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Walter waited for the elevator impatiently, watching Mulder disappear down the long corridor. It had been three weeks since his last encounter with the agent.

Part of that time, Mulder and Scully had spent out of town, working long hours on a new case. The paperwork on that one, and reconciling the coroner's claim that no body had been delivered to his office with Scully's assurance that she had tagged a very real corpse at the crime scene, had been a problem.

Walter was used to Mulder's wild theories and unlikely explanations that always seemed to be both the only way to explain the known facts, and the one resolution to a case that Skinner's superiors were least likely to accept. From Scully, he didn't expect disappearing corpses. After several meetings with the two agents, and another meeting with the coroner's supervisor, everything seemed to have resolved itself.

Mulder acted with a suspiciously quiet professionalism during the entire episode, leading Walter to believe that Mulder was enjoying watching his partner's scientific detachment dissolve under the coroner's claims that only an empty body bag had arrived, and had subsequently been disposed of by his office.

In the days that had passed since that case was closed, and every time he saw Mulder, Walter was aware of a sense of excitement, of expectation. Like just now, when Mulder had stopped, greeted him politely, and then moved on, apparently absorbed in the papers in his hands.

Walter had been left standing there, disappointed by Mulder's failure to say something, anything to indicate that he wanted to see Walter outside of the office. For all Walter knew, getting together a couple of times a month for dinner and some sex might be exactly what Mulder had in mind when he talked about a relationship. Maybe Walter was expecting too much.

Walter was frustrated and annoyed. I'm too fucking old to 'date', he told himself. He didn't know the rules any more. Hell, he'd never known the rules for dating another man. His explorations of his sexuality before his marriage hadn't been the kinds of thing that involved formal dates. He didn't have any idea what was expected of him.

The elevator arrived and he stepped in. The door closed behind him before Walter realized that there was only one other person in the small cell. Damn. He smiled at the machine's other occupant, then turned to face the door, sorting through the papers in his hand in a desperate bid to look both busy and unapproachable. As he might have suspected, the effort was a failure.

"I haven't seen you around recently, Mr. Skinner." Mrs. Tyler's nasal voice grated across his ear. "It's been quite a while since you've graced my department with a visit."

"Has it?" He gave her a polite smile. "We've all been very busy."

"We certainly have." She moved up to stand closer to him. "You must have been especially busy."

"What makes you say that?" He frowned at her slightly.

"Well, I know that Agent Mulder has been requesting an enormous number of files recently. Agent Mulder does work for you, doesn't he Mr. Skinner?"

"He does," Walter said shortly.

"I can't believe any one person can need the number of files he requests." She shook her head. "And always in a rush, as well. I might be tempted to wonder if he really has any use for them."

Walter wanted to defend Mulder, to tell the woman that the younger man was both brilliant and a very fast reader, and that he was also capable of taking on, and completing, an impressive amount of case-work when the urge moved him. Only his uncertainty as to whether or not he would have defended the agent with the same heat if he hadn't been more or less personally involved with Mulder prevented him.

He looked at the floor indicator stubbornly. "As I believe we discussed, Mrs. Tyler, Agent Mulder is entitled to request any files that he wishes to review. In whatever quantity he thinks necessary." He felt a certain satisfaction in delivering that pompous little speech.

"Oh, I don't doubt that for a moment, Mr. Skinner." He hated the way her voice lingered over his name. "But I think there just might be another reason that Agent Mulder is so interested in my department recently." He glanced at her, startled, and she gave him a prim smile.

"I beg your pardon?" For an instant, the idea of Mulder locked in a passionate embrace with the angular Mrs. Tyler flooded through his mind. Walter bit the inside of his cheek and tried to keep his face expressionless.

"Melissa," she said smugly.

"What?"

"Melissa Edwardson, my assistant," she explained. "As you know," her face assumed a look of respectable solemnity, "the poor girl is all alone since the divorce." Her voice made it sound as though a divorce was some exotic and almost unmentionable tragedy. Walter felt his back stiffen. She didn't seem to notice. "I've noticed more than once that Agent Mulder seems to have a great deal to say to her when he comes in." She smirked. "I do believe there might be a little romance between the young people."

The young people. Not for the first time, Walter wondered how old the woman really was. She had the kind of brittle preservation of a woman who had stopped aging at about forty and started fading year by year. He felt an overwhelming revulsion at being gathered into her age group while Mulder was classed as one of the young people.

