Warning!! Portrayal of illegal drug ingestion. Please don't try this at home. It's illegal, dangerous, and socially unacceptable. Ethan agreed it might be fun to get Walter stoned and see what happened, but beyond that, only I am responsible for this mess. I would, however, like to thank both Lynn and Christy for tactful beta-reading and positive encouragement.

*************************************************************************

I am Assistant Director Walter Skinner, he kept reminding himself. Even though he was alone in the elevator, Walter made a point of not using the wall to hold him up. He stood braced in the center of the incredibly small space, focused on the need to stand erect without swaying. He couldn't remember the elevator being so slow and kept checking the display panel to make certain the cage was moving. Even so, he was unprepared for the gentle bump when the machinery stopped at his floor and he stumbled as he stepped toward the hallway.  

Damn. Squaring his shoulders, he moved down the hall, his footsteps muffled by the soft carpeting. Just act normal, he kept thinking. Walk down the hallway and get inside, and I'll be fine. The hall expanded and receded around him in an eerie accompaniment to his movements. The sensation was both terrifying and comic. He was pleased with his own crisp stop and pivot in front of the correct door but less pleased by the way his hands, somehow unconnected with his suddenly crystal-clear brain, fumbled with the keys. In any case, it was only seconds before he reached the quiet sanctuary of his condo and shut the door firmly behind him.  

Safe, he thought in triumph. Now that he was alone, Walter was less concerned with his condition. He'd been down this road before. Not for years, decades even, but he'd been here and knew what to expect.  

He spared a passing thought for the party he had attended that evening and even managed a smile wondering what Don Aldridge was going to do to the caterer who had unwittingly served hashish-laced pastries to his party guests. Fortunately only a few people had helped themselves to the refreshments when the truth was revealed. The truth was revealed. Walter savored that phrase. It sounded like something Mulder would put in one of his reports.  

He stretched luxuriously, soaking in the peace of the quiet room, relieved to have escaped without making an idiot of himself publicly as the drug took over. 

He had been thinking about something in the car, he remembered vaguely. What was I thinking about before? He frowned, trying to remember. It was gone. Couldn't have been that important, he decided, although the elusive memory tantalized him. 

The apartment was astoundingly quiet. As he listened, the sound of his own pulse grew disproportionately louder, filling the room briefly before he shook his head to clear it of the eerie noise. 

He had the munchies. It was dumb, but there it was. He tried to remember what he might have in the kitchen that didn't need to be cooked. 

A slight noise startled him and he glanced up. Fox Mulder was draped across the couch, staring at him with undisguised curiosity. Oh yeah, Walter remembered. Mulder. That was it. He'd been wondering if Mulder would be here. He watched warily as Mulder crossed the floor toward him.  

"Walter?" The agent's voice was concerned. 

Walter looked at him for a moment. That was it. Agent. Mulder worked for him, a fact that AD Skinner never forgot. Sometimes, though, Walter liked to forget. He'd been trying to forget in the car. Not much else to do, he thought in irritation. In spite of his protests, his host and hostess had insisted upon driving him and the other increasingly cheerful party guests safely to their respective homes. The group sharing the car with Walter had broken into an off-key rendition of Hello, Dolly that had briefly made him regret he wasn't even more thoroughly stoned than he was. 

He seemed to be getting his wish now. As the minutes passed, reality slipped further from his grasp to be replaced by free-floating waves of euphoria. At least the person who had perpetrated this obscene prank had used the good stuff. Walter might have offered to assault anyone who openly handed him illegal drugs these days, but now that the deed was done, he had to admit he hadn't felt so carefree in years.  

Mulder smiled uncertainly. "Something wrong?" 

"No." 

The two of them stared at each other silently for a few seconds, then Walter, trying to decide what would be the most natural reaction, reached out, pulled Mulder to him for a quick embrace. At least, that's what he intended. Somehow the feeling of his lover's warm body immediately seduced him into a much deeper kiss than he had anticipated and it left him unexpectedly breathless.

"Hello," he offered unsteadily. 

"Hello." Mulder chuckled softly. 

The sound curled down Walter's spine. He licked his lips and tried to concentrate, suddenly less confidant of his ability to hide his unusual condition.  

"Are you drunk?" Mulder's blunt question confirmed Walter's suspicion.  

"No." He pushed Mulder away carefully. Give it a rest, Agent, he thought in irritation. Stop analyzing everything you see. Taking off his coat, Walter threw it over the desk chair and dropped his keys on the desktop. Mulder's brain leaped to suspicion every time his newspaper was folded a new way. Walter knew it was an occupational hazard, but it could be irritating sometimes. 

