Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Go, and catch a falling star,
Get with child a mandrake root,
Tell me, where all past years are,
Or who cleft the devil's foot.
Teach me to hear mermaid's singing.
Song, John Donne

It was like changing the radio station from easy listening to heavy metal, the way the song of Blair Sandburg's heart went from steady to percussive. Jim Ellison, bent over a stack of files at his desk, twitched when Blair's heartbeat swung from its normal, elevator-music background thrum to a rap song played at top volume on inadequate speakers. He looked up, pen poised over paper.

Though Blair was working at another detective's desk near the back of Major Crimes, the flush of body heat that accompanied the change in tempo was like a furnace blasting on in the middle of the night. A rush of warm air poured off him, pushing aside the cool and blanketing Jim. The heat, the sound, set his bones to vibrating and his skin to tingling as if he'd become the speaker through which the music was blasting.

On the heels of those instant, autonomic reactions came Blair's quick intake of breath, the soft "Oh, my god." The oxygen in the room was swallowed up in the dry silk, musky scent of Blair. Having no other option for filling his lungs, Jim breathed it in. Blair's pupils dilated, and his own followed suit. Blinking against the sudden change in the level of light striking the back of his eyeballs, Jim followed Blair's gaze, searching for the cause of his agitation.

She wasn't difficult to spot.

The woman was one of three strangers just stepping out of the elevator. She and two men paused just outside Major Crimes and looked right, then left, then straight ahead in unison, their heads moving like they were puppets attached to the same string. Three well-dressed marionettes, one with a smattering of freckles and hair that gleamed like new pennies, even under the ugly fluorescent light of the hallway.

Jim shook his head ruefully. He was accustomed to it now, the way Blair's reaction to a woman could set his own nerves to dancing. Could make him want her warm fingers on his skin as if the attraction was his own. It was part and parcel of being a Sentinel, feeling someone's reactions so keenly, especially Blair's. It was a curse, considering how often he was dragged along on the ride of Blair's lust, and a boon, considering that his sex drive was lackluster compared to his partner's.

Blair had the quickest eye in the building for a beautiful woman. But if this beautiful woman was what Jim suspected, Blair might get the quickest turndown in history. Simon had warned him that the FBI wanted to look at their evidence in the cases of three missing persons, and that he could expect agents to arrive this afternoon. If Jim was any judge of suits, these three were the Suits.

He looked them over, taking in the de rigueur understated clothing, the flow of dark overcoats, conservative ties, the woman's expensive silk blouse showing just a sliver of pale skin...definitely Suits, though a bit better dressed and definitely better looking than most. Beside the two men, both as tall as Jim and one easily as muscular and broad shouldered, the woman was tiny, almost delicate. But there was something about the way she held herself that said she wasn't as delicate and dainty as she looked. In fact, of the three, she looked like she was the most likely to kick ass. But, god, was she gorgeous! Nobody had ever accused Blair of having bad taste.

The same way they had paused at the jerk of a string, they entered Major Crimes as a group, then stopped again just over the threshold. The woman and one man followed the lead of the broad-shouldered man between them by just a fraction of a second, marking him as the Head Suit. In the jungle, he would have been the one on which all the snipers centered their crosshairs. An experienced soldier wouldn't stand near him on a bet.

Jim grinned as Blair, excitement evident in every step, headed towards the three visitors. He stretched his long legs out, propped them on the edge of desk, crossed his ankles and leaned back to enjoy the show. This was going to be good, watching his avant-garde partner put the moves on a tight-assed, self-possessed Bureau agent. But then, it wouldn't be first time his partner had been frostbitten. Or, for that matter, the first time a Suit had succumbed to the Sandburg charm.

Too bad Brown wasn't there so they could make a little bet. Wasn't fair, since Jim had an unfair advantage. He could reach out a little, stretch out with his senses, and tell even before Blair whether the answer was yes or no. But it kept him in beer money. And it awed the other detectives to think that he was so woman-savvy. Well...the ones who didn't know him well enough to know that he was pretty much clueless.

Even though there was no money involved, he opened up just a bit. Not so much that a ringing phone or an overdose of perfume would send him reeling. Just enough to tell that the china doll Suit didn't even know Blair was alive, though he was bearing down on her with determination. Her gaze slid over him, then passed on without hesitation, checking out the room and its occupants.

The lazy grin twitched at the corners of Jim's mouth, and he laced his fingers behind his head. And jerked them down just as quickly, his feet slamming to the floor. Because it wasn't the woman an agitated, breathless Blair Sandburg was arrowing towards. It was one of the men, the big, bald-headed, imposing one in the center.

And the man was very aware that Blair was alive. He detached himself from his puppet shadows, stepping forward quickly. The leap of the stranger's pulse was overwhelming, as loud as the drumbeat of Blair's. His eyes, already dark as bitter chocolate, dilated to as black as Blair's.

"Blair?"

"Walter!"

Blair's voice was high pitched, excited, pleased. The stranger's was lower, restrained, but the spontaneous smile that warmed his face made up for it. It wasn't a face that smiled often. Jim knew that just from looking at him, at the stern lines of his face. Just from seeing the astonished, dropped-jaw reactions of the other Suits.

Blair and the man met in the center of the room. They stared at each other, and for a moment, the electricity that crackled between them was so strong, it was almost visible; so fervent, Jim thought they were going to hug.

He started to get up. But then they didn't hug, and he rocked back down into the hard, butt-shaped depression in his chair.

They shook hands vigorously, still staring at each other, smiling, Blair's fingers clinging to the bigger hand. And then they did hug, the stranger's longer arms folding around Blair, Blair's arms snaking inside the elegant overcoat. Jim stood up, shoving the chair away from his legs. It squeaked loudly, but he barely noticed it, lost as it was in the sounds of bodies touching, cloth sliding on cloth sliding on skin, and Blair's delighted laughter muffled against a broad shoulder.

"Oh, man, it is so good to see you." Blair and the man untangled, thumped each other on the back, making their embrace rough and masculine, totally acceptable in the middle of Major Crimes.