"I would very much doubt it," he said abruptly. "I'm certain that Agent Mulder would be the last person to waste valuable Bureau time on personal matters." That should shut her up. He was surprised by his own discourtesy, but Mrs. Tyler was one of the few people in the building that he actively disliked. Not the least because of her determined pursuit of him. He glanced at the floor indicator impatiently. He couldn't ever remember the elevator moving this slowly before.

"Now, Mr. Skinner," she said indulgently. "'All work and no play' you know. I'm sure you wouldn't really begrudge Agent Mulder the opportunity to meet a nice girl, would you?"

Walter could feel himself starting to sweat. "Agent Mulder's private life is no concern of mine," he said tonelessly.

"Very true," she said approvingly. "But I always think the married agents are the best ones. They're so steady and reliable."

Before Walter could answer the elevator jerked to a halt, dropped a sickening few feet, and then halted again. The papers in Walter's hands went flying and the neat stack of folders the woman had been holding spilled out of her arms onto the floor.

Walter stumbled and caught himself on the waist-high railing. A few feet away, Mrs. Tyler started to fall to her knees, then grabbed the metal rail with both hands, staggering for a moment until she regained her balance. The lights flickered and went out.

"What is it?" Her voice was shrill and panicked. A moment later the emergency lighting kicked in and Walter could see the woman's pale face.

"The elevator's stopped," Walter said stupidly. For a moment, the only thought in his mind was that now he was trapped in here with this woman. And this time, Agent Mulder wasn't going to stroll through the door and rescue him.

A moment later and his brain kicked in again. He pulled the emergency telephone off the hook and listened to the buzz impatiently. A few seconds later, the reassuringly competent voice of a security guard came on the line.

"Is everyone okay?"

"We're fine," Walter said curtly. "This is Assistant Director Skinner. What happened?"

"Power failure," said the tinny voice. "I think we blew some fuses."

Walter's heart sank. "Do you have any idea how long it will be before you can get us out of here?"

"Have to have an inspection before we can turn the elevators back on," his contact said cheerfully. "Regulations, you know."

Walter gripped the phone tighter. "Then I would suggest that you come up with an alternative plan. As soon as possible." His voice made it clear that he didn't expect to have to debate the subject.

"Yes, sir," the other man said hastily. "We'll take care of it right away."

"Was anyone trapped in any of the other elevators?" Walter asked curiously. He was reluctant to hang up the phone and face his companion in misfortune.

"No, seems like you were the only lucky ones." Walter's silence seemed to tell the guard that his joke wasn't being well received. "Let me make some calls and I'll see how soon we can get you out of there, sir."

"Very well. Call me when you have an estimate," Walter said desperately.

"We'll do that." The phone clicked in his ear and went dead. Walter hung up the receiver and turned to face Mrs. Tyler. The woman was on her knees on the floor, gathering up the spilled folders.

Walter knelt to help her, sorting out his own papers efficiently. Once done, he stood back up and leaned against a wall, arms folded. There wasn't enough light to read by, so he could no longer pretend to be absorbed in the reports he'd been carrying. There was nothing left to do but wait. And talk.

The silence stretched into something awkward. Walter glanced over at his companion and was surprised to see her huddled against the wall, folders held protectively in front of her chest. Her eyes, flickered to meet his, then skated away.

Jesus Christ. Claustrophobia? He sighed heavily.

"I told them to call when they knew how long it would be," he said unnecessarily. She jumped at the sound of his voice, then nodded slightly

"It looks as though you have plenty of work of your own." Walter nodded toward the folders reassuringly. "They must have been keeping your department busy lately."

To his relief, the conversation seemed to have a calming effect. "That's very true." She glanced at the heavy stack of papers.

"I'd imagine your department will be glad when all of the case files are on computer," he suggested politely.

"People will still want paper files," she said firmly. "Those computers can't do everything."

"No, of course not."

She tossed her head. "They're always saying that they're going to put it all on computer and phase out my department," she said frigidly. "But they might be surprised how many people prefer to have good, old-fashioned paper reports to read."

Walter searched his mind for another topic of conversation.

"As busy as we are, it does mean a lot of extra hours. Not that I mind," she said hastily, "except that it does keep me away from home more than I'd like right now."

Oh, god. That son of hers. What had his name been? Walter wondered if he should ask about the boy.

Mrs. Tyler shook her head. "You know my Jimmy is a worry to me right now."