"Would you like to sit down?" Mulder followed him into the living room and dropped back down onto the couch.  

Walter looked at him and frowned, still annoyed.

"This is my place. I don't need permission," he said belligerently as he settled in against the firm cushions. He wondered if it was a good idea to let Mulder stay, under the circumstances. He was unaware of the brooding quality of his stare, but he did notice Mulder shifting uncomfortably. I don't know, Walter decided. Then, on a sudden wave of euphoria, he decided he approved of Mulder's presence, so there wasn't any point in wondering it if was wise. Besides, he had no idea how to convince his lover to leave. It would be, at the very least, an unusual request.  

"Okay," Mulder said cautiously, surprised by the sudden hostility. 

Walter thought that was funny. Mulder was far too certain of himself most of the time, Walter decided in a fit of irrational condemnation. And judgmental. Mulder was the king of judgmental. What right does he have to sit here in my living room giving me looks? As he condemned his lover mentally, the agent's expression caught his attention. Mulder was laughing at him. 

"What?"  

"What the hell is going on with you? That must have been some party. Are you sure you're not drunk?" 

Walter rubbed his head and looked around the room vaguely. "Nothing. It wasn't. Yes," he said, finally. 

Mulder leaned back and crossed his arms. "Take your time," he advised. "I'm in no hurry." 

"It was the cookies," Walter admitted suddenly.  

"What? You're on a sugar high?" 

"No. It was...." His voice trailed off suddenly. Now that he thought about it, it was just too stupid. Mulder raised his eyebrows inquiringly, and waited with monumental patience for him to finish the sentence. "Hash," Walter said weakly. 

"Hash?" Mulder looked confused. 

"Hash. Hashish," Walter pronounced carefully. "In some of the cookies. It was an accident." 

"I'll bet." Mulder thought about that for a moment, then his lips curved into a smile. 

"If you laugh, I'm going to shoot you," Walter sulked. "It isn't funny." 

"I don't suppose it is." Mulder made a praiseworthy effort to look solemn. "So, what are we talking about here," the agent continued. "A hundred upright, conservative businessmen and their wives roaming the streets of our nation's capital singing Puff, the Magic Dragon? Have the police been warned?" 

Mulder was talking too much. Walter ignored all but the last sentence. "No. The others drove us home." 

"What others?" Mulder pressed. 

"Others," Walter said sullenly. He was tired of the subject. Mulder was wearing that green shirt, he noticed. Walter hated that green shirt. It had about a hundred really tiny buttons.  

"This is a very serious matter," he said carefully. 

"I can see it is. Will you be sending a letter to the Times about the lax morals of modern youth?" 

"What?" Walter stared at him in confusion. 

Mulder abandoned the complicated joke. "Are you going to sit there sulking all night?" 

"I'm not sulking," Walter said, surprised. "I'm stoned." He thought they'd already covered that, but maybe not.

"I can see that." 

"That's a stupid shirt." 

"Fashion advice? That's an unusual side-affect." the agent mocked. 

"You're always talking about my clothes," Walter pointed out.  

"Yes, but you hate it."  

"That's beside the point. And it is a stupid shirt." 

"I didn't bring another one, so you'll have to live with it," Mulder told him smugly. 

"Really?" Walter speculated on that for a moment, then reached over, grabbed the collar of Mulder's shirt and ripped it open. Tiny green buttons flew every direction. 

"What the..." Mulder grabbed Walter's hands a second too late. "Shit. I can't believe you did that!" 

"I always wanted to," Walter admitted. He contemplated his lover's disarray with satisfaction. Except for his desk, Mulder was sometimes so tidy it was irritating. Walter was, by nature and training, very methodical, but that was somehow different from Mulder's fussiness. As he admired the surprisingly erotic sight of Mulder's chest where it was exposed by the ruined shirt, Walter's mood swung back into euphoria. 

"You ruined my shirt," his lover accused. "On purpose." 

"Don't worry about it, "Walter said airily. "It was ugly." 

"How much?"  

"What?" 

"How much of that stuff did you eat? And are you contemplating any further violence this evening?" 

"Enough. I don't know. Are you going to cheer up pretty soon?" 

Mulder looked surprised and wary. "I'm not aware that I wasn't cheerful. Unless you count objecting to your impromptu tailoring job. No doubt such an objection was highly unreasonable to a man in your condition." 

"That's not my problem." Walter had entirely lost interest in that conversation. Mulder went on and on about things sometimes.

