A Secret Revealed
Story number two in the "Direction" series
E-mail: bluebonnnet42@excite.com
Keywords: Discipline, Slash, Mulder/Skinner
WARNING: Folks, this is a DISCIPLINE story. That means
Mulder gets spanked. But believe me...he deserves it.
WARNING II: This story is also SLASH. That means Skinner
can't keep his hands off Mulder. But then again...who could? BTW, there is NO Sharon Skinner in my universe.
Rating: NC-17, baby!
Spoilers: Born Again
Summary: Mulder's in trouble again, and having a (ahem)
hard time hiding his desire from his boss.
Archive: Jeopardy and Persuaders only, please
THANK YOU to Seeker for the great beta!
Mulder stared at the lone email in his box. He could feel
the blood drain from his face, and hoped Scully wouldn't
notice his sudden whitening.
"Tonight." The single word spoke volumes--it meant things
Mulder didn't care to think about.
"Mulder? You okay?" Scully's voice cut through his panic,
and he quickly deleted the email before she could read it
over his shoulder.
"Yeah, fine," he muttered. Then, realizing his answer would
likely only raise her suspicions more, gave her a brilliant
smile. "You about ready for lunch, Scully?"
"Mulder, it's only ten-thirty. Skinner wants our report on
the Michelle Bishop case before lunch. Are you nearly
finished?"
He sighed. "Nearly," he muttered again.
"Well stop reading email and finish up, Mulder," she told
him impatiently. "You and the Lone Gunmen can compare notes
about Miss April after work."
"Miss February," he corrected, hoping she would believe that
was really what he'd been doing. Anything was preferable to
her knowing that, at eight o'clock that night, Skinner would
be punishing his bare ass. And for what? Mulder wracked
his brain but couldn't think of a thing he had done on this
case that would get him in trouble.
He sighed once more, opening up the file with his field
notes and scanning it quickly. He would just have to wait
until that night, when the A.D. told him what he'd done
wrong.
Mulder finished at ten minutes after eleven, and printed out
a copy of the report after emailing it to Skinner. He spent
the next few minutes going over it one more time, but still
saw nothing in his conduct on their most recent case that
would warrant a punishment. And the worst thing was, pretty
soon he was going to have to sit down in a meeting with
Skinner and Scully, still not knowing! Would Skinner
mention anything to tip him off, or would he have to wonder
all day? And which would be worse, knowing or not knowing?
Scully interrupted his thoughts with her cheerful, "Ready,
Mulder?" Answering in the negative would have looked odd,
so he just grabbed his papers and followed her obediently
toward the elevator, his insides churning.
"Have a seat, Agents," Skinner invited gruffly, and the two
of them sat in their accustomed chairs. They waited
silently while the A.D. flipped through some printouts,
Scully calmly and Mulder jiggling one knee nervously. He
stopped when Scully gave him a curious look, but began
fidgeting his hands, clenching them tightly when Skinner
raised his head.
"This seems to be in order," he observed. "As far as an
X-file is ever in order, at least."
Scully smiled. "Of course, Sir," she agreed. "It was an
unusual case."
"Mrs. Bishop--what did she have to say?" he asked, his look
directed at Scully.
"She seems just to be relieved that Michelle is no longer
exhibiting bizarre behavior," Scully replied. "I don't
believe she is inclined to question too deeply, and I can't
say I blame her."
"Indeed." The A.D. leveled his stern gaze at Mulder. "I
received a call from Mrs. Bishop during your investigation,
Agent Mulder. She was quite unhappy with some of your
methods, in particular having her daughter hypnotized. She
agreed to it reluctantly, I understand, against the advice
of Michelle's therapist, and was dismayed at the results."
"Sir, we were actually making some headway into the
investigation when Mrs. Bishop interrupted," Mulder told him
earnestly, wondering if this was the reason Skinner intended
to punish him.
Skinner swivelled his gaze back to Scully. "Is that true,
Agent Scully?"
"Well, yes, in a way," she demurred.
Skinner raised a skeptical eyebrow. "In a way?" he
repeated, obviously irritated at her answer.
"Michelle did exhibit some sign of a possible breakthrough,
but her physical state was of such a nature that her mother
requested the interview end, and Agent Mulder and I complied
with her wishes," she told him carefully.
"Mmph," he growled. "Very well, that will be all, Agents."