Totally acceptable, except that it wasn't. Jim couldn't explain it, didn't have time to explain it--the sudden flash of protectiveness for his partner. The flare of anger that leapt up as Blair's scent mingled with the alien, buttoned-down smell of the stranger. Something uncoiled low in his belly and flared out, up into his throat, down into his groin where residual arousal still curled and twined.

Blair and the strange man separated, still shaking hands. Still touching. Moving so slowly that it was more like they were holding hands. "It's been too long," Blair said.

Three strides, and Jim was across the room, hovering at his partner's back. Reaching out to put a hand on Blair's shoulder before he could even think what it meant or how it might look. It took every ounce of self-possession not to tug backwards and yank Blair to safety, to keep his fingers light and easy as he felt the bunch and slide of muscle beneath flannel.

"Jim," Blair turned his head, gifting him with a dazzling, guileless smile. "This is Walter Skinner, an old friend. I haven't seen him in years. Walter, my partner, Detective Jim Ellison."

It made Jim feel a little stupid, kind of silly, to be over-reacting because Blair was excited to see someone. Acting like Blair was his toy and someone else had just picked him up to play with him. Childish to think that Blair had only one good friend and he was it. That Blair had no past, existing only in his present. He took a deep, cleansing breath, but all he did was suck in those co-mingled scents, the warm, familiar smell of Blair overlaid with the starched, sun-drenched, gun oil, wool-blend odor of the stranger.

Skinner started to turn towards Jim, then checked himself. "Tell me you're not a cop," he growled at Blair.

The censure in the man's tone made Jim stiffen even as the voice slithered down his spine. It was steel. Suede. Leather slapping on flesh. A throaty, animal snarl even deeper than anything Jim could manage. It made him flush with anger. And it came closer to affecting him the way Blair's voice did than any other voice ever had. He could feel his body bend to it, shift with it. He couldn't even form the words to snap, What's so fucking bad about being a cop?

"I'm not a cop," Blair said obligingly, laughing and not at all offended, for himself or for Jim. "I'm sort of a consultant, gathering data for my doctorate, but I ride with Jim."

The half-truth rolled off Blair's tongue easily, just like it always did. But Jim noted and tagged that it was closer to the truth than the police-as-a-closed-society mumbo-jumbo Blair usually laid on anyone who asked. Blair didn't want to lie to this man.

"Tell me you're not still a Section Chief," Blair teased.

Skinner nodded, mollified, not offended at Blair's rejoinder. In fact, there was that twitch at the corners of his mouth again. "I'm still an Assistant Director," he supplied.

Jim had the feeling that all that kept the man from grinning, other than the innate stiffness of his face, was the presence of the two agents who had stepped closer.

Assistant Director Skinner extended his hand to Jim, nodded curtly. "Detective."

Was it his imagination, or did Skinner's gaze flick over the hand Jim still had pressed to Blair's shoulder? Jim tried again to shake off his agitation, the weird, shivery warm/cold rippling in his body. He resisted the urge to break Walter Skinner's arm rather than shake his hand, especially since Skinner had let go of Blair to offer the hand. He was being silly, stupid, childish...an ass.

He released Blair, too, and leaned forward slightly to accept the firm grasp of the other man's hand. A rough hand, like his own. Strong and sure and callused. No soft, manicured, paper-pusher's hand, although surely as an Assistant Director, that was exactly what he was...a paper-pushing Suit. But with the hands of a workman and the eyes of an assassin. Brown and shiny and calculating behind wire-rimmed glasses, missing nothing as they assessed him, took his measure, then held his gaze, giving him no hint of whether he'd been found lacking.

Jim returned the scrutiny with a steely gaze of his own, and Skinner gave him a small nod. As he stepped back, Jim looked at the agent who stood slightly behind Skinner and to his right. The man was a touch taller than Skinner, leaner, younger, handsome in a smooth, sulky, sultry way. And the shock of hair like dark cornsilk that had fallen down over his forehead didn't come close to hiding his frown.

The woman was still standing a couple of steps back, but as Jim had with Blair, the man had moved so close that he was in danger of being elbowed if Skinner took a deep breath. And he was glaring at Blair exactly the same way Jim suspected he'd been glaring at Walter Skinner.

Skinner gave the younger man a glare of his own, effectively pushing him back with just the power of his gaze, and introduced his agents. The gorgeous redhead was Agent Dana Scully, and she had a handshake as steely as Skinner's. The sulky man was Special Agent Fox Mulder. And he had a fox's changeable, greeny-brown eyes to go with his odd name.

Jim relaxed a little, still standing close enough to Blair that he could brush his back with his arm. He took another one of those deep, cleansing breaths that Blair had taught him, and it actually worked. Maybe because Blair's pupils had contracted back to normal and his heartbeat had softened to its comfortable Muzak-like background thrum. The tension slipped out of Jim's muscles, and the agitation that had been simmering just below the surface eased.

Simon joined them, starting up another round of introductions and handshaking and Simon's 'welcome to Cascade' speech as he pointed them towards his office. "You, too, Ellison," he said as Jim reached to guide Blair away. "And Sandburg."

Jim took still another deep breath, annoyed but relieved, as always, that all the new age, breathing-from-his-diaphragm, let-the-negative-energy-go crap worked. Blair had reduced him to this. To deep breathing like some hippie wannabe. To getting a woody because his partner was dogging after some female. Except... Except... The skin between his eyes stabbed at his nose as he frowned. That wasn't what Blair had been doing, was it? There hadn't been any female. And there hadn't been any dogging...

Blair's voice broke through. "I've known Walter for years," he was explaining to Simon. "We met when he was SAC of the Seattle office. I kind of got into a jam, and Walter helped me out."

Simon paused in the act of pulling out chairs around the conference table and arched his eyebrows in exaggerated surprise. "You, Sandburg, in a jam? What are the chances of that?"

Blair laughed and clapped Simon on the shoulder. "Good one, Simon."

Simon shooed him away, pointing towards a chair. Then, pleasantries over, he pulled out the files of the three cases and started in, and Jim had to give himself over to the discussion. What Blair liked to call his cop brain took over, crowding his personal agitation to the back of his mind. His gaze flicked over the evidence as Simon parceled it out.