Reaching out, he trailed his fingers under the ruined shirt, marveling at the silken skin under the light dusting of hair on the agent's chest. He had often thought how absurd it was for a grown man to have such soft skin. Tonight it felt like slick velvet, warm and inviting. Mulder sat unmoving while he continued his exploration. Walter examined the smooth plane of muscles with his palm, lingering over the tawny nipples occasionally to memorize the way the hard nubs teased his fingertips, begging for attention. 

"This is an experience," his lover mentioned casually, his breathing only slightly unsteady. 

"What's that?" Walter raised his head from where he had been trying to decide if the two erect nipples tasted exactly the same. 

"I'm not entirely sure I have your undivided attention here," the agent admitted. 

Walter frowned. "I ripped your shirt open and started sucking on your chest. Who else would I be thinking of?" 

"And yet," Mulder said thoughtfully, "it's a strangely impersonal experience." 

"How?" 

"I don't know," Mulder admitted. "But you seem to be having your own little private party, here. My original idea would have been more fun, but then you went out and got stoned." 

"What idea?" 

"I thought it might be interesting to see what you'd do if you found me naked on your couch when you got home," he offered. 

Walter looked at him disapprovingly. "I might not have been alone." 

"You knew I was going to be here," Mulder pointed out. "Come on, work with me, Walter. What would you have done?" 

He thought about that, trying to picture the scene. For a moment, his drug-induced haze got in the way, then he remembered one evening when Mulder's surprising knack for producing a tube of lubricant at any moment had failed him. Walter had left his lover alone on the couch for a minute and had stopped in the doorway to watch the other man when he returned.

Mulder had turned his head and caught Walter staring at him that night and had rewarded his lover with a sensuous display of self-gratification. With one hand cupped around his balls and the other teasing his erection, Mulder had squirmed lazily against the cushions, thrusting against his own fingers and moaning softly. It was one of Walter's more cherished memories, not the least because he had managed to hold out for almost sixty seconds before plunging across the room and replacing Mulder's hands with his own mouth. He could remember that night with an astonishing clarity now.  

"Walter?" The agent's voice interrupted his reverie. 

"Hmmm?" 

"You did it again," the agent accused. "I'm sitting right here and you completely forgot me." 

"If you say so." Walter didn't feel like trying to explain. "Are you going to take the rest of your clothes off?" 

"I don't think so." Mulder shook his head. "I'm not convinced. Are you really with me, here? I get the feeling that I'm irrelevant to whatever world you're inhabiting at the moment." 

Walter felt the euphoria receding again. Mulder didn't need to carry a gun, he decided. The man could easily talk a suspect to death. A thought occurred to him and, ignoring that last remark, he headed for the kitchen. He was hungry. Food, he decided vaguely, sounded like a good idea at the moment since Mulder didn't seem to be interested in having sex.  

In the kitchen, Walter leaned against the open refrigerator door, staring in. He was mildly surprised when Mulder followed him into the kitchen and leaned against the counter.  

"What's the matter, miss your dinner?" 

"Yes." Walter ignored the touch of sarcasm in his lover's voice and continued to stare into the full refrigerator, obscurely annoyed that none of the contents appealed to him at the moment. 

Mulder slid an arm around the older man's waist and said teasingly, "Do you even know what you're hungry for?" 

Walter pushed his hand away. "I'm not in the mood any more." 

Mulder was offended. "Are you telling me to keep my hands to myself?" 

"If you like." 

"Fine." Mulder turned toward the door. 

Walter grabbed a carton of milk out of the refrigerator and placed it carefully on the counter. Reaching out, he pulled Mulder into his arms and buried his face in his lover's neck. "Sorry." 

"Whatever." 

"Don't sulk. I'm not in the mood." 

"You're not in the mood for a lot of things tonight." 

Walter rubbed his face against Mulder's neck. "You smell good." 

"Gee, thanks. I guess." 

Walter licked his neck slowly, then whispered quietly, "You taste good, too." 

Mulder relaxed slightly. "If you think you're going to get out of this with cheap compliments, you're mistaken." 

"No, I'm not." He let Mulder see the smug grin on his face.  

After a moment, Mulder gave him an answering smile. "You really are stoned, aren't you, Walter?" 

"I feel great," his lover admitted buoyantly. 

"All that, and you're charming and considerate as well. Imagine my delight," Mulder said dryly. 

Walter was troubled. This wasn't going well. He had thought that explaining the situation to Mulder would make things simpler, but his reaction was almost hostile.

"Yes. I'm not enjoying it, either," he promised. He rubbed his face against Mulder's neck again, enjoying the slight roughness. "I don't think I should be left alone tonight." 