"Yes, I . . . uh . . . I believe you mentioned something about that."

"I'm just so afraid he's getting in with a bad crowd," she said wistfully. "His father wouldn't have approved."

Walter remembered that she'd said the boy was out of school. "Perhaps a therapist or minister?" He suggested desperately.

"No, it's not really the kind of thing I want to discuss outside the family," she said firmly.

He found himself wondering with a sick curiosity what the problem was. Probably drugs.

"I'm very afraid poor Jimmy has his father's weaknesses," she confided.

Walter remembered the photos, the handsome, sulky face of the man, and the willful boy, blonde hair, dark eyes, staring at the camera challengingly. "How unfortunate," he said weakly. He wondered what was holding up the maintenance crew that was supposed to rescue the two of them.

"Yes. The poor boy doesn't seem to have his father's steadiness, either." She shook her head mournfully. "My late husband had his problems, but he was a good provider. He had his little weaknesses, but what man doesn't?" She smiled at Walter fondly. "Just like children, that's what my mother told me. Men are just big children who need to be taken care of."

Walter listened in horror, wondering if there was any way to shut her up. "Mrs. Tyler, if you're having difficulty with your son, I don't believe it's really appropriate for us to discuss it. Can I suggest that if the boy won't talk with anyone, that perhaps you should?"

She didn't seem to hear him. "I'm sure it's the fault of those boys he's been hanging around with. Especially that Darren." Her voice made it clear what she thought of Darren.

Walter listened intently. He was sure he heard noises somewhere just above the elevator door. That has to be them.

She didn't seem to be aware that his attention had wandered. "If Darren's parents knew what he was up to, they wouldn't be holding their heads up so high in church every week," she said with malice.

"What's wrong with Darren?" Walter couldn't believe he heard himself asking the question, but he couldn't help it. He had to know.

She sniffed and tossed her head. "There's no way to know, is there?" She nodded darkly. "Those three sit up there in that dark room for hours every day, playing with that computer. Who knows what they're looking at?"

Walter felt a wave of relief. After that build-up, he'd half-expected to hear that the hated Darren was a drug-pusher or a burgeoning pimp or something. Certainly nothing as normal as three teenage boys who might be surfing porn sites on the Internet. "Well, they say computers are where the future is," he offered awkwardly. "I'd say it's probably good preparation for them."

He kept listening. Now he could hear voices from overhead.

She shook her head. "If they aren't doing anything wrong, why do they have the lights off and the door closed?" she asked triumphantly. "Mr. Skinner, we both know that there is a lot of unsuitable material on that Internet. I don't approve of my Jimmy being exposed to a lot of deviants and pornographers at his age."

Before Walter had to answer, there was a thud from the ceiling and then a metallic scraping noise. The trap door in the middle of the ceiling swung open and an overalled maintenance man peered through. "Just the two of you?"

"That's right. Have you figured out a way to get us out of here?" Walter accepted the interruption with relief.

"Sure have. Stand aside." The maintenance worker waved to someone, and a moment later a wooden ladder was lowered through the trap door. "You're below the 10th floor," the man called down. "Just climb up. We've got another ladder out here you can use to get back into the building."

Walter urged his companion toward the ladder, forcing her to leave the pile of heavy folders on the floor of the elevator. He waited while she climbed up the ladder and out of sight, then tucked his own folder under his arm and climbed out.

Another maintenance worker was holding the ladder as Mrs. Tyler stepped off at the top. Walter waited, then scrambled up the wooden rungs. At the top, a helping hand curved under his arm and steadied him as he stepped onto the floor.

He turned to thank his helper, and saw Mulder's smiling face.

"I thought of the ladders," Mulder said helpfully. Just for an instant, there was a familiar gleam in his eyes.

Here we go again.

A moment later they were surrounded by other Bureau employees and the maintenance crew was urging the crowd away from the dangerously open elevator shaft doors.

. . . .

How he got through the rest of the day, Walter never knew. Finally he was home. He dropped his well-filled briefcase next to the desk and went to take a shower and change clothes.

Everything done, he wandered back down to the living room, dropping on the couch and turning on the evening news. The programs wore on, national news, local news, the two almost the same when you lived in Washington. Weather. Sports. After forty minutes of it, Walter turned off the television and stared at the silent phone.

I should call him. Mulder hadn't said anything specific about seeing him that evening. Walter had just assumed, based on the look in the other man's eyes, that he intended to take advantage of having 'rescued' Walter from Mrs. Tyler once again . . . .