The three missing men looked enough alike to be brothers. Acted enough alike to be best friends. Hell, they looked more alike than he and Stephen, but that was part of the mystery. Because the three men weren't related. Apparently, they had never even met. They were all single, all loners, all clerks in middle level, but low-key, jobs-one in the local Social Security office, one in a laboratory that conducted testing for cosmetics companies, and one in a large medical clinic.

They had disappeared within hours of each other, leaving behind no relatives, no friends, and belongings so bland, so nondescript, that Rafe had commented that the first place to check would be the circus, because it was obvious they all ran away to escape their humdrum lives. None of them had ever been in trouble with the law. Never even had a parking ticket. And, of course, never had their fingerprints taken. But there were fingerprints all over their homes. The same fingerprints.

Jim concentrated as Simon ran down everything they knew. He followed the evidence as Simon laid it out, hoping that just one more perusal might net him something he'd missed before. Beside him, Blair shifted closer, leaning into his personal space as Jim leaned towards the array of papers. Blair's elbow touched his arm as if by accident, but Jim knew what he was doing. Grounding him so that he could let his senses roam free if he wanted. And he did want to, but it wasn't to peruse the photos once more, or to read the fine print on the reports. It was scrutinize the three strangers sitting around the table.

The more Simon spoke, the less attention they paid to him, as if they'd heard it all before. As if the recitation was boring them. Except they weren't bored. They were agitated. They looked at each other, quick, surreptitious glances that he wasn't meant to see. And they each, in their own way, tightened down. Like springs, winding tighter and tighter. Mulder asked a couple of questions that seemed, more than anything else, designed to speed the meeting along. Though Skinner asked more pointed ones, it was still only minor, innocuous information they solicited.

But Jim saw why Skinner's agents were so surprised at his show of emotion with Blair. The man was totally no-nonsense. Intense and brusque and to-the-point. Sitting back with one long arm draped across the arm of his chair, he looked relaxed. But there was nothing relaxed about his eyes or his square jaw or the severe line of his mouth. Or the quick, concentrated scrutiny of his gaze. He was almost surely ex-Army or Marine. How had Blair ever gotten to know a guy like that? How had Blair ever gotten to know him well enough to make him smile?

Simon finished, perched on the corner of the table. "So...does this look similar to your missing persons cases?" He still had one last file in his hand, but he didn't offer it up for the group. Not yet. Instead he looked at Skinner and waited. Not blinking as the silence grew thick and tense.

Mulder looked at Scully, then at Skinner, who lifted one of the crime scene photos and gave it a cursory glance. "I assume that's all the information you have on these cases, Captain Banks." Skinner's voice was deceptively bland.

Simon, his expression just as bland, fished in his shirt pocket for his cigar. "Were you expecting something else?"

Mulder looked at Skinner again. The bigger man lifted his jaw just the barest fraction of an inch, giving permission in shorthand body language. Mulder repeated Skinner's gesture of shuffling the photos. "We were expecting...residue. A chemical residue, maybe at their homes, or somewhere nearby. Maybe near the last place they were seen."

Jim's attention zoomed in on Mulder. Skinner was difficult to read because he held himself so tightly in that fake relaxation, but Mulder, with his gorgeous, loose body language and that incredibly animated face and his voice dropping clues all over the room, was an open book. He was annoyed, obviously reined in by Skinner's presence, and chemical hadn't been the word he'd wanted to use.

"Oh," Simon said easily. "You mean like this?" He opened up the last file, passed out the photos from it. Photos of greasy-looking, greenish-black stains, one rough and almost round, one an odd, oblong kidney shape, and one that was long and narrow and looked suspiciously like the outline of a body. A body that had boiled and melted. "You mean this chemical residue that burned through the glove of one of my forensics people. This chemical residue that ate the sole off a shoe of one my clumsier patrolmen, but when we went back to test it, packed all the punch of lime gelatin. This chemical residue that none of my people have been able to identify."

Jim ticked them off his bullshit meter, one by one, as the Suits tried to sit there and look calm. He barely needed enhanced senses to tell him they were anything but. The moment the first photo hit the table...muscle tension, elevated pulse, eyeballs flicking from side to side, fingers clenching. He bet dental records on Skinner would show a worn track where his jaws connected. Mulder was a few seconds from bouncing off the walls. And Scully was wiggling one of her feet, staring down at her shoe. She was scared. Just plain scared.

"Yeah," Mulder said, and his mouth twitched as if he saw humor in the situation that everyone else missed. "That chemical residue." He, too, stared at the photos, one after the other, turning some completely around in his hands and looking at them upside down.

Skinner pushed his glasses up and massaged the bridge of his nose. He'd wanted badly to deny that their cases were similar, Jim could tell that. Now there was no way he could.

Simon took a deep breath, gathered up all the photos of the stains and put them back into the unmarked file. "This information doesn't leave this room. We haven't released it to the press. The only people who know about this aspect of the disappearances are my people. Until now." He paused. "So... Care to fill us in on what's going on? And what is this stuff?" He indicated the photos he'd retrieved. "We figured some kind of toxin or warfare agent, but the samples have degenerated to harmless slime. Unfortunately, unidentifiable slime."

Again, that significant glance between Mulder and Skinner, but this time, Skinner shook his head. Mulder scowled, looked at Scully for support, then subsided back in his seat when she frowned at him, too. Skinner shook his head at Simon. "I'm sorry, Captain Banks. I'm afraid I can't. That information is--"

"Need to know," Jim growled. "And we don't need to know." The contrition in Skinner's voice had been genuine, not at all like the oily regret Jim had experienced with so many other Bureau agents. But knowing that Skinner didn't like keeping them in the dark didn't mollify him at all. "Now why am I not surprised to hear that sentiment pop up in a conversation with the Feds?"

Annoyance flickered across Skinner's face.

"Jim..." Simon warned.

Blair chuckled deliberately, trying to ease the tension. "He's got you there, Walter."

Obviously not accustomed to having someone snickering at him in a meeting, Skinner frowned at Blair, too, but it only made Blair grin wider. After a minute, Skinner shrugged. It was probably as close to good-natured as the man got. "I'm sorry. I know you don't want to hear it. I don't really want to say it, but...my hands are tied."

