee."

"It makes up for the dessert I'm not going to get." Mulder leaned against the wall of the elevator and grinned, huddled inside his jacket.

"You should have worn a warmer coat," Walter mentioned with satisfaction.

"I like this one. I've been told it's very becoming. Don't you think so?"

"I'm not really a judge." Walter refused to look at him.

"No fashion tips." Mulder smirked at him. "Item number three on Mrs. Tyler's list."

"I've had enough of Mrs. Tyler for one evening."

"That's a shame. I had a lot more advice for you on the subject."

"Thanks. I'll let you know if I think I need any." He turned to unlock the door.

"You should think about taking the advice I've already given you," Mulder's voice trailed over his shoulder.

"You should think about taking your own advice," Walter told him.

Mulder stepped into the apartment. "I'm working on it." He stood in the middle of the floor with his hands dug into his pockets and looked around.

Walter didn't know what he was looking at, it was the same as it had been when he had been there earlier. "I'll make some coffee."

"Good idea." Mulder nodded. "Do you use the fireplace much?"

"I haven't used it. I've only been here a couple of months." He headed for the kitchen.

"You should." Mulder followed him calmly. "Nothing like a fire on a cold, winter night."

"I guess so." He concentrated on the water pouring into the coffee pot.

"That's right. No romance, I forgot." Behind him, he could hear Mulder opening cabinet doors. The agent was humming quietly. Whatever the song was, and it sounded faintly familiar, he was off-key.

"What is that?"

"What?"

"That song you're murdering."

"Oh. That. Sorry." He grinned over his shoulder. "It's a country thing a few years old."

"What was it?"

"If I Said You Had a Beautiful Body, Would You Hold It Against Me?"

"What?" Walter leaned against the counter and stared at the back of the agent's head.

"I think that was the name of it, anyhow." Mulder moved over and started looking in a different set of cabinets.

"What the hell are you doing?"

"Looking for coffee cups."

"They're over here." He motioned to the cabinet over his head.

"Oh. Good." Mulder trapped his eyes with another one of those blinding smiles. "Just what I was looking for."

"No...I can get them."

Before he could step away, Mulder was reaching for the cups. This time it wasn't his imagination. The other man's body grazed his lightly, making him acutely aware of the arousal he had been fighting all evening. He froze against the counter and closed his eyes.

"Get away from me."

"You do, you know." Mulder whispered the words against his ear. "Will you?"

"That's so cheesy," Walter complained. "Are you always this weird?"

"Only on my own time," Mulder assured him. "I'm very conservative at the office."

That remark was such a bald-faced lie that Walter opened his eyes and stared at him in disgust.

"Name one time you've been conservative."

"Is that really the issue here?"

"No." He was suddenly aware of the lean body pressing firmly against his own. "I told you to get off of me."

Mulder's lips brushed his neck, then his cheek. "As long as you're sure."

"What the hell are you doing?"

"Making a pass at you, Walter. This is the second time it's happened today, you should recognize the symptoms by now."

Before he could answer, Mulder swooped down on him and kissed him thoroughly. He ravaged Walter's mouth with his tongue, exploring every inch of the interior, then coaxing the other man's tongue into his own mouth and sucking on it with determination.

That's so . . . . This is not going to happen. Walter started to push the agent away, but his arms betrayed him and pulled the other man closer instead.

"Oh, God." He tore his mouth away desperately.

Mulder buried his face against his neck, finding with unerring accuracy the one spot he couldn't resist. His arms tightened around Mulder's hips.

"I can't do this," he said calmly. He threaded one hand through the agent's hair unconsciously.

Mulder's teeth grazed his neck, finding the spot that made him shiver and nibbling it. "This would not be a good time to tell me I'm not your type." By the time Walter's head cleared, Mulder's hands were under his sweater, rubbing his back firmly.

He leaned into the touch automatically. "Yes . . . ." he breathed. Turning his head, he captured the agent's mouth in a searing kiss.

Mulder moaned helplessly and sagged against him. "Oh . . . Christ . . . just a minute . . . ."

Walter was past caring. He pulled the hem of the soft sweater free from Mulder's tight jeans and ran his hands along the other man's long back. "Again," he whispered.

"God . . . no . . . I can't."

Walter fastened his lips over the other man's, taking his turn to explore and taste every inch of the sweet mouth. Mulder tasted like tomatoes and spices and something else hot and exciting. Walter took his time, everything but the mouth under his and the hips rocking against him forgotten. When he reluctantly pulled away, he realized that Mulder was shaking.

"I'm going to come . . . ." The soft moan made him acutely aware of his own arousal.

"So am I." He kissed the other man's earlobe, then bit it experimentally.

"Damn . . . ." Mulder shuddered and froze against him, mumbling to himself frantically.

Walter held him gently, fighting his own need. After a few seconds, he pulled one hand free of the sweater and turned Mulder's head so he could trace the curve of his lower lip with his thumb. Mulder had a fascinating mouth that stayed in his mind for hours after they met. "Can you walk?"

