AUTHOR'S NOTES: Special thanks go to AnneZo for beta reading and Eliz1349 for the word picture that inspired this vignette. Sincere apologies to John Preston for any resemblance this may have to any of his ideas.
He moved around the room slowly, checking that he hadn't forgotten anything in his preparations for the weekend. The soft, thick rug in front of the fireplace. The large throw pillow near the bookcase. The fire laid and ready to be lit. Skinner smiled to himself. It was a cliché, he admitted that, the idea of sex in front of a fire, but it was a cliché for a reason. The warmth of the fire kept their sweaty bodies from chilling in the aftermath, the soft light from the flames gleamed off those same sweaty bodies, creating a living, almost ethereal sculpture. Just that thought brought the beginnings of fullness to his groin, and he adjusted himself to ease the pressure.
Looking away from the fireplace, Skinner tried to control his responses. It wouldn't do to be too eager, this was supposed to be a long, enjoyable weekend for both of them. He liked this room, his study, filled with dark wood and leather furniture and books. The kind of room he'd long wanted and now had, it was the place he found himself the most comfortable. His deep leather armchair with another soft rug in front of it, the table and lamp on its right, the sideboard with the crystal decanters and glassware. Enough lighting to make reading comfortable, but not so much to dispel the sense of a private space.
Satisfied that the room was ready, Skinner glanced at his watch. Quarter to nine. Mulder would be here soon. Picking up his New York Times, he sat in his armchair, adjusting the crease in his slacks, smoothing the front of his vee-neck sweater that covered a silk shirt. The top button of the shirt was open, revealing only the barest part of his chest. He sat back, adjusting his glasses, content to read as he waited.
Before long, he was interrupted by the quiet sound of a key in a lock. Looking up from his paper, he nodded. Right on time, as was expected. Mulder would come to him for instructions. This was also expected. As if on cue, Mulder appeared at the study door. A quick glance his direction showed a man still mussed from sleep, dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt. Not that his attire mattered, he wouldn't spend much time in it.
Leaning against the door jamb, Mulder smiled. "Morning, Mr. Walter, Sir." He held up a paper bag. "I brought donuts."
Inwardly, Skinner groaned. Was it too much to ask for Mulder to make some pretense of obedience? Outwardly, he made no sign, but decided to make Mulder wait until he was ready to speak to him. He knew Mulder would wait as long as he made him, standing as he was now, leaning on the door, his hands holding the bag of donuts, his eyes showing his willingness to begin their weekend of play.
When he finished the article he was reading, Skinner folded the paper precisely and set it aside, finally looking at Mulder. "Donuts. Fine." He held out his empty coffee cup. "Then get me some coffee and bring a plate for them." Mulder hitched himself off the jamb to take the cup, then started to turn to the kitchen, and Skinner called after him. "Bring a cup for yourself, too." That earned him a grin and a nod. Skinner finally allowed a small smile to tug at the corner of his mouth and he shook his head. This should be an interesting weekend. He had warned Mulder that he would be tested, and this was only the beginning. What he wasn't sure of was if the test would be turned on him as well. Mulder had a way of managing to do that to him.
Mulder came back to the study carrying a tray with two cups of coffee and the plate of donuts and sat it on the table next to Skinner's chair. Taking his cup, he sat on the rug in front of the chair, then reached for a donut. At least, Skinner thought, he remembers that much. Sipping from his cup, he took a donut for himself. Mulder had remembered his favorite -- unglazed plain cake donuts, perfect for dunking in black coffee. He looked at the man in front of him, the tousled hair, rumpled sweatshirt and well-worn jeans and was pleased, but not as pleased as he could be.
"Take off your clothes," Skinner said softly.
A quick look was the only answer he got before Mulder put aside his cup and donut and stood, moving to the center of the room. Turning his back, Mulder leaned over and began untying his running shoes, showing off his denim-clad buttocks. As he finished with the second shoe, he gave a little wiggle of his ass before turning to face Skinner. The hazel eyes locked with his own as Mulder began a slow strip-tease, pulling up the hem of his sweatshirt, covering his face, then quickly pulling it down again to meet Skinner's eyes, finally drawing it completely off and tossing it at Skinner.
He caught the sweatshirt and dropped it to the floor next to him, then chuckled as Mulder went on, unbuttoning his jeans, one button at a time, his hips moving in a slow grind as he did. He'd seen this performance before, and it always had the same effect on him, and he shifted in his chair to ease the pressure in his crotch. Mulder had never been able to simply strip off his clothes, he always had to make a show of it, and Skinner wasn't sure he objected. When the buttons were undone, Mulder skinned off the jeans, revealing a pair of white boxers. Another bit of disobedience Skinner had never corrected. His instructions were no underwear at all, but Mulder had never followed that rule.