"Well, I could be persuaded to help you with that." 

"I thought you could."  

"So, that's an invitation, right?" 

"Yes." Walter pulled Mulder's ruined shirt out of his jeans and ran his hands up under it, stroking down Mulder's spine slowly. Mulder offered his mouth for a kiss and Walter contemplated it for a moment before running his tongue around Mulder's lips and nibbling on the lower one for a few seconds. "I think about this sometimes." 

"More than sometimes, I'll bet." Mulder grinned at him. 

"Not sex," Walter reproved. "Not just sex, I mean. I think about your mouth." 

"Do you?" 

"Mmm hmm." Walter concentrated on licking the corner of Mulder's mouth and sliding his tongue inside. One hand came up to hold the back of Mulder's head and he lost himself in the sweet interior. He thought about how much he liked the feel of Mulder's mouth against his, the faint stubble of beard on his chin. Walter sucked his lover's tongue luxuriously, reveling in the familiar flavor. He stopped only to slide his mouth down to kiss Mulder's chin next, then down his throat to the hollow of his neck. Walter lingered there for a few moments, tasting the soft skin. 

Mulder sounded slightly breathless. "So, I take it the verdict is favorable?" 

"Sure," Walter told him cheerfully. "Why not?" 

"Why not, indeed," Mulder mumbled. "What next?" 

"Are you feeling better?" he asked hopefully. 

"I don't know what the hell I'm feeling," Mulder said honestly. "Tell me, how much of that shit did you take? And how long does it last?" 

"You don't want to have sex because I'm stoned?" 

"Not exactly. But it does seem to have had a strange effect on you." 

"Do you want to have sex with me tonight?" Walter demanded impatiently. 

"Well, that was kind of the . . . ." 

Walter interrupted him sternly. "That was a 'yes' or 'no' question, Agent Mulder." 

Mulder stared at him expressionlessly for a moment. "Yes." He reached over and closed the still-open refrigerator door. 

"It's about time you made up your mind." Mulder's action reminded Walter of why he was in the kitchen in the first place. He noticed the cabinet behind Mulder's head, and suddenly remembered something. He didn't notice crushing Mulder against the counter as he reached into the cabinet over his head and pulled out a box. 

"What are you doing now, Walter?" Mulder had apparently given up trying to understand and was just trying to go with his lover's moods. 

Walter approved of this new tactic. He shook the contents of the box onto the counter and looked at them in satisfaction. "Do me a favor." 

"That depends." 

"Take my tie off." Walter leaned his head back invitingly. 

Mulder tugged at the tight knot, then slipped the silk tie out from under the stiff shirt collar. He looked at it for a moment, then grinned. "Maybe." 

Walter caught the remark. "What?"

"Nothing. Just a statistical analysis," Mulder assured him with a grin. 

Walter looked at him skeptically. "You're weird, Mulder." 

"I'm weird? That's rich, coming from you tonight." 

"What are you analyzing in the middle of my kitchen? And why are you analyzing things in my kitchen?" 

"It takes my mind off my problems," Mulder told him solemnly. 

"What problems?" 

"Like the fact that I can't breathe," Mulder told him, pushing against his chest gently. 

"Oh." Walter shifted some of his weight off of his lover's chest and looked at him regretfully. Leaning over he pressed a gentle kiss against Mulder's mouth. "Sorry."  

"Not a problem," Mulder assured him.  

"Are you okay?"  

"I'm fine." Mulder smiled. "Don't get obsessive, Walter." He frowned. 

"Are you sure?" 

Mulder looked at him suspiciously. "What's that?" 

Walter was confused. "What?" 

"That smell?" Mulder sniffed suspiciously. "Chocolate?" 

Walter was embarrassed. He tried to hold his lover but Mulder squirmed around and looked at the counter behind him. "I can explain...." 

Mulder started laughing. "Ding Dongs? You must be kidding." 

Walter sulked. "What's so funny?" 

"I can't believe you have a secret hoard of chocolate cupcakes in your kitchen," Mulder snickered. "What else are you hiding? Eskimo Pies in the freezer? Hershey bars in the bedside table? Chocolate chip cookies in the bread box?" 

Walter looked at him in confusion. "I don't have a bread box," he pointed out. "Besides," and he remembered his grievance, "I still don't see what's so funny." 

"They say the way to a man's heart is through his stomach," Mulder teased. "And all this time I thought you'd probably fall over a big, rare steak. Now it turns out all I needed to do was buy a bag of M&M's. Why don't you bring your little snack to the living room?" 