He could call. What would he say? Did you plan to come over? Should I be expecting you?

Walter poured himself a drink and took it over to the plate glass doors leading onto the small balcony. He watched the last of the sunset fading from the sky, sipping his drink and trying to make some decisions. Trying to decide what he wanted. Trying not to remember the warm, sleepy weight of Mulder in his arms that last morning, the feeling of waking up with someone, and not alone. Was it Mulder? Or was it just the not being alone?

It had to be more than just the sex, great as that had been. Every instinct Walter had was telling him that. He and Mulder had fit. In some inexplicable way, the two men had found some common ground, outside of their rigidly defined roles in the office.

Mulder had seemed to know even before Walter did. Seemed to expect it. After all, he was the one who had initiated this relationship. Why wasn't he doing something?

Walter put down his glass and moved toward the telephone. As he picked up the receiver, the doorbell rang. Mulder. It had to be. Walter checked his watch and smiled as he opened the door. 7:15. He should have guessed.

Mulder looked stunned. He The younger man didn't move, so Walter grabbed his arm and pulled him into the apartment, shutting the door behind him. "What is it?"

"I don't know . . . I just . . . . Mulder looked dazed. "You looked happy to see me."

"I was waiting for you," Walter said honestly.

"You were?"

"Shouldn't I have been?" Walter slipped Mulder out of his coat and hung it in the small closet.

"Well, yeah, I guess so."

Walter sighed. "Have you eaten?" He followed Mulder into the living room and watched him drop into a chair.

"Not yet." Mulder glanced at him. "I know a great little Thai place about fifteen minutes from here."

"Sounds good." Walter looked around the room absently. "Can I get you a drink?"

Mulder started to shake his head, then stopped. "Yeah. I'd take a beer if you have one."

"No problem."

When Walter came back with the two bottles, Mulder was staring at his hands, chewing on his lip thoughtfully. Walter handed him one of the cold beers, then sat down on the couch.

"Well." Mulder leaned back and looked at him with a wry smile. "Sex and surprise got us through the first couple of times. Looks like it's going to be a little harder this evening."

"Yeah." Walter took a drink. "I'm a little out of practice."

"Me, too." Mulder picked at the label on his bottle. "So, any idea where we go from here?"

Walter studied the other man carefully. He remembered that first evening and Mulder's air of certainty, of confidence. Suddenly he found himself wondering just how much courage it had taken for Mulder to make the first move. To reach out, with no guarantee of what reaction he would get. Left to himself, Walter would never have crossed that line.

Jesus. Walter looked away. He couldn't have done it. Would never have taken the chance. No matter how often he found himself thinking of the other man. No matter how often some remark or expression of Mulder's lingered in his mind hours later.

Mulder's teasing voice interrupted him. "Is this deep thought, or are you telling me you just don't want to talk about it?"

"Somewhere in between, I suspect." Walter stood up. "From here, we go to dinner. One step at a time."

Mulder nodded. "Good enough."

They put on their coats and Walter glanced around the room, checking everything as he slid his keys into his pocket. He frowned at Mulder. "Did you get your heater fixed?"

"Not yet." Mulder looked embarrassed. "I've been kind of busy. It's not that cold out, though."

Walter had an idea. He reached past the other man and pushed the front door closed. "Listen, are you doing anything Saturday?"

"Not really, why?"

Walter cleared his throat. "You could come over for dinner Friday. We could grill steaks or something and take your car in Saturday if you want."

"You mean like an actual sleep-over date? Where I bring clean underwear and we fight over who gets the shower first?" Mulder sounded amused. "I don't know, Walter. That's kind of organized for a couple of guys who don't seem to be able to plan past dinner, don't you think?"

"We could spend some time together," Walter said stubbornly. He looked at the smile curving Mulder's lips. "Out of bed," he said quickly.

Mulder smiled. "I think it sounds great," he said quietly.

"Good." Walter nodded. He smiled quickly. "After all, we can't count on Mrs. Tyler and that blackmail thing of yours to keep working forever."

"I don't know about that," Mulder countered. "It's worked okay so far."

"The sooner we take Mrs. Tyler out of the equation, the happier I'll be," Walter said wryly.

"Something tells me you're not finding the whole Tyler thing as entertaining as I am."

"No kidding." Walter brushed a quick kiss across Mulder's mouth. "Ready to go?"