They rose at the abrupt dismissal and started for the door,
but Mulder cast an anxious look over his shoulder. It did
nothing for his peace of mind to see the glare Skinner fixed
on him. He swallowed miserably and tried to communicate
silently with his boss, but the door closed and the moment
was gone.
With a heavy heart, Mulder dragged himself back to the
basement, his appetite for lunch gone. It was going to be a
long afternoon.
He picked at the lunch Scully brought him, nearly drove her
crazy with his pacing, and finally, at four fifteen, grabbed
his coat off the rack.
"I think I'll head out early," he told her, dancing
nervously from one foot to the other. "I have a couple of
errands to run."
Scully stared at her partner; he'd been acting strangely all
day. "Okay, I'll see you on Monday," she answered after a
moment. "Hope you get those ants out of your pants."
He gave her a sickly grin and practically ran from the
office. If things went the way he thought they were going
to, he'd definitely feel like he had ants in his pants in a
few hours. The big, red, stinging kind.
Mulder sat gingerly behind the wheel of his car, his butt
already aching in anticipation of the belting it was
probably going to receive later on. He drove around
aimlessly for a while, but it was impossible to kill almost
four hours that way. Finally he went home, took a shower
and changed clothes, and paced around his apartment for a
while. He opened the refrigerator, knowing he should eat
something, but the only thing he found that looked even
remotely appetizing was a six-pack of beer.
Mulder wasn't a big drinker, but tonight, he was tempted.
For a moment he considered getting sloshed, then realized he
couldn't possibly drive to Skinner's apartment in that
condition. Then, a brilliant hit him, and he tucked the
six-pack under his arm and left before he could change his
mind.
Twenty minutes later he was sitting in his car in Skinner's
parking garage, belting down the first of the brews. It was
good, raw and bitter, just what he wanted right then, and he
finished the first one enthusiastically. By the time Mulder
was halfway through the second beer, he began to feel warm,
so he peeled off his sweater, smoothing his gray t-shirt
down over his jeans. He turned on the radio, cranking it up
loudly, and downed the rest of beer number two.
Number three didn't go down quite as readily, and Mulder was
already casting his eyes about the underground garage,
hoping to find a nice, convenient restroom. Parking
garages being routinely devoid of such amenities, Mulder
crossed his legs. By the time he'd finished his third beer,
he had begun singing along with the radio.
The fourth can sloshed onto his shirt when he opened it with
unsteady hands, and Mulder swore loudly, then belched and
went back to singing. He couldn't really carry a tune, so
he turned up the volume some more in order to drown himself
out. The song that was playing was an old Eagles tune he
remembered from his youth, and he began swaying back and
forth with the words.
"Take it eeeeeeeasy...take it eeeeeeeasy...don't let the
soun' 'f yer own tire--uh--wheels make ya--"
Mulder's concert ended abruptly when the door to his car was
flung open and he was hauled unceremoniously to his feet.
Skinner held him upright with one hand, reaching in to grab
his keys with the other, and as soon as the radio stopped
the silence became deafening.
"Uh...h'lo, Sir," Mulder slurred, grinning slightly at his
boss. "Did'n' 'spect you home so early..."
Skinner said nothing, but he took the half-empty beer can
from Mulder's hand and pitched it into a nearby trash
receptacle. He looked his agent up and down, from the
rumpled hair and slightly glazed eyes to the beer-stained
clothing, and spun him around quickly.
"Woah!" Mulder complained, losing his balance, but Skinner
held his arms from behind, guiding him forward.
"Just walk, Mulder. Don't try to think about it too much or
you'll trip. Just let your feet take over. That's the way,
one step at a time."
The anger behind the words was evident, and by the time they
reached Skinner's apartment, Mulder had begun to remember
why he was there. He'd been in trouble, he knew that much,
and Skinner had said to be there at eight. It was
now--Mulder peered at his watch but couldn't make out the
swimming numbers. He'd gone home to shower and eat supper
and--SHIT! Mulder sniffed, suddenly aware of the scent of
alcohol on his clothing.
"Uh--Sir--"
"Quiet, Mulder."
Mulder's mouth snapped shut immediately; this was clearly no
time to anger Skinner further.
He allowed the A.D. to escort him into the apartment and
guide him to a seat on the sofa. As soon as Skinner's back
was turned, Mulder let go of the balance he'd been fighting
for and fell to the side. He ended up with his head on a
soft cushion, and giggled, thinking how perfect it was. Now
if only he could raise his feet...