"Yeah." Jim pushed back, sending a couple of pictures flying across the table. The chair scraped, loud and gritty, across the floor. "That's what you guys always say." He stood up. As far as he was concerned, the meeting was over. Just another waste of his time by the Suits.

Skinner stood up with him, squared off facing him. "Look, Detective--"

"Are you taking over the case?" Simon interrupted.

Skinner hesitated, torn between facing Jim down and answering. He finally opted for staying where he was, leaning towards Jim, but looking back at Simon. "No. It's your case."

Mulder stood up, too, protesting, "Sir--"

Skinner quelled him with one glance.

The power in it made Jim shiver. The guy could melt sand with those eyes. And melt the clothes right off his back with that voice.

"There's no federal crime here, Agent Mulder." Skinner swung back to Jim. "It's your case. But I can tell you this much. You won't solve it."

Jim bristled, but Skinner held up a hand. "No reflection on your abilities, Detective. If we took over the case, we wouldn't solve it either." Behind him, Mulder bristled, but Skinner didn't even spare the agent a glance this time. "It's not solvable. You'd do better to write this one off and move on to something where you can make a difference."

He motioned towards the door. "Agents."

Jim watched as the two stood in unison. Scully smiled at him as she went past. Mulder actually dared his boss' ire and stopped, murmuring "Sorry," as he shook Jim's hand. Then he swept on past, and Jim dropped his hand down, covering the card Mulder had left behind in it.

Skinner nodded to Simon. "Captain. Thank you." He glanced at Blair, his face so blank that it spoke volumes. Then he swept out the door, the long lines of his coat and his two shadows swirling elegantly in his wake.

Jim swore as the door closed. "What the hell was that all about?"

"Look, Jim." Blair put a gentling hand on his arm. "Walter's a good guy. I'll talk to him."

Without waiting for Jim's opinion, Blair took off after Skinner. Jim dialed up his hearing, actually catching up to Skinner before Blair did. Actually catching the end of a heated, but low voiced conversation with Mulder.

//--isn't the end of it,// Mulder argued, anger heating his voice. //I know there's more of them here. You know there'll be more murders. I won't just walk away because there's no Federal crime.//

Beside him, Simon, said softly, "What, Jim?"

Jim held up his hand for silence and flipped the card up from his palm.

Simon took it and frowned over it. Mulder's business card.

Mulder's words hadn't even elevated Skinner's pulse. It was old information. Mulder preaching to the choir. //I know,// Skinner answered, with such patience that Jim could tell it was a long used method of dealing with the volatile agent. //I know all that, Mulder. And we're not letting it go. I just don't want these people involved. There's no way to include them without putting them at risk. We'll let Agent Scully go on to Seattle to visit her family the way she planned. And you and I will stay here and try to find the others before the bou--//

Scully interrupted. //I'll stay here with you and Mulder, Sir.//

//That's not necessary, Agent. Mulder and I can handle it.//

//Walter.// Blair caught up with them. //Hey, you're not chasing off to catch your Lear jet, are you?//

//No. Mulder and I will be here another day or two. Agent Scully...//

Jim took the card back from Simon and looked at it. "He called the cases murder. And he said these three weren't the last of it. And they're not giving up on the case. Skinner just doesn't want us involved. You think this is a sign Mulder wants to cooperate. Or is he just hoping to pick us for more information?"

"Maybe we should let them have this one, Jim. There's something about it that's making my ass twitch."

"You're right about that." He tuned back in to Skinner again. The man was speaking to Blair. Jim didn't have to hear the words to know that. All he needed was the warmth in Skinner's voice.

//--staying at the Westin. Maybe we could have dinner?//

"I'm not too happy about Blair being around this guy," Jim admitted. "Sandburg's too trusting."

//Hey, yeah,// Blair said enthusiastically. //There's a new place just down the street. Supposed to be great. You'll love it. Italian.//

Jim frowned at Blair's almost shorthand way of speaking to Skinner. Like Skinner's use of minute body movements to communicate with Mulder, it bespoke knowledge. But Blair hadn't seen the guy in years. How well could he know him? "Agent Scully's going on to Seattle to spend a few days with her family. But Mulder and Skinner are staying at the Westin. Blair's inviting Skinner to dinner at that new Italian place down the street."

"Giulatto's? I've been hearing good things about that place. Maybe we should invite ourselves along."

"Just what I was thinking," Jim answered grimly, reaching for the door. He didn't trust Walter Skinner, and with good reason. No matter how well Blair thought he knew him, Jim didn't want the guy alone with his partner.

Simon clamped his unlit cigar between his teeth and stalked out ahead of him. "Hey, Sandburg, wait up," Simon called. "I was just telling Jim we should take our guests to dinner. There's a new Italian place over on Third that's supposed to be great."

The three agents turned surprised faces on them. "That's just what Mr. Sandburg was suggesting," Mulder said, brow furrowed at the coincidence.

"Imagine that," Simon grinned.

Blair peered at Jim over the rims of his glasses. "Yeah, imagine."

Jim just rocked back on his heels and tried to look innocent. It worked for Blair, about twenty times a day. He didn't see why it wouldn't work for him.

The elevator pinged and the doors slid open.

"We have to get Agent Scully to the airport, or she'll miss her flight to Seattle." Skinner moved towards the open doors, herding the two agents through them. "We'll meet you at the restaurant at 7:00?"

The doors had just barely touched when Blair rounded on Jim. "Man, I can't believe you eavesdropped on me."

So much for the innocent act. "I didn't eavesdrop on you, Chief. I eavesdropped on your Fed buddy. I got your part of the conversation by accident. They're not in any hurry to leave because they're working the case. Mulder called them murders. And they're looking for the next victims."

Blair paled. "Murders? Victims? With an s?!"

"Yeah. Maybe you can get your good guy friend off to the side tonight and ask him about that?"

"I will," Blair responded calmly, not backing down. "But he probably won't tell me. I promise you, Jim, you can trust Walter. If he says he can't tell us, then there's a good reason."

Simon watched Blair walk back to the desk where he'd been working, then turned to Jim with a raised eyebrow.