Mulder propped himself against the door, arms folded. "What was that supposed to be?"

Walter looked at the younger man and felt another smile trying to work its way across his own face. Leaning forward, he gave Mulder a slow, thorough kiss, and felt the already familiar surge of excitement when the other man's mouth opened and his body pressed against Walter's.

"Boy, that's a relief." Mulder grinned at him breathlessly. "Because, for a minute there, I was afraid you'd forgotten how."

The uncertainty, the awkwardness disappeared. Walter smiled and opened the door. As they headed for the elevator, he felt a wave of warm happiness. Well? Why not?

. . . .

Mulder was cheerful and talkative over dinner. "Well? What did she try this time?" At Walter's blank stare, he filled in the gaps. "Your not-so-secret admirer. The woman you spent forty minutes trapped in an elevator with earlier today. Remember her?"

That was only forty minutes? It had felt like a couple of hours. "Your name came up," he said.

"Mine?" Mulder frowned cautiously. "Why were you talking about me?"

"I wasn't."

"Whatever it is, I didn't do it." Mulder scowled. "She and I aren't exactly the best of friends, you know."

"It doesn't matter. You seem to have other friends in the department."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"She says you and her assistant have been getting along fairly well." Walter stirred his coffee, watching Mulder casually. "In fact, she seems to think there's quite a romance going on there."

"With Melissa?" Mulder looked startled, then he snickered. "Not a chance. She's involved with a realtor or a guy that sells insurance or something. Right now, she's trying to get transferred out from under Tyler's thumb. I told her I'd keep my ears open in case anything opened up."

"Where does she want to go?"

"Anywhere, from what I can tell. Last week she put in for something on the Hill. The week before that she was filling out forms for some tour guide's job or something in the White House. I don't think she cares, as long as it's a long way from Tyler." Mulder shrugged, obviously losing interest in the conversations. "What else? You can't tell me you spent forty minutes discussing my non-existent love life."

"Her son," Walter remembered. "She thinks he and his friends are surfing porn sites on the Internet and she's afraid he's going to turn out to be some sort of deviant."

"I thought you said the kid was eighteen?"

"He is," Walter said briefly. "But apparently his mother doesn't think he's quite ready to face the facts of life just yet."

"Jesus." Mulder shook his head. "Just a little over-protective, wouldn't you say? What makes her think they're looking for porn?"

Walter shrugged. "She says she's concerned because they keep the door shut."

"If she was my mother, I'd put a lock on the door," Mulder muttered. "That woman is strange, Walter."

"She's very competent." Privately, Walter wondered why he was defending her. There was no denying that Mrs. Tyler walked a little off the beaten path.

"She's a nutcase," Mulder said flatly. "Trust me. I know one when I see one."

"She's different," Walter agreed cautiously. He decided to let the obvious 'pot and kettle' comparison remain unsaid. It was too obvious to be funny, and too close to true sometimes to be comfortable.

Mulder seemed to be aware of his restraint. He gave Walter a sidelong look, then grinned into his water glass. "Holding that one in must have hurt."

"Not at all." Walter refused the waiter's offer of another glass of wine.

Walter turned the conversation away from Mrs. Tyler and they spent the rest of the time talking casually about sports, about the daily news, exchanging a few opinions about various high-profile cases that other Bureau agents were currently involved in.

Tables around them filled and emptied as they ate, other diners rushing through quick meals before whatever else they had planned for the evening. No one gave a second glance to the two men who could have been any pair of businessmen having a quiet dinner.

. . . .

"If you were thinking about offering me a cup of coffee, I'd have to say 'thanks, but no thanks'. It keeps me awake." Mulder hung their coats in the hall closet.

"I have some ice cream if you wanted dessert," Walter offered.

Mulder's eyes lit up. "Ice cream? You are the perfect host. Is there a television in the bedroom?"

"Yes. Don't you even want to know what kind it is?"

"Ice cream is ice cream. Can we eat it in bed?"

Walter looked at the sparkle in Mulder's eyes, bemused by the sudden transformation. "Is it the bed or the ice cream that's turning you on?"

"Either. Both. Your choice." Mulder headed for the kitchen. Walter could have told Mulder that the spoons were in the drawer next to the sink, but he found himself enjoying watching Mulder's systematic exploration of every cabinet.