His feet were lifted, his shoes removed and a blanket thrown
over him, and Mulder snuggled down into it happily. It was
great to have someone to take care of him for a change.
Moments later, he was sound asleep.
The first thing Mulder was aware of was the vise that held
his head immobile. The agony was exquisite, and he raised
his hands to shove the instrument of torture away, only to
find himself gripping nothing but fistfuls of his own hair.
He opened his eyes briefly, wincing and shutting them
immediately, and groaned audibly.
"Yes, I thought that might be your reaction," a voice beside
him said. "You aren't much of a drinker, are you, Fox?"
"I'll do anything you want if you'll stop yelling at me,"
Mulder promised in a whisper, refusing to open his eyes to
the brutal light of day.
He could hear the amusement in Skinner's next words. "I'm
not yelling at you. Not yet, anyway." The man did lower
his voice, however, for which Mulder was profoundly
grateful.
"What happened to me, Sir?"
"Apparently you decided to fortify yourself against your
impending punishment by making yourself drunk, probably on
an empty stomach," Skinner observed drily. "Needless to
say, all you did was postpone the inevitable while making
yourself much more uncomfortable. Here. Try to sit up and
swallow these. They'll help."
Mulder peeked out through slitted eyes and saw Skinner
offering him aspirin, with orange juice to wash it down. He
pulled himself upright with effort, grimacing at the way the
cannonball in his head changed positions when he moved, and
swallowed them down quickly. At least, he noted with
relief, he wasn't nauseated. The headache was bad enough.
When he'd given the aspirin a little while to work, Mulder
at last risked opening his eyes all the way. To his
surprise, it didn't hurt much at all.
"That's great stuff, Sir," he said with a sickly grin.
Skinner was unamused. "Fox, what is this all about?"
Mulder shrugged, averting his eyes. "You know..."
"Because I told you to come here last night?"
Mulder tried to nod, decided it was a bad idea, and instead
answered, "Yes, Sir."
"How many times have I punished you, Fox?" Skinner asked,
and Mulder thought back.
"Three."
"And do you remember why you were punished on each
occasion?"
"Well, the first time was for disobeying you. The second
time was because I smarted off at you in that budget
meeting, and the third time was for ditching Scully and
going off to investigate that ghost on my own."
"Exactly. And for the moment, we'll ignore the fact that
there are no such thing as ghosts."
Mulder opened his mouth to answer, then closed it again.
Best not to get into *that* discussion with Skinner again.
"What's your point, Sir, if you don't mind my asking?" He
glanced up at Skinner curiously, and was surprised when
Skinner smiled.
"My point, Mulder, is that I only punish you when you do
something dangerous, or when you show disrespect toward me
as your superior. You did neither of those things in this
particular instance."
Mulder gaped at him. "Do you mean...you didn't order me to
show up here so you could whale the tar out of my ass?" he
demanded.
Skinner shook his head.
"What then?"
"I wanted you to make a telephone call to Mrs. Bishop, to
apologize to her for putting her and her daughter in such an
uncomfortable position. I wanted you here so I could make
certain your apology was made to my satisfaction, and that
it was sincere.
Mulder pressed his palms to his eyes, his head falling
against the sofa back. "Shit! That hurts! Do you mean,
Sir, that if I'd just shown up here last night as ordered,
I'd have gotten off with making a simple phone call? That's
it? That's all?"
"That's all," Skinner confirmed. "Now, however, I'm sure
you're aware that the situation has changed."
"I can still make that call, Sir," Mulder assured him
desperately.
"And I fully intend that you shall," Skinner replied. "But
now we have the issue of you trying to avoid trouble by
getting yourself drunk. That's never a good idea, Fox, and
it will always bring you grief. How many of those beers did
you drink before you got behind the wheel?"
"None, Sir, I swear!" Mulder told him earnestly. "I drove
here before I opened even one of them."
Skinner stared at Mulder for a moment, a curious expression
on his face, and then, to Mulder's surprise, burst out
laughing. He roared with mirth, bent over double, until
tiny tears began making their way from his eyes.
Mulder groaned, clutching at his head again. "Please, Sir,
be quiet!" he begged.
When Skinner finally calmed himself, wiping tears from his
face, he said, "Well Fox, you're inventive, I have to give
you that. I think I'll see if I can be just as inventive in
deciding upon your punishment."