The jeans were thrown at him as well, and ended up on top of the sweatshirt. Now came the best part of the show. Mulder slipped his thumbs into the waistband of his shorts and began inching them downward as he turned and swung his hips in a lewd imitation of a hula. By the time the elastic was below his buttocks, his back was to Skinner, and he leaned over, showing off the soft white mounds of his ass, then looking back at Skinner from between his legs, grinning mischievously. Standing up enough to continue, he slipped off the boxers and sent them in the same arc that the sweatshirt and jeans had followed, then turned to face Skinner, hands firmly planted on his hips.
Dropping the shorts with the other clothes, Skinner stared at the nude body in front of him. This was the part of Mulder's show that he liked the best, being able to look at the lean, sculpted body covered by mostly white skin. It pleased him that Mulder did not sunbathe. White skin showed the few marks of his possession so much better on the days he chose to make them. Today might be one of those days, he wasn't sure yet. A light dusting of hair colored Mulder's chest in between the dark pebbles of his nipples. A bare trail of the same hair guided his eye downward to a more lush growth of dark curls at Mulder's groin, surrounding the base of a perfectly shaped cock and covering a pair of egg shaped balls. Mulder's cock was not hard, and arched gracefully away from his body, hanging in front of his ball sac.
Skinner allowed himself a brief moment of pride. This was his, all of it, given to him freely, and the knowledge of that added to the ache in his groin. He did not move or touch himself, he wanted to enjoy this feeling of wanting and ownership.
Abruptly, as he had known it would, the moment was broken as Mulder struck a few poses, parodies of body builder exhibitions, flexing and stretching until he couldn't hold the last pose and fell into an ungainly heap on the floor.
Skinner tried to contain his smile, and growled at Mulder. "That's enough of that. Light the fire."
Mulder quickly got to his hands and knees and crawled to the fireplace, kneeling on the rug as he put the match to the kindling, waiting to be sure it had caught before turning to look at Skinner. "Will that be all, Mr. Walter, Sir?"
"Come here." Skinner indicated the rug at his feet, and after a moment's hesitation, Mulder crawled to him and buried his face in Skinner's crotch, rubbing hard against his cock and balls. Grabbing him by the ears, Skinner pushed Mulder away. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"
"You said 'come here.' I thought you meant..." Mulder trailed off with a grin.
Still holding Mulder's ears, Skinner pulled him up and kissed him hard, then urged him to stand. "You're impossible, you know? Go get ready, and be quick about it." As Mulder turned to leave, Skinner swatted him on one ass cheek with the flat of his hand.
Mulder stopped and glared at him with a wounded look. "What was that for?"
"A reminder of who is supposed to be in charge here. Now go on. Get out of here." Skinner kept the eye contact until Mulder turned and left, but did not miss the quiet grumbling that accompanied his leaving.
Sitting back in his chair, Skinner let his thoughts wander over the preparations Mulder would find when he got to the bathroom. The normal items for his shower. And then a few extras -- things not unknown to him, but still a test for him. The razor and shaving soap. Body oil. The enema bag and jar of grease.
Skinner heard the shower start and realized that Mulder had left the door open. That meant he would also hear ... and it started, the off-key rendition of 'Singin' in the Rain' that usually went with Mulder's shower. He sighed and closed his eyes as he imagined what Mulder was doing. He'd watched it often enough to be able to duplicate it in his mind's eye. The washcloth being filled with lather, each stroke along his body in time to his singing, still managing to scrub every inch, even without missing the properly placed Gene Kellyesque pirouettes as he rinsed. When the song changed to 'Raindrops Keep Fallin' On My Head,' Skinner knew Mulder was washing his hair, the long, deft fingers massaging deeply into his scalp, then standing under the warm hard spray to rinse.
Then the singing stopped and Skinner knew Mulder was on to the more difficult parts. Covering his body hair with the shaving soap and carefully scraping it all away, knowing that any irregularity in the smoothness of his skin would be punished. This was always done with soft grumbling, which Skinner chose to ignore. The quiet curses that accompanied the shaving of his cock and balls and the crevice between his ass cheeks were also ignored. Just imagining the more fluent curses Mulder would utter as the hair grew back gave Skinner great pleasure. But not as much pleasure as the image of Mulder stretching to reach behind him to shave his ass, or holding his now-hard cock carefully aside as he took off all the hair at his crotch. Skinner's hand drifted to his own groin at these images, squeezing himself as he hardened, trying to convince himself he had the control to wait and accomplish the day as planned.