Walter grabbed a handful of the plastic packages and the carton of milk and followed the other man back to the couch. He waited for Mulder to sit down, then stretched himself out across the remaining cushions, kicking his shoes off and resting his feet in Mulder's lap. It wasn't easy to balance the slippery plastic sacks and the milk carton while he arranged the pillows behind his head but Walter eventually managed to get everything arranged. Sighing triumphantly, he set the milk carton on the floor. Mulder was staring at him.  

"What now?" 

"Nothing," the agent said hastily. "It's just...I didn't know you could juggle." 

Walter chewed thoughtfully. "I can't. It's amazing how much of your conversation is irrelevant sometimes." 

"Really?" 

"Absolutely." Walter nodded and grabbed the carton of milk. "The inside of your head must be a strange place." 

"I'll forego the obvious pot and kettle remark." 

"I don't mind it," Walter explained generously. "You're probably used to it. It's just that, right now, I'm having my own difficulties." 

"I..." The agent started to speak, then stopped. 

"Yes?" Walter encouraged him. 

"I don't have a response for that." 

Walter was disappointed. "You're usually more interesting to talk to."

He felt guilty, which annoyed him. Mulder was acting like his lover had gotten stoned on purpose, instead of being the victim of a bad joke. I suppose he thinks I should sit in a dark room somewhere until tomorrow, he thought mutinously. The only thing worse than being drugged against your will, he decided, was riding out the symptoms in front of a disapproving audience. Something was digging into his elbow. He brushed the cushion and two green buttons fell to the floor. Mulder really should pick those up.  

"It would not be good for most of your staff to see you in this condition." Mulder's laugh interrupted his thoughts. 

Walter was suspicious. "Why not?" 

"I can see everything you're thinking," the other man explained. "For instance, right now you're feeling sorry for yourself because you don't think I'm being sympathetic enough. Am I right?" Walter felt guilty again and Mulder laughed. "What do you want sympathy for? You're stoned, Walter. You're not sick." 

Walter stared at his feet where they still rested in Mulder's lap. It was either a trick of the light, or his socks didn't match. He pulled them off and held them up thoughtfully. 

At the other end of the couch, Mulder broke out in helpless laughter. "God, are you ever stoned!" 

Walter smiled peacefully. With Mulder's laughter, his own euphoric mood returned. "You're not pissed?" 

"No," the agent denied. "but I don't have any intention of letting you waste it on a pair of socks, either." Slipping out from under Walter's feet, he stretched out next to his lover and grinned. "What do you think?" 

Walter watched the socks fly to the floor with disapproval. "I think...." he stopped. 

"Yes?" 

"I'm still hungry," he said sadly. 

"Hungry?" 

Walter nodded hopefully. "Why don't you go get me something to eat," he encouraged. 

Mulder looked at him, then shrugged and stood up. "Okay. What?" 

"Just food." 

"Fine." Mulder grabbed his keys from the table. 

"Where are you going?" 

"I thought you wanted something to eat?" 

"The food," Walter explained slowly, "is in the kitchen." 

"You want me to cook something?" Mulder's jaw dropped. 

"Yes, of course." 

"Do I look like Betty Crocker?" 

"It's only soup. All you have to do is heat it up." 

Mulder gave him a look. "Fine. Soup." He dropped the key ring and disappeared into the kitchen. 

Walter waited anxiously for a while. "Mulder!" he called. 

"Yes?" Mulder's irritated expression disappeared in the face of his lover's obvious anxiety. 

"Don't forget. You have to take it out of the can." 

"Of course." Mulder's jaw tightened. "How stupid of me." 

"And crackers." Walter stared at the ceiling happily. "I want crackers." 

"Crackers." 

"Yes," Walter agreed. "But not in the soup." He frowned reminiscently. "My mother used to do that. I hate that." 

"I'm not your mother." 

"I know that," Walter sulked. "I was just explaining." 

"Walter," Mulder said gently, "I understand the concept 'soup', okay?" 

"Okay," his lover answered meekly. 

"Okay." Mulder headed toward the kitchen again. 

"Uh...Mulder?" 

"I know." He stopped, but didn't turn around. "Crackers. On the side." He disappeared into the other room. 

"Yeah." Walter put his hands behind his head and waited patiently. It's nice of him to fix dinner, he mused. He'd have to remember to say thanks. 

Walter thought about watching television, wondering if there was anything worth seeing. "Mulder!" 

"Rome wasn't built in a day, Walter." 

"Is there a game on tonight?" 

Mulder appeared, walked across the floor, and picked up the remote control. Holding it so Walter could see the buttons, he pointed to one. "This one turns it on." He pointed to a different one. "This one changes the channel." He handed the gadget to his lover. "I think you're ready to solo." 