"Not if you're going to throw me out," Mulder groaned.

"After we've had coffee, remember?"

Mulder looked at him carefully. "I like coffee for breakfast."

"So do I. If you can walk, the bedroom is upstairs."

"Jesus. Stairs. What a lousy design." Mulder sighed heavily.

"Take your time." He slipped his hand back under the sweater and started stroking the smooth muscles again. "I don't think I can make the stairs, either."

"Then we either stand here until the magic is gone, or find somewhere else," Mulder stated. He started to pull away and was stopped by Walter's arms tightening around him.

"Don't . . . ."

Mulder closed his eyes and swallowed hard. "Walter, this is a great kitchen, but we're not doing this here."

"Why not? This is where you started it." He tried to kiss the younger man who dodged his lips, so Walter settled for kissing his neck, working his way back to the sensitive ear.

"I bruise easily." Mulder moaned as the searching lips grazed a good spot.

"Liar." Walter nibbled his throat gently and was rewarded with another agonized moan.

Mulder tore himself away suddenly, backing unsteadily across the floor until he bumped into the table. "We're grown men."

"That's the point, isn't it?" Walter followed him across the floor, stopping just short of yanking the agent back into his arms.

"I mean, it's just a flight of stairs." He set his jaw stubbornly. "I'm not doing this in here."

"Fine." Walter pushed him toward the door.

"You know, this isn't turning out the way it was supposed to," complained Mulder with a quick smile.

"You must be kidding." He followed the agent across the living room, admiring the tight jeans.

"You were supposed to be reluctant. I was supposed to have to convince you."

"So . . . ." Walter chained the door and flipped off most of the lights. "I'm convinced."

"It was too easy." Mulder stared at him broodingly as he joined him at the foot of the stairs.

"Jesus, Mulder. You'd bitch if you won the lottery, wouldn't you?"

"I did." His expression lightened suddenly and he smiled. "And I'm not bitching. Just surprised."

"Shit." Walter pushed him against the wall and trapped him there between his arms, staring at him in irritation. "I knew this would happen."

"What? This?" Mulder tried to pull him closer without success.

"I knew it," he repeated. "We should have done it in the kitchen."

"What's going on with you, Walter?" Mulder eyed him nervously.

"The second I took my hands off of you, you started thinking again. And talking. And now you're going to talk us both out of this if you aren't careful," Walter warned him.

Mulder looked startled. "No, I'm not." Mulder kissed him eagerly, hands persuasive along his back and sides.

"You are," Walter insisted.

Mulder's hands slid down to his ass and his grip tightened. "No," he whispered. "Forget I said anything. Let's go upstairs."

"Was that what you had in mind?" Walter grinned as Mulder stared at him in disbelief.

"What?"

"You wanted to have to work for it," he pointed out maliciously.

"You shit." Mulder's arms dropped and he stepped away.

Walter smiled and pushed him up the stairs toward the bedroom, dimming the lights as he passed the switch.

Mulder stood in the middle of the floor waiting. Walter walked over to him and wrapped his arms around him again.

"Now." He kissed him. "Where were we?"

"I can't remember." Mulder grinned suddenly. "This is all so sudden."

Walter stepped back. "If you're not really . . . ."

"Oh no you don't." Mulder's arms slid around his neck, pulling them back together.

"I just didn't expect it to be so . . . simple," he complained. "If I'd known, I could have said something months ago."

"And, in the meantime, you're wasting even more time," Walter pointed out.

"I'm getting used to the idea. I'm not accustomed to getting what I ask for so easily." Something dark flickered across Mulder's eyes for an instant. Walter gathered Mulder against his chest and kissed him again, a slow, thorough exploration.

"Mulder." He whispered the word quietly against the agent's ear.

"Mmm?"

"I said, 'yes'.

"That's good." Mulder kissed him quickly and smiled with head-spinning radiance. "Because I think I've gotten used to the idea."

They undressed each other with quiet urgency, racing to be the first to explore each inch of exposed skin.

"I think," Walter paused to taste the hollow at the base of Mulder's throat. His skin was impossibly soft. "It's time we moved to the bed."

"Before one of us falls down," Mulder agreed. They separated reluctantly and Mulder looked surprised.

"What?" Walter hesitated while Mulder looked him over quickly.

"Nothing. It's just..." Mulder grinned and shook his head. "It looks like I really did win the lottery."

"Are you about to say something weird? Because I can easily change my mind about this."

"No you can't." Mulder pushed him down to the bed and stretched out next to him. "But who knew Charles Atlas was masquerading as an Assistant Director in the FBI?

"I'm glad you approve," Walter said dryly.

Mulder slid one arm under his shoulders and somehow managed to turn both of them so that he was laying under Walter, running his hands along his back and sides. "I do. So, do you have a preference?"

Walter looked down at the flushed face against the white sheets. "I thought you were indicating a preference." He gestured to their respective positions.