"You know I hate this, Mr. Walter, Sir," Mulder called out from the bathroom. Skinner didn't answer, just nodded to himself. He knew. This was the most difficult part for Mulder. The enema. Cleaning himself out completely in preparation for the games Skinner had planned. Making sure the water was the right temperature to avoid cramping. Repeating the process until he was sure he was spotless inside and out. Rinsing once more in the shower. This would take him several minutes to get it right, but Mulder knew it was always worth it.
The last part was what Skinner enjoyed watching the most. The way Mulder would caress himself as he covered his skin with the body oil before toweling dry. Making sure he was smooth to the touch, Skinner knew Mulder liked the feel of his body that way as much as Skinner did. Soon. Mulder would be out soon, and he could run his hands over that perfect body, cleaned of hair, soft to the touch. There was only one last thing for him to do -- take the jar of grease and lubricate himself to be ready for Skinner to take at any time. Skinner could feel his cock harden more at these mental images. He was as ready as Mulder was for their games.
A shuffle of bare feet interrupted his reverie as Mulder presented himself for inspection. He came and stood beside Skinner's chair, hands clasped behind him, head bowed, feet apart, close enough for Skinner to reach him without straining. And Skinner did reach out to touch him, running his hands over Mulder's now-hairless chest, over the cock that jutted straight out in front of Mulder, along the curves of his balls.
"Ooh, Walter," Mulder whispered.
No, now was not the time to allow levity. Skinner's hand tightened minutely around Mulder's balls. "What was that?"
"Nothing." The hand tightened a little more. "Nothing, Sir." Skinner's hand did not release right away, and Mulder stood quietly.
After a long moment, Skinner let go of Mulder's balls and continued his exploration of Mulder's body. "Very good. You did a nice job."
"Thank you, Mr. Skinner." Mulder's response held the barest hint of humor in his voice along with more than a hint of huskiness. That was good. Skinner wanted Mulder to be as eager and ready as he was rapidly becoming.
Skinner watched quietly as Mulder considered the choices. He could see Mulder thinking. The cushion was where he usually sat when he wasn't needed, but today's scene had not been set for him as most of them were. There were also the two rugs, one in front of him and the other in front of the fire. Skinner saw the small nod as Mulder made his decision, moving to kneel between Skinner's legs, handing his master his silver chain collar. Skinner caressed the collar, the smooth links, the name plate in the center that carried the engraved notice 'Property of W. S. Skinner' and stopped to look at the new tag that hung from the collar. Also silver, it was engraved, declaring 'My name is Foxy. If found, return me to Walter.' When did Mulder have time to add that to the collar? He shook his head, then fastened it around Mulder's neck, locking it in place with a small brass padlock. Stretching his neck in appreciation of this sign of ownership, Mulder sighed and rested his head on Skinner's muscular thigh. Perfect. He showed his approval by placing one hand on Mulder's head, softly petting his hair. Mulder responded by nuzzling his palm, and they sat this way for long moments as Skinner simply stared at the man at his feet.
Hands pulled behind him, Mulder's chest was thrust forward, the muscles tight and defined in their strain. His knees were spread, but his cock did not fall between the sinuous thighs, it was full and erect, jutting out from Mulder's body as if pointing directly at Skinner. Touching Mulder's soft hair, looking at the vision before him, Skinner's cock hardened even more, snaking along his left thigh as it filled and lengthened. It was almost hypnotic, looking at Mulder in the firelight like this, the quiet moments passing between them without comment.
"Sir?" When Mulder spoke, it was in a whisper. "May I move? I'm getting a crick in my back."
Skinner laughed softly. "That's not all you seem to have a crick in. Yes, you may move."
Mulder slowly moved his hands in front of him, leaning on them as he slid forward to press his face into Skinner's crotch. "You seem to have a crick here, too, Mr. Walter." Mulder drew his open mouth along the hard tube of flesh trapped by Skinner's slacks. "And you're wearing too much."
"Would you like to do something about that?"
"Yes, Sir, Mr. Walter, I most certainly would." Mulder was grinning as he looked up at Skinner. "I've been practicing something new. Will you let me try it?"
"Something new?" Skinner quickly considered what Mulder might mean, decided it was probably something harmless, with a good chance of it being annoying, but his curiosity got the better of his common sense. "What did you have in mind?"