Jim wanted to chase after Blair, to warn him to be careful, but damn! The kid was grown. He met Simon's questioning gaze and shrugged. When had Blair ever listened to him about something like this anyway?

Simon headed back to his office, Jim back to his other case files. Skinner was right about that, at least. There were plenty of other cases to work. But he couldn't keep his attention on them. He kept straying back to the three Suits and their reactions to the pictures in Simon's office. Grimly, he pushed away his current files. Dragged the phone over and put his back to the wall so that he could talk privately but make sure nobody walked up on him.

Simon came out an hour later and perched on the corner of his desk while he ran down what he'd learned. "It's all gossip and innuendo. The guys I know in DC are cops, but they're not getting official facts here, just what's been whispered around town. But one guy says Blair's right. Most people within the law enforcement community see Skinner as one of the good guys. Operates by the book, doesn't dish out bullshit, doesn't tolerate it. The weird thing is, Jerry said it's a good thing Skinner's a fair-minded person who doesn't throw his weight around. The rumor is he's got powerful connections who don't always operate within Bureau protocol."

Simon frowned at that, but motioned for Jim to continue.

"No surprise, but Mulder's the loose cannon. Jerry says Mulder's brilliant but just plain damned weird. Says everybody at Quantico called him Spooky behind his back. His division is something called the X-Files, and they investigate the cases nobody else wants or can solve. The rumor was they were assigned to Skinner so he could reel them in, but it looks like the exact opposite happened."

"Them, who?"

"Scully is Mulder's partner. But I can't figure her involvement. She's a doctor, recruited right out of medical school by the Bureau. But there's something bad going on with her. She was kidnapped a couple of years ago. She turned up in a hospital, almost dead. And if anybody knows where she was, or what happened, they're not saying. But Jerry's heard this strange, under-the-table rumor that Skinner figured into her return somehow. Whatever it is that happened, he says it'll never see the light of day."

"Yep." Simon stood up. "Definitely makes me twitch. Good thing we're keeping an eye on the kid tonight." He wandered off towards the break room.

Twitching wasn't the half of it. The whole thing set Jim's teeth on edge. Since the first phone call, he'd felt like he was chewing on tin foil. All those glossy reputations with sly hints of something dark bubbling underneath. It made him want to lock Blair in his room and only let him out when he was sure the whole bunch of them had left town.

He was staring at an empty report form when Blair interrupted him. "Hey, Jim, we're going to have to hurry if we want to run by the loft before dinner."

Jim looked up, surprised that it was past six.

Blair seemed to have forgotten their conversation earlier. As they rode the elevator to the garage, he babbled on about the research he'd been doing for Jim, apparently not noticing Jim's silence. Or maybe just willing to let it go. But Jim couldn't let it go. As he pulled out into traffic, he asked, "Just how well do you know this Skinner?"

Blair twitched, and his heartbeat dropped a blip in between the regular thumps. "I-uh...I met him while I was working on my Master's. I got into a jam with the Seattle cops. A bunch of us had been to a club. You know, letting off a little steam before the next semester started. I was driving, and the cops pulled us over. I'd only had a few beers, but the guy who owned the car, he was holding. They arrested us."

Jim couldn't stop the grimace that tugged at his mouth. He turned towards the loft with a savage twist of the wheel that cut off two taxis and a courier on a bicycle.

"Hey, man, take it easy!" Blair grabbed for the back of the seat to brace himself. "I didn't know the guy had stuff on him, I swear. I mean, I did my share of experimentation with grass and pills back in my undergrad days, but I was way past that by then. I couldn't have kept up the class load and all that I was carrying and still have been dicking around with anything harder than an occasional beer binge. I didn't know the guy had shit on him, but try telling that to a couple of cops on a double shift who've pulled over a car load of out-of-town college students."

Jim pulled into a parking space across from the loft. Turned the engine off, but made no move to get out of the truck. Took a deep breath to cleanse the flush of anger he'd felt at the idea of Blair messing with drugs.

Blair hesitated with his fingers on the door handle. Seeing that Jim wasn't going anywhere, he licked his lips and continued. "Walter was at the police station when they brought us in. For some reason, I don't really remember why, we started talking. He believed my story, and he put in a good word with the guys who'd picked us up. So, no arrest. No record. His office was working a case, and one of his agents needed an in into one of the local clubs. He remembered me and called. I helped him out. We got to be friends."

"A club?"

Blair's heartbeat picked up slightly. "Yeah. An--uh...an underground club, you know? One of those places where you practically had to know somebody to get an invite."

"Uhm." Jim slid out of the truck, knowing he hadn't received quite the whole answer there.

Blair followed, silent again.

"So you haven't seen Skinner in a long time?"

"Probably four years since I've seen him. But we've kept in touch, just in a loose sort of way, you know?"

Jim had a quick flash of insight, that satisfying click of detection when two plus two added up to four. In the months they had roomed together, Blair had received occasional postcards, usually picturing a skyline of some dull northeastern city, goofy cards on his birthday and Halloween, elegant ones at Hanukkah, one or two envelopes stuffed with clipped anthropology and archaeology articles. And, once, a clumsily wrapped book of beautiful but boring, classical poetry. All were signed with a bold, sloping W that Jim assumed was a woman's, especially since the few sentiments were auntish--Have a good holiday, or Thought this might interest you. Even the flyleaf of the book had said only, Where all past years are, W. At the time, it had seemed no more quirky than any of the other things that were constants in Blair's life.

Jim took the stairs, too wired to wait on the elevator, and Blair huffed along behind him. He grimaced as he realized he had his own shadow, just like Skinner. And just like Skinner and his shadows, Jim's shadow wasn't telling him the truth. At least, not all of it. Enhanced senses were good for things other than knowing whether there was a perp with a gun around the corner, or whether his partner was about to score. He had a built-in lie detector. And a built-in bullshit detector.

At the moment, Blair fell somewhere in between, in that obfuscation zone where he seemed to live. Everything he'd said was the truth. But his body was stressed. Pupils just a little bit off normal. Fingers a little too still. Mouth dry. That musky tang scented just a bit sharp.

Jim sorted the mail, washed up the breakfast dishes they'd been too rushed to handle that morning, took his turn in the shower, spent five minutes staring into his closet, trying to decide what to wear. Another five trying to figure out why it was important. He didn't worry about his clothing this much when he was going on a date.