"That's a lot of attitude from someone who didn't know how to make soup," Walter grumbled. Mulder's response, if he made one, was lost in the blare of the television. 

Walter flipped around for a while without finding anything worth watching. One channel was showing a golf tournament. Is there anything more boring than golf on television? He watched for a while before realizing it was a repeat showing of a tournament from the previous spring. That's so stupid. 

Mulder crossed his line of vision and dropped to his knees beside the couch. 

"Look at this," Walter told him earnestly. "It's a golf tournament. A repeat of a golf tournament. No one watched it the first time, so why are they showing it again?" 

Mulder took the remote and turned off the set. "Excuse me." 

"Yes?" 

"I am here to announce that your soup is done." 

"What kind is it?" 

Mulder gave him a look. "If you wanted to see a menu, you should have said so before you ordered." 

"Anything will be fine," Walter assured him hastily. A sandwich was probably out of the question. He really wanted a grilled cheese sandwich. 

"Good choice." 

Walter touched his cheek. "Am I being a pain in the ass?" 

"Yes," his lover said honestly. "But I suppose it was your turn." 

"Probably," Walter agreed thoughtfully. "Where is the soup?" 

"In the kitchen," Mulder told him firmly. "On the table. If I bring it out here, you're going to dump it all over yourself." 

"I don't spill my food," Walter told him irritably. He thought about standing up. Right now, his body felt welded to the couch. Movement seemed like a distant impossibility. He snuck a look at Mulder's face and decided he'd better make the effort.  

The trip to the kitchen was completed without incident. Also without conversation. Walter wondered what Mulder was thinking about. He decided to leave the agent alone. Mulder was moody sometimes. It was probably a case he was working on.  

Food made Walter feel better immediately. "You know," he said conversationally around a mouthful of crackers, "you're cranky when I'm stoned." 

"Am I?" Mulder looked up from his own soup, smothering a grin.  

"Yes. It's a good thing I don't do this." 

"Any more, you mean?" 

Walter frowned at him. "That was unnecessary." He brooded on the remark for a minute. "Well?" 

"Well, what?" 

"Have you ever gotten stoned?" He grinned maliciously. "Did you experiment with drugs in your wild and misbegotten youth?" 

"Are you done with that?" Mulder motioned toward the bowl. 

"Yes." 

"I think you should go to bed," the agent suggested, dumping the dishes in the sink. 

"You said, 'no'," Walter remembered regretfully. "We could watch television. Alien is on channel 3." 

"Not in your condition. I don't want to wake up in the middle of the night next to a man who's dreaming he's Sigourney Weaver." 

Walter snickered. "What's the problem? Worried about protecting your virtue at this late date?" 

"I'm worried about getting my arm broken while you're in a drug-induced hallucination." 

"I'm not hallucinating," Walter sulked. He really liked Alien. "I'm just cheerful." 

"Not noticeably," Mulder grumbled. 

"Come on. Where's your sense of adventure?" Walter urged, fighting the urge to laugh. 

"I get enough adventure just going to work. I'm trying to keep my personal life on the mundane side." 

"That's a lie," Walter said with satisfaction. "I haven't forgotten that bellboy, even if you have." He was proud of himself for remembering the incident at the right moment.  

"That was weeks ago," Mulder countered. "I've reformed." 

"Since when?" 

"Forget it. We're not watching Alien. 

"Okay," Walter said agreeably. He leaned back and stretched his legs out under the table.  

"That was easy," Mulder said.  

"You pick," his lover invited. 

"Before you started picturing yourself as Sigourney Weaver . . . ."  

Walter thought about objecting but it wasn't that important. "I remember," he interrupted. "You said I needed to go sleep it off." 

"Close enough for government work. Come on." Mulder pulled Walter to his feet with a noticeable effort. "I feel my sense of adventure returning." 

"You want to watch the movie?" He snickered at the look on Mulder's face. Gotcha. "How much adventure?" He pulled Mulder back against his chest. 

"What did you have in mind?" 

"I might like to tie you up and spank you."  

Mulder jumped but his lover's arms were iron bands around his waist. The seriously intent look in Walter's eyes seemed to worry him. Walter dusted kisses along the back of Mulder's neck to hide his smile. 

"If I knew whether or not you were serious," Mulder said, "I might know how I felt about that." 

"If I knew how you felt about it, I might know whether or not I was serious." He tipped Mulder's chin around and brushed a kiss across one cheek. "How about the stairway?" 

"You're kidding." 