Mulder stood up, taking Skinner's hands and pulling him to his feet. "Stand here. I think I can do this." He let go of Skinner's hands and clasped his own behind his back again, then leaned over to take the hem of Skinner's sweater in his teeth, pulling it part way up his chest, then letting go only to do the same thing at Skinner's back. Bit by bit, Mulder managed to push and pull to get most of the sweater bunched up under Skinner's arms. "Bend over, Sir. I think I can pull it off now." Skinner complied and Mulder took the back of the sweater in his teeth and pulled hard, only to lose his grip and end up on his butt on the floor. Grinning sheepishly, he said, "I don't think that was entirely successful. Let me try again." After another attempt, they were both laughing.
"I don't know who you've been practicing with, but maybe you should use your hands now."
"Maybe I should." Mulder got up off the floor and moved close to Skinner, his hands on Skinner's waist, then slid them up his body, pushing the sweater until it was over Skinner's head. He slid his hands along Skinner's raised arms until they were standing chest to chest as he pushed the sleeves over Skinner's hands. The scent and heat of Mulder that close was intoxicating, and Skinner brought his hands down in an embrace across Mulder's naked back, capturing the lips that were no more than a hair's breadth from his own. Mulder's body melted against his, accentuating the fact that he was still dressed.
Reluctantly, Skinner broke the kiss. "You probably better finish your job."
Mulder nodded. "While I still remember what it is." He brought his hands to the buttons on Skinner's shirt, opening each one, following the broadening vee of flesh with his mouth, kissing, teasing with his tongue, until every button was open. He pushed the shirt off one shoulder with his hand, and nuzzled it off the other shoulder, nibbling and sucking along Skinner's collar bone and shoulder, then letting the shirt fall to the floor.
Mulder pressed his chest against Skinner's now-naked flesh and touched his lips to Skinner's briefly. "I'm going..." Mulder now kissed Skinner's neck. "To take..." And a kiss on Skinner's chest. "Your pants..." Another kiss to Skinner's belly. "Off now." A final kiss to the crotch of Skinner's slacks. The sight of Mulder now kneeling before him, so close and so beautiful had Skinner aching all over with the wanting. He held his breath as Mulder unbuttoned and unzipped his slacks, letting them fall part way down his thighs and rest there as he took off Skinner's shoes. Soft hands slid his slacks the rest of the way down and off, pushing them aside with no regard for tidiness. He had worn no underwear, and his hard cock jutted out toward Mulder, his need showing in the thick nectar oozing from its tip.
"Mulder, please..." he whispered.
"Of course, Mr. Walter, Sir," Mulder whispered in response. His voiced answer was followed by the physical one, his mouth reaching to suck and lick Skinner's balls, taking each one in turn into his mouth, holding them in that hot, wet cavern until Skinner moaned.
"Easy, Walter, I'm getting there." Before Skinner could ask again, Mulder's tongue was lapping at his cock, his lips sucking on the shaft, the touch at once too much and not enough, then he felt lips close over the head of his cock, curious tongue reaching under his foreskin and into the slit that was wide and dripping in his excitement. Skinner almost shouted when Mulder sucked hard on him, bracing his hands on Mulder's shoulders to keep from falling. The sucking stopped, Mulder's mouth stilled and simply held him in its moist heat, but it was still too much. Skinner trembled with the effort of control, pulling away from Mulder's mouth.
"The rug. By the fire," he managed to rasp out.
"You betcha, Sir." Mulder crawled to the rug, then knelt with his ass toward Skinner, knees spread, and wiggled enticingly. "Come and get it."
"Stop it. Behave." Skinner moved to Mulder, giving the exposed ass a hard swat. "Or do you want to be punished?"
Mulder turned and sat facing Skinner. "No, Sir, not that sort of punishment, Mr. Walter." He was smiling, but his eyes were wide and dark. Skinner returned his smile.
"Good." He reached out and touched Mulder's face, running his thumb over his lips. "Lie down. Hands behind your head."
Mulder moved quickly, lying before the hearth, his hands clasped behind his neck, flat on his back, legs slightly spread, his erect cock against his belly. Kneeling next to him, Skinner simply looked at him, watching how the flicker of the firelight played across his naked, oiled body, highlighting every slight motion as Mulder breathed, as his heart beat. For long moments he stared at the man before him, his to do with as he pleased. And now he pleased to touch the sculptured form in front of him.
Skinner reached out and touched his fingertips to Mulder's wrist, gliding a slow caress along his arm, following the curve of elbow to the cleanly shaved armpit, smiling at the small shudder of skin under his fingers. Now he used both hands, barely touching the warm ivory of Mulder's chest, his attention drawn by the dark accents of Mulder's nipples.