And he still was ready before Blair, who was dressed much more like he was going to be trolling for co-eds than having dinner with business associates. But the kid, wearing jeans washed until they were soft and thin in strategic places and a casual white shirt opened to show off one of his tribal necklaces, did look good. And it made Jim's choice of khakis and turtleneck look even less casual.

Giulatto's was crowded for a week night. Inside the glassed-in lobby, business-suited executives mingling with jeaned college students and sweatered tourists. The scents of scotch and sangria competed with perfume and garlic and tomato sauce.

Jim's nostrils flared and he hesitated at the threshold.

Blair lay a hand on the small of his back and pressed lightly. "You need a minute outside?"

The warmth of his fingers seeped through Jim's shirt, into his skin. He shook his head. With Blair's presence to steady him, he took a deep breath and focused, tuning out most of the smells, toning down those he couldn't ignore. In the ribbons of scent, he found the faint, sweet odor of cigar and followed it to the door of the less crowded bar.

The restaurant might be yuppie chic, but the bar was definitely old-style trysting place. Heavy oak paneling, faux gas lights flickering gold, lots of shadowy booths ringing the room. Simon was perched on a stool at the long, polished bar. He waved them over to where he and Mulder had already started on a before dinner drink. "I signed us up already. It'll be about twenty minutes."

Jim signaled the bartender just as Skinner entered the room. Though he didn't see him until he was at his shoulder, Jim caught his elevated heartbeat, tipped off by the sudden volume of Blair's.

Mulder was dressed like Blair, in casual jeans, but all Skinner had shed was the elegant overcoat and his glasses, revealing eyes that didn't look quite so hard without the shiny lenses protecting them. His double-breasted suit was so fitted at the waist that it made his shoulders look massive.

The effect was...eye-catching. Blair's heart was thrumming with the pleasure of seeing an old friend, and Jim's spiked right along with it, for a completely different reason.

The guy might be a Suit and a jerk, but he was impressive. The long coat had had made him look big and muscular, but it hadn't done him justice. Skinner's shoulders were wider than his own and impressively square. And his ass... Jim thought his eyes were going to pop out of his head as Skinner leaned over the bar and motioned to the bartender. And if they did, well, then Mulder's were going to be rolling around on the floor right there with his. Jesus, what an ass!

It was a spectacular view and another piece of the puzzle. Mulder had a thing for Skinner.

But then Jim couldn't exactly blame him. He appreciated a romp with a good-looking man himself. He had to be choosy and even more circumspect--couldn't afford not to be in his profession--but he wouldn't say no to an ass like that, no matter the circumstances.

Not that Skinner was exactly giving out vibes that he was available. In fact, he'd barely acknowledged them. Intercepting the bartender before he could get to Jim, Skinner ordered two different beers by name, one of them a favorite of Blair's. He handed the bottle to Blair, pointed to a table over near the wall. It wasn't one of the shadowed booths, but it wasn't out in the open either. "Let's sit over there."

Blair moved towards the table without ever looking at Jim or Mulder or Simon again.

"Guess we weren't invited," Mulder laughed, but his gaze followed Skinner's backside all the way across the room, just like Jim's did. He pulled out the stool next to him. "Join us."

Jim threw a leg over the stool and scooted it around so he was sitting at an angle to Mulder and Simon. Looking at the two men, but situated so he could see Blair reflected in the mirror behind the bar. He didn't know what he was worrying about. It wasn't like the guy was going to snatch Blair up, tuck him under an arm and run out the back door.

Was there even a back door? Out of habit, Jim scanned the room, noting the hallway lit by a red neon Restroom sign and the dimmer Emergency Exit nearby. He settled back, shifting until he had Blair's reflection in a corner of the mirror.

"Agent Mulder was telling me about his work," Simon said, and Jim nodded. He knew it meant Pay attention. I'm working my way up to something, so he tried to watch the mirror with just one eye.

Blair snagged a couple of coasters and plopped down, situating their beers, but Skinner remained standing. Looming over Blair. He loosened his tie, opened a couple of buttons and slipped the tie off. Even across the room, Jim could hear the silken hiss of it sliding around his neck. Then Skinner unbuttoned his coat and let it drop off his shoulders, folded it neatly across the chair beside him. His slacks pulled taut across his thighs as he sat down.

Jim drew in a silent, appreciative breath.

Skinner's shoulders, clad in pinstriped cotton that stretched and clung as he moved, were even more imposing without the padding of the coat. Every bit as impressive as his ass. And despite his size, his movements were graceful, powerful, contained...the whole getting comfortable thing was casual, but it still managed to look like a striptease. All that was missing was the bump and grind.

Mulder was certainly appreciative. He'd turned completely around, facing his boss. All that kept Jim from doing the same was his grip on the edge of the bar. Even Blair was aware of Skinner's attributes. Mr. Hetero 'There's a female I haven't sniffed yet, let me at her' raked his blue gaze over Skinner and turned on that endearing, charming, on-the-prowl smile. His pupils, already affected by the dim lighting, did that black dance again.

Skinner leaned across the corner of the table, right into Blair's personal space, and said, //You look good enough to eat.// The appreciation and the heat in his voice raked down Jim's spine.

Blair laughed, husky and delighted, and his face flushed with pleasure, but his gaze flicked towards Jim. Checking to see if he was listening before he answered. //Funny, I was thinking that's what might happen to you, if you unbutton just one more thing.//

Mulder shifted, bumped Jim's arm as he turned back and caught his gaze in the mirror. Arched an eyebrow with a smug 'I know what you're thinking' grin. Then veered back towards Simon and took up the thread of his story without missing a beat.

Jim carefully turned his head towards Simon, nodded at whatever Mulder was saying even though he didn't have a clue what it was. He didn't even know what Blair was saying to Skinner. All he could hear was the thudding of his own heart and a hum of staticky conversation like a radio that had slipped off the station. And the electric roar of words in his own head.