Mulder opened one eye again. "You mean...you won't use the
belt this time, Sir?"
Skinner grinned. "Change can be a good thing. Now, come
with me. I'm going to put you to bed in my guest room. You
look like you could use some more sleep, and I certainly
can't punish you in this condition."
"Great," Mulder grumped as Skinner guided him through the
apartment. "You're going to get me well just so you can
kill me."
"Nonsense, Mulder," Skinner chided. "I know what I'm doing.
I never even leave bruises."
Skinner pulled the reeking t-shirt from Mulder's body, then
reached for the buckle of his jeans.
"I can do that, Sir," Mulder said quickly, slipping the
jeans off and sliding beneath the covers fast so Skinner
wouldn't see the slight erection he was sporting. If
Skinner got any closer, the situation would only grow worse,
and that would simply be too embarrassing.
Willing his arousal to disappear, Mulder closed his eyes and
soon fell into a deep sleep.
He was awakened by the smell of food, and opened his eyes to
see Skinner placing a tray on the nightstand with soup and
sandwiches.
"Smells good, Sir," he said, feeling a little shy now that
he was fully sober.
Skinner nodded his thanks. "How's the headache?"
"Gone," Mulder replied, surprised to realize it was the
truth. "I don't think I've ever recovered from a hangover
so quickly."
Skinner's face darkened. "Do you have hangovers often,
Mulder?"
Mulder gulped, realizing this might not be the most healthy
conversational topic right now--at least not where his butt
was concerned. Skinner seemed to heartily disapprove of him
drinking.
"Uh--thanks," he said, reaching for one of the sandwiches
and biting into it eagerly. "For...you know...taking care
of me."
"You're welcome," Skinner replied.
There was an uncomfortable silence while Mulder finished his
sandwich. He slid from beneath the covers, grateful that
his baggy sweatpants would help hide the wake-up call his
body was feeling at Skinner's nearness.
"Guess I should make that phone call now, Sir," he offered,
hoping to forestall any punishment the A.D. might see fit to
mete out over his drinking binge.
"Maybe you should shower and get dressed first," Skinner
answered coolly. "I washed your clothes while you were
sleeping--didn't think you'd want to put them back on
reeking of beer."
Mulder glanced down at himself with a gasp, fully realizing
at last that he was naked except for his cotton boxers, and
that his erection was clearly visible.
"Uh...Sir...I..." He blushed, struggling for words, not
quite sure what was appropriate to say in a situation like
this--how did you tell your boss, who enjoyed spanking your
bare ass when you misbehaved, that you'd really rather he
fucked the life out of you? There was just no delicate way
to phrase that.
Skinner saw his consternation and decided to put Mulder out
of his misery.
"Go and shower, Fox," he ordered, "and let's get your
punishment behind us." He grinned at his own words, while
Mulder winced. "Then we'll talk about..." Mulder blushed
even harder when Skinner glanced at his hardened cock.
"...other things."
"Yes, Sir," Mulder answered, and was out of the room like a
shot.
When he returned half an hour later, clean, shaven and
dressed in his freshly-laundered clothing, Mulder felt only
marginally better. He'd spent his entire shower wondering
what Skinner had meant by that remark. Washing his cock and
balls had been torture, and finally Mulder had given in to
the urge and relieved his need, hoping it would be easier to
face the big man afterwards.
It wasn't.
Skinner had changed clothes while Mulder showered, and now
he was dressed in what Mulder privately thought of as his
"Dom" outfit--black jeans, black boots and a form-fitting
black jersey shirt, open just enough to tantalize him with a
glimpse of chest hair. Mulder swallowed hard and entered
the study where Skinner sat at his desk.
Skinner indicated a chair beside the desk, and Mulder sat
down quickly, his eyes on the floor, the window, the
pictures on the walls...anywhere but on his devastatlingly
handsome superior.
"Uh...Sir, before you punish me for last night, I feel I
really should point out that it wasn't my fault."
Skinner's eyebrows shot up incredulously. "Not your fault?
I'm sorry Fox, I must have missed an important detail here.
Someone kidnapped you, forced you to drive to my building,
then held a gun on you while you drank beer against your
will, is that how it happened?"
Mulder looked at his lap. "No, Sir, of course not."
"You were abducted by aliens who paralyzed you while they
poured alcohol down your throat?"
"No," Mulder sighed.