The pint of ice cream and two spoons safely in hand, Mulder urged Walter toward the stairs. Upstairs, he set everything aside and started sliding out of his clothes. Contrary to Walter's expectations, the other man hung his shirt neatly over the back of a chair and folded his jeans next to it. Watching Mulder standing in the middle of his bedroom and casually stripping naked was producing a definite reaction in Walter's midsection.

"I'm not waiting," Mulder threatened. He flipped off the overhead light and left the room in the smaller glow of the bedside lamp. "If you're not in bed by the time I get the lid off the ice cream, don't expect me to save you any."

"There's plenty for both of us." Walter shed his own clothes and slid into bed. He piled the pillows against the headboard and leaned back comfortably.

Mulder pried the lid off the container and scooped up some of the ice cream. "Mocha Almond Fudge? I would have figured you for a Neapolitan kind of guy."

Walter snagged the carton out of Mulder's hand and dug in with his spoon.

"Hey!" Mulder made a grab for the carton.

Walter held it out of reach, sliding the remote control into Mulder's hand instead. "Find us something to watch."

Mulder eyed the ice cream regretfully, then accepted the gadget and flipped on the television. He ran through the channels for a minute, then settled on a movie. Walter eyed the screen. It was one of those frantic New York-paced comedies that he hated.

"Give me that." He reached for the remote.

Mulder held it away from him. "Trade," he demanded.

Walter surrendered the ice cream. "I hate Woody Allen," he mumbled. He surfed the channels and settled on an old western. "How about this?"

Mulder glanced at the screen. "Clint Eastwood? Okay."

"Turn loose of it." Walter tugged the carton back out of Mulder's hands.

"You need to do something about this weird control thing you have going."

"I know your type," Walter told him.

Mulder looked surprised. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"If I let you, you'll eat all of the nuts and leave the ice cream, right?"

Mulder grinned. "Would I do that to you?" He eased over and leaned against Walter's shoulder, his spoon held up hopefully.

"If I'd let you," Walter told him around his next bite. Mulder had already managed to pick out all of the nuts near the surface. He dug down and found more buried next to the ribbon of fudge.

"I am the soul of generosity," Mulder coaxed. "Come on, let me have some of it."

Walter tipped the carton and watched Mulder scoop up a spoonful of the thick fudge. A thin strand fell off the spoon and landed on his chin. Walter leaned over and licked off the sticky chocolate, working his way up until he could claim the cold sweetness of Mulder's mouth.

He handed Mulder the ice cream and wrapped his arm around the other man's shoulders. Mulder all but snuggled against him, working his way around until he was leaning back against Walter's chest, his head tucked under the older man's chin. Walter could see the corner of a smile and the curve of a sharp cheekbone topped with a tangle of dark lashes over one hazel eye.

The television screen caught the other man's attention. "Why is Shirley MacLaine dressed like a nun?"

"It's called acting." Walter tapped his spoon against the carton and Mulder held it up obediently while Walter dug out another spoonful. "It's a movie, remember?"

"Don't be facetious, Walter." Mulder helped himself to another bite of ice cream. Walter watched the younger man frown at the screen. "I'm not buying it."

"Have you ever seen this one before?" Walter took some more ice cream himself, nobly leaving the next almond for Mulder.

"No, but Shirley MacLaine as a nun is taking suspension of disbelief just a little too far." Mulder snorted. "Not even in a previous life."

Walter watched the screen for a minute, lazily stroking Mulder's arm and shoulder. "You don't think so?"

"Nope." Mulder squeezed a cold hand against Walter's leg under the blankets, grinning at the older man's noise of protest. He rubbed the skin soothingly until the chill disappeared and was replaced with a pleasant heat.

Walter took advantage of Mulder's distraction to eat most of the remaining ice cream in four large bites.

Mulder finally noticed and pulled the carton away, frowning up at his lover laughingly.

"Pig." He emptied the pint, making sure to keep it out of Walter's reach, then dropped both spoons into the empty container and set it aside.

Both hands finally free, Walter let himself explore the smooth expanse of Mulder's chest. Mulder wasn't really thin. He had the well-developed chest of a runner, but without the bulk of muscles that defined Walter's own body. He pushed the blankets down around Mulder's hips and cupped his hands around the narrow waist, sliding them up the long expanse of Mulder's torso. Rangy. That was the word to describe the lean, well-developed muscles of Mulder's arms.

Mulder tipped his head back against Walter and smiled up at him. He pressed against Walter encouragingly. "There's more where that came from," he offered quietly.