Teasing, pinching, twisting, Skinner worked Mulder's tits until they stood tight and erect and Mulder's breathing had become soft moans. He flattened his hands again, soothing the tortured nubs, then continued his caress of the lean body. He sighed as he felt the soft skin covering hips and thighs. There was little that made him hotter than the feel of smooth hairless skin, especially when the skin had been prepared because of his orders. He'd saved the best for last, finally moving his hands to Mulder's naked groin.
In one hand, he cupped Mulder's heavy balls, their heat and velvety covering so perfect to the touch that he moaned, unable to resist the temptation to feel them with his mouth. Skinner buried his face in Mulder's crotch, breathing deeply of the scent of clean skin, fresh sweat and the musk of arousal, rubbing his lips and tongue over and around, finally tasting, lapping at the soft skin, gathering the thick stuff oozing from Mulder's cock, savoring the unique flavor.
"You're perfect." Skinner moved to touch Mulder's face. "And I want you to remember who you belong to." He kissed Mulder hard, ravaging his lips, sucking and biting his tongue. "I'm going to mark you." A last touch of lips to lips, then Skinner dropped to Mulder's chest, finding a spot next to his left nipple, biting hard and sucking, not stopping until Mulder whimpered softly. He drew back, admiring his work. "There." The bite had broken the skin, the sucking had started a welt that would turn into a satisfying bruise that would last, a reminder of ownership. "Only you and I will see this. Every time you look at it, I want you to remember who made it and think of me."
"You, Mr. Walter, Sir," Mulder whispered. "I belong to you." Mulder's eyes were wide and dark, his breathing shallow and rapid. Arousal and wanting were more than evident in the flush covering his skin, the hard throbbing at his groin.
"Turn over." Again, Mulder moved quickly to obey. This was a sight that had Skinner breathless and trembling. The long, broad expanse of perfect skin on Mulder's back, the lean, hard mounds of his buttocks. He tried to still his hands as he touched Mulder softly, almost reverently. "On your knees." Mulder raised his ass in the air, his knees spread, and Skinner moaned at the inviting view. He was now on the rug, kneeling behind Mulder, knowing how much he wanted to simply give in to that invitation and drive his cock home into that well-lubricated ass.
"Please, Sir." Mulder's voice was a barely heard rasp.
Skinner groaned as his body continued to tremble from the strain of waiting. He wanted to touch, to caress, to revel in the joy of what was his alone.
"Now, Walter, damn it! Do it!" That was all it took to steal the last of Skinner's control. He positioned his cock and drove in deeply, burying himself in Mulder's body, then stilling. Being encased in his lover, pressed tightly against his back was what he had needed. His trembling ceased, and he gently lowered them both onto their sides, holding Mulder in a tight embrace. Slowly, he began thrusting into Mulder, nipping his shoulder each time he buried himself fully in the tight heat. One hand wrapped around Mulder's cock, caressing it softly, then holding the hairless balls, then massaging both in counterpoint to his motion inside that body.
"No, Mulder," Skinner crooned. "Not hard and fast." He pressed deeply into Mulder. "Slow and gentle." Another long thrust. "To last a long time." And again. "Just like this." He buried his face in Mulder's hair, breathing deeply as he continued the slow fucking, his hand bringing Mulder along just as slowly with him until they were both dripping in sweat and trembling from need.
"Now, Walter?" Mulder gasped.
"Now," Skinner agreed. "Come for me." He pulled harder on Mulder's cock, squeezing and stroking. "Come now." His own thrusts were now in time to his stroking and he felt the swelling in Mulder's cock as the spasms took him, filling his hand with sticky hot fluid, grabbing his cock with the muscles of his ass until Skinner gave in to the fire and thrust hard and fast as he exploded into Mulder, filling him with his thick stuff.
Neither man moved as they lay before the fire, sweaty bodies kept from chill by the warmth of it, still connected and intertwined as they learned to breathe again. It was a beautiful, comfortable place to be, and Skinner felt his eyes grow heavy with contentment, only to be startled by the shrill ring of the telephone.
Skinner opened his eyes and looked down at his left hand, wrapped around his cock and covered with his semen. Slowly, his fantasy dissipated, and he looked at the book that had fallen on the floor. Although it had arrived with no note or return address, he was sure who had sent it. A second ring of the phone drew his attention, and he picked it up with his right hand.
"Hi, Walter, it's me." Mulder. Who else would have such timing? And who else would have sent him that copy of 'Mr. Benson?'
Skinner smiled. "Mulder. Just happened to be thinking about you. You have any plans for the weekend?"
Note: The book Skinner is referring to is "Mr. Benson" by John Preston, recently republished by BadBoy Press. For those unfamiliar with his work, well, I can't recommend him enough.
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