"I can be flexible," Mulder offered. He rolled over on top of the older man and kissed him eagerly. "Very flexible." Walter looked at him quietly, suddenly not quite sure how they had gotten to this point. Mulder frowned. "What?"

Walter wrapped his arms around his new lover and pulled him down so they lay side by side. 'I was wondering . . . ." He stopped for a kiss. Somehow, nothing with Mulder was ever simple and his body was reminding him they were here for a specific purpose.

"Yes?" Mulder wriggled under his hands encouragingly.

"Just how flexible?"

Mulder grinned again, but shook his head. "I don't do anything kinky on the first date."

"I hope I can assume that means you won't be enlivening the occasion with any reminiscences about the sexual experiences of alien abductees?" Walter kissed his way down Mulder's chest, stopping to tease his nipples, nibbling on them until the tiny nubs hardened to attention.

"Not this time." Mulder stroked his head encouragingly. "Although I do know some great stuff about ritual mutilation in remote areas of South America."

Walter nipped his stomach lightly and Mulder yelped. "That is not an appropriate topic of conversation, Agent Mulder." Walter licked the red mark apologetically and moved down to explore a new area.

"There you go," Mulder complained. "Getting all formal again." He shivered as Walter's tongue moved across his balls slowly.

"Sorry." He breathed the apology against the damp skin under his mouth and Mulder shivered again.

"Not a problem. Are you going to . . . ahhh." Walter's mouth closed around the head of his cock and Mulder finally fell silent. Walter worked his way to the base slowly, licking and sucking the buried vein, then sliding his lips along the length to the crown and taking the organ back into his mouth. He sucked gently, savoring the taste of his new lover.

After a few seconds, Mulder was moaning softly and his hands were stroking Walter's head eagerly.

"I don't think . . . ." Mulder shuddered. "I think . . . ."

Walter released him carefully, kissing his way back up the long body again. "Me, too."

They lost themselves in another endless kiss, their bodies rocking together more urgently now. Eventually, Walter freed his lips reluctantly. Mulder's eyes were slightly glazed and he looked . . . . Walter closed his eyes for a moment. Fumbling in the drawer of the bedside table, he located the tube of lubricant.

Mulder watched him thoughtfully. "One day," he mentioned. "You can explain what that was doing there."

"I haven't asked you any questions," Walter countered.

"Yeah, but I'm the nosy type," Mulder said. "And that . . . ." He gasped and smiled beatifically as Walter's finger slid inside of him.

"Yes?" Walter watched his expression. Unlike his work persona, this Mulder had no hesitation about letting everything he was feeling show on his face.

"That," Mulder continued firmly, rocking against his hand, "is a new tube."

Walter slid a second finger in and started stretching him carefully. "So it is." Walter concentrated, moving his fingers carefully until he found the right spot. Mulder moaned and his body arched off the bed. "Is that a problem?"

"God, no." Mulder gasped and his back curved again as Walter kept stroking him.

Walter smiled slightly and kissed him. Pausing only to slide a pillow beneath his lover's hips, he pressed the head of his cock against Mulder's body and began to push inside. He forced himself to go slowly, moving a little deeper with every stroke. Mulder's hands clenched the sheets and he moaned softly, but he didn't speak again until Walter was buried inside of him. His eyes were dark with pleasure and his back arched slightly as he rocked against the pressure.

Walter leaned down to kiss him, watching Mulder's eyes closely. "Are you okay?" He was too close to trust his own urge to thrust relentlessly into the welcoming body.

"More than okay." Still Walter hesitated, stroking Mulder's thighs until the other man wriggled anxiously. Then he wrapped one hand around the agent's cock and stroked him letting Mulder's body set the pace before he started moving inside of him. They quickly found a rhythm that suited both of them, Walter thrusting faster and harder until Mulder was humming his approval and rocking against his lover eagerly.

"Yesyesyes . . . ." Mulder's back arched again and Walter thrust forcefully into his ass. They were lost in this together now, only the overwhelming need to share his pleasure with Mulder keeping Walter's hand moving roughly on the younger man's erection. A few more hard thrusts and he was there, frozen against Mulder's body, the bliss searing along his nerves and through his cock. An instant later, Mulder shuddered and came, thrusting hard against his lover's hand one more time and crying out incoherently. Walter kept stroking Mulder's cock slowly for a few seconds and was rewarded with a series of lingering contractions that sent echoes of his climax shivering along his spine.

He pulled free and sank against the younger man's panting chest.. They lay like that for several minutes, Mulder cuddled under Walter's arm as the older man lay half-draped across him, sharing a brief, satisfied kiss.

"Walter?" Mulder's voice sounded sleepy and smug.

Walter glanced at him where Mulder was curled against his chest. "Yes?"

"Thanks for having dinner with me."

Walter laughed softly, more than half-asleep himself. "My pleasure, Agent Mulder. Any time."

**** ****

The End