"I've always thought it had a lot of potential," Walter admitted. 

"Forget it. I haven't forgotten that episode in the stairwell of my apartment building." 

Oh, yeah. Walter smirked. "You never did tell me what Scully said about the bruises." 

"She didn't believe I fell down the stairs," Mulder said bitterly. 

"Yes, but you did," Walter pointed out. "Sort of." 

"So did you. It was like getting mugged by King Kong." 

"That's an idea," Walter said hopefully. He gave his lover a hug. "We haven't done that yet. I can be Faye Wray." 

By now Mulder was laughing helplessly. "You're such a pervert." 

"Just trying to add a little adventure to your life," Walter told him. "Isn't that what you always say to me?" He contemplated Mulder's laughter with satisfaction. "Are you going to kiss me?" 

Mulder kissed him carefully, still laughing. 

Walter was rocked by a sudden wave of dizziness. "I want to go to bed," he mumbled. The dizziness receded slightly as Mulder slid one arm around his waist and held him firmly.  

"You're okay," he said quietly. 

Mulder was steady in his arms, reassuringly firm and real. "Let's go," Walter said. 

"Okay, but if you stop to water the plants or balance your checkbook, I'm out of here." 

"Why would I do that?" 

"You've been a little schizophrenic tonight, that's all." 

Walter thought about the argument with his host before he had been persuaded to let someone drive him home. "I'm tired of people pushing me around." 

"Pushing you around?" Mulder sounded incredulous. 

"Yes. You, for instance. You're always telling me what to do. I don't like it." 

"When do I push you around?" 

"All the time. Sign this. Believe that. Aliens. Swamp creatures. Bigfoot."  

"That's work. What does that have to do with this?" 

"It's all the same thing," Walter insisted. "You're pushy, you know that Mulder."

"You aren't going to get violent again, are you?" Mulder eyed him nervously. 

Walter wrapped his arm around Mulder's waist and led him firmly to the stairs. Looking up at the long climb, he decided to wait. He turned the younger man in his arms and kissed him carefully. Mulder leaned against him encouragingly, smiling happily when Walter moved to nuzzle his neck.

"I thought you were never going to ask," he teased.

"You know what your problem is, Agent Mulder?" Walter smirked. "No patience. I think you need a refresher course in stake-outs."

Mulder opened his mouth to retort and Walter took advantage of the opportunity to deliver another mind-numbing kiss that left the agent speechless. When he could tell Mulder was about to deliver another smart remark, Walter kissed him again, leaving them both breathless and aching.

Walter pushed Mulder against the wall and leaned against him carefully, raining kisses along his neck and jaw. Mulder arched his neck and his lover concentrated on the long, smooth curve that led to the ticklish ear. When he licked the earlobe and ran his tongue around the shell, Mulder shivered and gasped slightly.

"I knew there was a use for that drug-induced obsession," he managed.

Walter smiled calmly and stroked his lover's chest gently, kissing him again.

Mulder tore their mouths apart, gasping for breath and moaning softly. "Oh, god." His hands were shaking as he fumbled with the buttons on his lover's shirt, but he finally managed to shove it off. It dropped to the floor next to his own.  

Walter helped his lover strip off the rest of his clothes. Before he dropped Mulder's pants, he retrieved the bottle of lube from one pocket. The amazing thing is that he has room for it in the pocket of those jeans.  

"Upstairs." He pushed Mulder toward the stairway and up the first few stairs.  

Mulder sighed in resignation when Walter's arms tugged him to a halt halfway up the stairway. Turning, he sat down on one step and grinned at his lover. "The bruises have barely healed from the last time." 

Walter started to stand up and Mulder grabbed him. "Never mind. If you stop now, I'll kill us both." 

He leaned in to kiss Mulder briefly. "Make up your mind." 

"Sorry." Mulder kissed him apologetically. "Lead on." He traced the curve of Walter's mouth with his thumb teasingly. "I'd follow you anywhere, sweetie pie." 

"Now you're just being stupid," Walter told him, riding the drug-soaked wave of bliss and Mulder's smile. 

"Am I? What makes you think that?" 

"You don't call me names like that." 

"What if I want to call you 'sweetie pie' sometimes?" Mulder's grin reflected his lover's. 

Walter thought about that for a minute. "If you do, I'm going to call you 'hunny bunny'," he said evilly. 

"Now that's stupid," Mulder told him. 

"Not as stupid as 'sweetie pie'," Walter retaliated. His hands reached out to touch Mulder's chest, then he bent his head to lick the brown nipples, rubbing them with his thumbs and nibbling gently until Mulder moaned and his hands came up to hold Walter's head against his skin.  