Blair had lied to him. Not with words, but with actions. With his affecting, rabid enthusiasm for women. Blair knew that Jim swung both ways, because while he'd never flaunted it, he'd never tried to hide it. From the rest of the world, but not from Blair. And Blair never seemed to care one way or the other. Blair had gay friends, and straight friends, and bi friends, and probably polka-dotted friends. And he'd never even seen fit to comment on the fact that Jim was sometimes as appreciative of a guy's ass as he was of a woman's. And still knowing all that, Blair had lied to him.

He'd thought that Blair would never lie to him, not even by omission. But...Blair had never lied to him. Played that game of obfuscation, bullshitted with the best of them. But never lied. There wasn't any point. Blair knew that Jim could tell when someone was lying. Why would he bother? And the answer to that was that he wouldn't. He hadn't.

He didn't have to, when he had Jim to cloud the truth with his self-centered assumptions. He'd thought Blair was straight, because despite his own inclinations, he still had a heterosexist mindset. Blair hadn't said outright I suck dick, so Blair must be straight. But Blair had never said he didn't sleep with men. Blair had never said anything at all. Blair went out with men and women. And came home smelling of strange soap. And Jim had always assumed when Blair went out drinking with a guy and came home smelling of someone else's shampoo that it was because he had scored with some woman and left his buddy in the dust.

Some detective he was! He should have put it all together, if not in the time they'd lived together, then when Blair's heart rate went through the roof and his body heated up the squad room and he practically climbed up Skinner's tree trunk of a body.

Jim snatched up his beer and downed half of it in one long swallow. Okay... Okay... Deep breath. Very deep breath... So he was slow, but he had it all now. Blair swung both ways. And it didn't really matter, did it? He wasn't exactly a straight arrow himself, and now he knew Blair wasn't either. It wasn't any big deal. It just enlarged the number of bars they could hop together. It sort of swelled the pool of asses they could admire together. He grinned at his own double entendre and took a more civilized swallow of beer. And another deep breath. And dragged his attention back to where it belonged. On Simon's inquisition of Mulder.

It sounded like pretty much the same material Jim had already dug up from his DC sources. Mulder was explaining that he and Scully were assigned to a division called the X-Files, and they reported directly to Skinner, instead of a Section Chief. And that they investigated the more esoteric stuff the Bureau got, the harder-to-explain cases, the paranormal stuff nobody else wanted to touch.

That explained the ghosts and goblins comment from one of Jim's friends. And brought him back around to Skinner. He was okay with Blair, but he still wasn't okay with Skinner. No matter how well Blair had once known him. Even though it looked like Blair wanted to renew old acquaintances. Jim checked the corner of the mirror.

Skinner leaned close to Blair, arm draped over the table so that his long fingers were almost brushing Blair's thigh. And said in that steel-draped, velvet voice, //Stay with me tonight.//

At the other end of the bar, the bartender was trying to pick up a pretty redhead. The bubbles were rising and popping in the champagne he'd given her. In one of the booths, a couple was arguing while they held hands. Simon was laughing at something Mulder had said. And Jim heard Blair's lashes brush his face as he looked down, then up.

Skinner's voice went as flat as the champagne soon would be, forgotten in its crystal glass. //Can you? I mean...are you and Ellison...?//

Blair stopped him by gently tapping Skinner's fingers with his own. //No, it's not like that. We're roommates. I'll just have to let him know I won't be home tonight.//

//A roommate who looks like that. And you have to check in with him. But it's not like that?// Skinner's voice was teasing, but skeptical.

//Really, it's not.//

There was a tone to Blair's voice, some quiet note in it, that Jim couldn't place. He wanted to turn around, look at Blair without the flattening distortion of the mirror, but Mulder was looking at him again. "Sorry," Jim apologized. "Did I miss something?"

"No. I don't think you're missing anything," Mulder answered, and he turned back to Simon.

It was one of those cryptic things. Plain, ordinary words that seemed to have some meaning hidden in them. Just like Blair's voice as he touched Skinner's ring finger, traced the length of it with a fingertip. //What about you? You're not wearing your wedding ring.//

Jim and Skinner took a breath in unison. Deep breaths. But Skinner let his out. Jim held onto his. And onto it, because suddenly, illogically, he wanted Skinner married. Attached. Committed. And called home in the next few minutes, so that Jim wouldn't have to be worried about Blair. At the same time, he didn't really want to know that Blair was the kind of person to sleep with a married man. Not that he had much room to feel holy. How many of those nameless, faceless guys he'd spent a couple of hours with had a wedding ring hidden in a pocket?

//I tried, Blair.// The ring finger twitched and Skinner covered it by making a fist. //Sharon tried. We just couldn't make it work. You know...how it was. All the things I see... I couldn't share it with her and still protect her from it. And some nights, I just couldn't sit at the dinner table and smile and make innocuous conversation.//

Blair smiled, sweet and sympathetic and regretful. //Yeah, I remember you having a few of those nights.//

//But you understood. You could deal with it.//

Blair laughed, still sweet and so intimate. //Not really. It always really bugged me. But...it gave me more time to talk.//

//Yeah, I could always count on you to fill in.// Skinner tried to muster a smile and failed. //Sharon never filled in. She never understood. It just...hurt her more and more. And after a while, we just didn't talk at all. I fought the divorce for a long time, but I finally signed the papers last year.//

//I'm sorry,// Blair whispered. //I know how much you wanted things to work out.// He tapped Skinner's hand again, urging him to unfurl his fist. To let go. //I--//

"Detective Ellison!"

"Jim!"

Jim jerked, realizing that both Mulder and Simon were calling him. "What? Sorry. I was...daydreaming."

"And still not missing anything." Mulder blinked lazily in the mirror, a slow shuttering of his eyes, then turned to look at Jim directly. "Yet."

The man had really great eyes. Multi-colored and changeable and used to maximum advantage.

"Our table's ready." Simon stood, motioning to Blair, but Mulder remained where he was.

Staring at Jim. His scrutiny was unnerving, to the bone. Knowing. Speculative.

Jim felt he should back away from such intensity, but he never backed away. So he did the next best thing. He attacked. "Agent Mulder, since you're not going to be investigating these murders, and we are, what can you tell us?" Without ever breaking eye contact, he reached into the pocket of his slacks and pulled out Mulder's business card, worked it between his fingers.