Walter brushed a kiss along the top of one high cheekbone, the only place he could reach. His hands searched under the blankets and curled around the intriguing hardness. Mulder smiled blissfully, his back melting against Walter's chest.

The television erupted in a blare of gunfire. Mulder jumped, startled, then fumbled for the remote. He punched buttons impatiently until the noise disappeared, then let the gadget slide out of his hand, forgotten. He reached up, his neck arched, and Walter captured the warm mouth, tasting the lingering sweetness of chocolate overlaying exotic spices from their dinner. Mulder relaxed against him again, sighing with pleasure.

Walter nuzzled the dark hair, relishing the way Mulder's hips moved under his hands, straining to push toward him, then squirming gently when Walter grazed an especially sensitive spot.

"Oh." Mulder made a small noise and his body jerked slightly.

"Just a second." Walter held Mulder against him as he leaned over and retrieved the lube from the bedside table. He spread a generous amount of the oil across his hands before resuming his leisurely exploration.

"Yeah . . . ." Mulder shivered. "Much better."

Walter let the length of Mulder's erection slide through his hands a few times. "You should have said something."

"It's not like I was really suffering." Mulder's hand fumbled beneath the blankets and pressed against Walter's erection. As good as it felt, it kept Walter from being able to touch Mulder the way he wanted to.

Mulder accepted Walter nudging his hand aside without protest. His eyes were half-closed, a smile curving his mouth as he rocked lazily against Walter's touch.

Walter listened to the younger man's breathing deepen, watched the face slide from anticipation to abandonment as Mulder's arousal grew. One hand searched and closed around Walter's thigh, fingers squeezing in tandem with Mulder's thrusts against the slick pressure enclosing him.

Walter shifted his position, letting his erection press against Mulder's hip. He let the other man's movements tease the pleasure in his own body until he was rubbing himself against the damp skin, working his hands against Mulder to force the younger man to roll and squirm against him.

Mulder whimpered and Walter echoed the noise, feeling the pressure inside of him begin to churn and grow. The room filled with the soft, liquid noises of flesh against flesh, Mulder's uneven panting broken by half-stifled noises of pleasure. His fingers clamped hard around Walter's leg, his breathless moans replaced by harder grunts as Walter's hands slid relentlessly around and across his flesh.

Walter thrust against the firm hip, feeling his moisture spread itself across Mulder's skin, creating a slick channel that scraped and soothed his nerves as their bodies rubbed together.

Mulder shuddered and plunged against his hands and Walter felt the hot jet of his lover's climax spill across his hands. Mulder shuddered again with a sigh that was almost a sob. Walter wrapped one arm around Mulder's waist and pulled the other man to him with a hard grip as his own body tensed and his orgasm washed over him.

Walter's embrace loosened and Mulder rolled over to face him slowly, a small, satisfied smile lingering on his mouth. Walter kissed the parted lips gently, feeling Mulder's heartbeat against his chest, warring with the pounding of his own pulse.

They lay there, cuddled together quietly. Mulder nuzzled Walter's shoulder, then pressed his mouth against the pulse point in Walter's throat.

Eventually, they untangled themselves and went to clean up, sharing the bathroom comfortably. Mulder made it back to the bed first, pulling the blankets and pillows straight, and fishing the remote control out from the foot of the bed.

"You okay?" The question was rhetorical. By the time Walter joined him, Mulder was stretching sleepily, looking rumpled and sated.

Mulder smiled. He sprawled out on his back and pulled Walter's head to his shoulder. Walter slid one arm around Mulder's chest, letting part of his weight rest against the younger man's body.

"Can you sleep like this?" Mulder asked.

"Yeah." Walter wasn't sure. He was more used to his ex-wife's lighter weight lying against him than he was to letting someone else support his heavier frame. Well, it was obviously something else he'd have to get used to. He felt Mulder's hand, cupping his arm where it rested across the younger man's chest.

Mulder reached up and turned out the lights. "Walter?"

"Hmmm?"

"Thanks for the ice cream." He heard the soft laugh in the other man's voice.

"Go to sleep, Mulder."

Mulder squirmed against him for a moment, then relaxed. "Walter?" A tentative hand stroked his shoulder gently.

"Yes?"

"I could really get used to this, you know?"

Walter smiled to himself, savoring the pleasure of the warm body next to his. So could I.

****

The end.