His back arched and Walter put one arm around him, guiding him back against the stairs. His mouth worked down and he shifted down one step until he could reach the erect cock bobbing between them. Disregarding finesse, he sucked it into his mouth, sucking slow and hard. Mulder let out an agonized groan and his hands dug into the carpeting. His body slipped into a slow rocking motion against Walter's mouth. The older man kept up the relentless pressure until Mulder's hands started clawing the carpet. Pulling his mouth free slowly, he bent his head down to nuzzle the tight balls. When Mulder's ragged breathing evened out, he moved back to his lover's cock and lapped it teasingly, slow wet strokes from the base to the head.

Mulder whimpered. "Walter...please..." 

Walter stopped and lifted his mouth a fraction of an inch. "Do you want me to stop?" He sucked the head into his mouth and Mulder shuddered.  

"I'm looking for John Wayne and I get Oral Roberts," he mumbled pathetically. 

Walter raised his head in surprise. "What did you say?" 

"Nothing," Mulder said desperately. 

"You did," Walter accused. "Why are you thinking about Oral Roberts?" 

"I'm not," Mulder insisted. "Forget it, Walter. I swear to god if you stop again...." 

Walter trailed kisses back up Mulder's chest, stopping to bite the nipples gently, then soothe them with his tongue until Mulder was squirming against the carpet.  

Walter fumbled for the bottle of lubricant, spreading it generously over his hands. Watching Mulder's face closely, he slid one finger down between his lover's cheeks and stroked teasingly, then wriggled it in slowly. Mulder hissed sharply, sucking air through his teeth. Walter smiled to himself, stretching him carefully, adding a second finger and massaging the area thoroughly. When his fingers stroked over Mulder's prostate, his lover's body jerked warningly. Walter repeated the movement until Mulder moaned and rolled his head pleadingly. Spreading the slick lubricant over himself, Walter moved down until the head of his cock brushed Mulder's ass. Holding the slender hips steady, he pushed forward slowly, relentlessly until he was buried in his lover's body. Wrapping one hand around Mulder's cock, he squeezed gently, smiling at Mulder's quiet sigh. Mulder's legs wrapped around his waist and they moved together. Walter's eyes were locked on Mulder's face as his lover lost himself in the sensation.  

"Faster," Mulder demanded breathlessly.  

Walter obeyed immediately, moving faster until they found a rhythm. Regretfully, he could feel his own climax looming. He didn't want it to end so quickly. For a moment, Walter hung suspended outside his body, then the pressure of Mulder's body, the feel of his cock under Walter's hand, and the sound of his voice rushed through Walter's head, tangling with the pleasure flooding his veins. His own desire poured over and through him effortlessly.  

They stayed there for a few minutes, gasping for air. Walter felt his heartbeat racing, thundering, and then slowly returning to normal.  

"OK, no bruises," Mulder finally grinned. "But I'm going to have a hell of a case of rug burn." 

"Sorry," Walter said heavily. He managed to get unsteadily to his feet, pulling Mulder up with him. They climbed the rest of the stairs and Mulder wrapped one arm around his lover's waist protectively.  

They curled up in the bed, Mulder's head on Walter's shoulder, and rested there for a few minutes. The air was cool against Walter's sweat-stained skin and he shivered convulsively. Mulder pulled away long enough to drag the blankets up over them, then collapsed back against Walter's chest. Walter could feel his body, languorously sated, sinking into the mattress.  

"Walter." Mulder's voice was serious, but his lover could hear the undercurrent of laughter. 

"Mmm?" A wave of blackness swept over him, like dark velvet wrapping around his brain. 

"The next time . . . ." His voice trailed off, unable to maintain the tone of menace through his enormous yawn.

"Never again," Walter promised thickly.  

"That had better be the truth," Mulder said sleepily. "Or there's a bed at Betty Ford with your name on it."

"I'm happy with the farm," Walter promised him.

"What farm?"

"You know." He yawned hugely. "The one in gayparee," he slurred.

"You're making less sense than usual. You know that, don't you?"

"It's a song," Walter said critically. Mulder wasn't usually this dense. " How are you going to keep them down on the farm, after they've seen Gay Paris?' "

 "Oh, that farm." Mulder chuckled. "I can just see you in gay Paris," he said.

"Forget it. Once was more than enough."

"Once? Tell me."

Walter ignored the question sleepily. He'd have plenty of time to think of an appropriate answer. Knowing his lover, he could count on more than a few nosy remarks about his personal history over breakfast tomorrow. He went to sleep.

****

The End