Skinner gave a palms-up gesture of confusion. "Pray,
enlighten me then, Mulder. How was it not your fault?"
"If you had only told me, Sir, that all you wanted was for
me to apologize to Mrs. Bishop, I wouldn't have been so
scared. I'd have been fine with it, really. But you let me
think--"
"I let you think you would be corrected for your actions,
which is exactly what is going to happen. If you read a
spanking into that, Fox, it was your mistake." He smiled
wickedly. "Not my fault, so to speak."
Mulder, seeing that this conversation was going to go
nowhere, gave up.
"Get undressed, Fox."
Mulder shot him a worried look. "Completely, Sir?"
"Completely."
Mulder reluctantly removed his t-shirt, then with a sigh of
resignation, pulled down his pants. He wasn't wearing any
underwear, since he'd slept in his only pair. He figured he
would get this out of the way and go home, but it had never
crossed his mind that Skinner would have him disrobe
thoroughly. He wondered why Skinner had told him to get
dressed, only to make him get *un*dressed, but he wasn't
looking for any more trouble, so he wisely kept his mouth
shut. He blushed again when his half-erect cock began
showing signs of even more life.
Skinner just smiled again and patted his knees.
"Here, Fox, over my knee like a naughty child. That's how
you acted, you know--getting drunk like you did was nothing
but an adult version of a temper tantrum."
Mulder disagreed, but he wasn't about to contradict Skinner.
Instead, he simply arranged himself over his supervisor's
knees, his face flaming, his now-fully-erect cock brushing
against Skinner's leg.
Skinner cupped Mulder's balls and cock briefly, tucking them
safely out of the way, and Mulder thought he would die when
Skinner leaned over and whispered evilly in his ear, "Is
that for me?"
The agent did not deign to answer.
Mulder expected the first swat to hit his exposed ass at any
moment, and closed his eyes in anticipation. When Skinner
jiggled his knee, he opened them again to see the cordless
phone dangling in his face. He looked over his shoulder at
Skinner, thoroughly confused.
"Did you forget you have a phone call to make, Mulder?"
"Well I--no Sir, but--couldn't I just--"
"Make it now, Fox," Skinner ordered pleasantly. "I'll read
off the number."
Mulder's heart pounded while Skinner caressed his bare butt
with both hands, and he could barely concentrate on punching
in the correct numbers with his shaking fingers.
Mrs. Bishop's phone began ringing, and Mulder risked one
more desperate glance back at Skinner. "Sir, *please*--" he
hissed, and then, "Uh, hello, Mrs. Bishop?"
Mulder felt an unexpected caress on his exposed buttocks,
and gave an involuntary yelp of surprise. "Mrs. Bishop, this
is Agent Fox Mulder from the FBI. I wanted...no ma'am, I'm
fine. I sound odd? Well, most folks would say I *am* odd."
Mulder glanced over his shoulder to see if Skinner
appreciated his attempt at humor, but the other man was
quite intent on studying his ass. Not wanting to think
about that right now, he turned his attention back to his
call.
"Mrs. Bishop, I wanted to apologize for putting Michelle
through that hypnosis thing. No ma'am, it wasn't very good
for her, I'm sure. I just--" He gasped as Skinner's leg
shifted, inadvertently brushing against his aroused cock.
"Oh, yes ma'am, I'm all right. I'm just got home and I--WILL
YOU STOP!--No Mrs. Bishop, not you--uh.... my dog. He's glad
to see me. Uh? What kind? He's a...uh... a Boxer."
Mulder winced. "Yes, ma'am, they can be very affectionate."
Skinner couldn't suppress a grin.
Mulder was grateful when Skinner rearranged his position so
it wasn't quite so intimate. He couldn't think straight
with Skinner's muscled thigh tormenting him like that.
Mulder quickly wrapped up his call to Mrs. Bishop, pleased
that she didn't hold a grudge against him for her daughter's
ordeal. Michelle didn't remember it, after all, and Mrs.
Bishop seemed content with that.
When he finally hung up the phone, he glared back at
Skinner.
"Sorry about that, Mulder," Skinner told him mildly. "It
wasn't my intention to embarrass you while on the phone with
Mrs. Bishop."
"It's okay," Mulder sighed. "Sir, can we please just do
this and get it over with?"
"Certainly. You have another call to make."
Mulder craned his neck to stare at Skinner. "Huh, Sir?"
"Agent Scully. She told me how thoroughly humiliated she
was by your insistence on the hypnosis. She said she tried
to talk you out of it, but you wouldn't listen. You owe her
an apology, too. While you were showering, I decided this
would be a good time for you to give it to her."
"Fine," Mulder grumbled.
"And Mulder..."
"Yeah, Sir?"
"While you're talking to Agent Scully, I'll begin
administering your punishment. I'm a believer in time
management, and this will save plenty of time."
Mulder was aghast. "You wouldn't, Sir!"
Skinner only looked at him.
"But--but then Scully will know--" Mulder found himself
practically speechless at the idea.
"What Scully finds out is all up to you," Skinner replied.
"If you're quiet about taking your punishment, she never has
to know that I'm warming your ass while you apologize to
her."
Mulder's face got even redder, something neither of them
thought was possible, and he dropped his head in defeat.
Might as well get it over with. It wouldn't take long to
make an apology to Scully, and then he could get off the
line before Skinner really got started on him. He dialed
her number quickly.
"Hey, Scully. How are you? OUCH!" The first smack was much
harder than he'd expected, and Mulder couldn't suppress his
cry. "Uh..no, I'm fine...that was...I just..uh...cut my
finger. Paper cut. Listen, Scully, I've been
thinking--AHH!--about--no, I'm all right, I
just...uh...stubbed my toe."
Skinner smiled at his agent's creative lies, but was
inclined to forgive them this time, although he really
didn't approve of lying any more than he did drinking.
Mulder's words seemed warranted in this case. Enjoying the
pink tint of the two shapely cheeks over his lap, he gave
another hard slap.
"Anyway, I wanted to apologize to you for--OUCH! what?--yes,
I'm all right. I just dropped a book on my foot. That
slapping sound? AHH! That's--that's someone in the next
apartment bouncing a basketball. Yes, it's very annoying.
OW! That? Oh, nothing, Scully, I just...uh...stubbed my toe
again. Yes, I know, I really should wear shoes."
Mulder bit his lip hard to avoid crying out again, but was
unable to suppress a loud gasp when Skinner began on his
thighs.
"I just--OUCH!--wanted to tell you I'm sorry
for--AHH!--upsetting you during the Bishop case. I hope
you'll forgive me. Yes, my toe again. No, not the same
toe, another toe. Yes, I suppose I am a bit accident prone.
You should know that--OW!--about me by now! Well I really
don't think it's anything for you to giggle about, Scully!"
He had wriggled so much that he was falling off Skinner's
lap, and gasped again when the A.D. pulled him back into
position.
"Scully, I really have to go, I think I might--OW! OW!
STOP!--need a hospital. No, don't panic, I'm only--PLEASE!
NO MORE!--only kidding. No, Scully, my mother is *not*
taking a hairbrush to my butt. Nobody's doing anything to
me, I swear. I don't--OW!--I don't even know why you would
think such a thin--SHIT! Scully! Stop that laughing. I
assure you, the situation is *not* funny. I'll see you on
Monday. I'm hanging up now."
Mulder disconnected as fast as he was able, allowing the
phone to drop to the carpet.
"You'd think I'd get a little more sympathy from my own
partner," he grumbled as Skinner, no longer concerned
about eavesdroppers, began his spanking in earnest.
"Scully has put up with more than enough of your antics in
the past few months," Skinner commented. "She deserves a
little comic relief at your expense, if you ask me."
Mulder wisely refrained from pointing out that nobody had
asked Skinner.
The blows had been hard before, but spaced enough to allow
him to talk. Now they fell rapidly, and Mulder was certain
his bottom must be redder than a hot stove. He squirmed
frantically, but was unable to elude the big hand, and
eventually just lay limply over Skinner's lap and sobbed,
forgetting his humiliation in the face of overwhelming pain.
Finally, Skinner seemed satisfied with the state of Mulder's
backside, and pulled him up to sit in his lap. Mulder saw
with chagrin that his erection was as prominent as ever, and
when he saw Skinner looking too, just shrugged, giving his
boss a shy grin.
"I'm sorry, Sir, I can't help it. I'll get dressed and go
now."
Skinner watched as Mulder raced for the bedroom, clutching
his clothes in front of himself. He considered calling
Mulder back, telling the man how he really felt about him,
but decided against it. There'd be enough time to talk
about such things later. For right now, he just smiled
wicked and followed Mulder to the bedroom.
END