Behind Mulder, Simon choked. For just a moment, Mulder gaped. Gawked at him like he'd grown another head. But he covered his surprise well. He grinned as if impressed. He grabbed his beer and slid off the stool, turning to follow Simon. "Murders? I thought you had them classified as missing persons." Then he turned back, stopping so quickly that Jim ran right into him. He peered into Jim's eyes, still smiling, and said softly, "Where did you get the idea they were murders, Detective Ellison?"

Next Mulder was going to be winking and nudging him with an elbow. No wonder Skinner was always scowling at the man. He was exasperating, but so charming about it that was difficult to be annoyed. "Jim," he said automatically, grinning back in spite of himself.

"Jim." Mulder practically purred it. Blinked those long lashes, more slowly this time. Leaned in, just the barest movement. Maybe only a Sentinel would have seen it, the minute slide of muscle beneath amazingly smooth skin. Mulder's breath, scented of heavy, dark beer, teased the hairs on his upper lip.

Jim felt his body divert blood towards his groin. Not just the tingling of nerves, but the actual movement of blood in the veins. He caught his breath, shivered with an egotistical rush at having such a beautiful man flirt with him. He let his own eyes slide shut and open in imitation of Mulder's lazy, sexy blink. "And it's Fox?"

Mulder laughed. Silky sound. That deprecating smile again. "Mulder, please. Nobody calls me Fox."

"Mulder." That would be weird, wouldn't it? Moaning a guy's last name as he was rolling around in his bed. But he had to admit, moaning Fox would be even weirder.

Mulder grinned even wider, as if he knew what Jim was thinking. A chuckle escaped out of that pretty mouth. Very pretty mouth. Almost as pretty as Blair's.

Then suddenly, Skinner was practically on top of him. Scowling, again. Did the man ever ease up on those facial muscles? Blair was beside Skinner, arms almost touching, looking up at Jim, brow furrowed.

"Ready to eat?" Blair said lightly, but in his voice there was that what's up with you? tone that Jim knew so well. He'd be answering questions later on. Or ducking them.

Except...Blair would be busy later on. Blair would be doing things with a man that Jim had never imagined him doing with a man. A shiver skated down his belly as he wondered what Blair liked, as he imagined them actually getting to the point where they discussed something like that. He knew some of the things Blair liked with women. Every once in a while, over a beer or during a lull in a game, Blair was distressingly, thrillingly, explicitly clear on what he liked.

Skinner looked like the kind of guy who would pin his partner to the bed, press him down and hold him. That starched demeanor just screamed control freak. Jim couldn't decide whether it aroused him or pissed him off to think of Skinner on top of Blair. But if it pissed him off, why couldn't he shake the image? Why was his cock tingling like somebody was stroking it? Jesus, he needed to get laid. He'd just flipped through fantasies of two different men in less than two minutes. Three, if he counted having Blair talk dirty to him.

"Some of us are hungry here."

Once again, Jim jerked back to awareness to find Simon staring at him. This time the bigger man was also standing over him, over them, hands on hips. "Can we go in before we have to choose from the breakfast menu?"

Blair and Mulder laughed. Jim paused for a parting scowl at Skinner before allowing himself to be pushed out of the bar. Blair stepped up to walk near him as they entered the crowded dining room. "Doing okay?"

"Yeah, fine, Chief." And he really was fine. More than okay, because Blair had come up beside him and laid a hand on his back again. That starfish of warmth that seeped into his skin almost always worked. It was more than enough to help him remember to dial things down. To filter out what he didn't want to hear, or smell, or feel. To let in what he did want.

He put a hand on Blair's shoulder, guided him towards the table. And as he always did when they were moving together like that, when they were in sync and in step and his control was working, Blair looked at him and smiled. Whether it was something as huge as getting his hearing back under control after his ears had been cleaned, or something as inconsequential as being able to walk into a crowded room without wincing, it pleased Blair. For almost three years, Jim had been waiting for Blair's enthusiasm for the whole Sentinel thing to wane. It hadn't.

That was enough to keep him happy throughout the entire meal. Even though Blair made sure that Skinner was sitting on his other side, and the food was a little spicier than he liked. Mulder burbled on about all kinds of cases, urged on by Skinner's wry comments, but resisted being drawn back to theirs with a smirk that said he knew exactly what they were up to and he was too smart to fall for it. Jim's euphoria even lasted through Simon insisting that he just had to have a cigar and brandy after the meal and dragging them back to the bar.

It couldn't tide him over hearing Blair and Skinner making plans to slip back to his hotel room. He was okay with Blair, with knowing, with...everything. But he just couldn't shake the urge to pack Blair up and take him home. He couldn't shake that bristling, big dog reaction to having somebody he didn't trust so close to his friend. And, so, when Skinner excused himself to go to the restroom, Jim slid himself and his beer over next to Blair. "Hey, Chief..."

Blair, who had been enthralled by some fishing story Simon was telling Mulder, slid over closer to him. "Jim, you doing okay? The smoke's not too much for you?"

"Nah, I'm fine." He found himself extremely interested in whether or not the label would peel off his beer bottle, suddenly at a loss for words. Blushing as he realized he was about to verbally acknowledge Blair's interest in men. Reluctant to voice his concerns over Skinner because he knew that if he was right, it was going to hurt Blair. "You riding home with me?"

He knew it wasn't fair. It wasn't what he'd intended to say, and it put all the burden on Blair for exposing his plans, but it was the best he could do.

Hot spots bloomed on Blair's cheekbones. "Well, actually, I was... That is, we were talking about checking out a couple of other places. Catching up on the last couple of years, you know?"

Nicely fielded. Into the obfuscation zone again. And Jim understood how he'd gone so long and never realized that Blair swung both ways. He wondered if he'd shielded his preferences from Blair as well, without meaning to. Maybe Blair didn't know about him either.

"Why? Do you need me for something?"

"Nah. I just figured-" He took a deep breath. Time to drop the bullshit. "I figured you were planning on staying with Skinner tonight."

Blair's eyes widened. A muscle under his left eye twitched. "You figured?"

"I heard him ask you," Jim admitted.

Instead of getting irritated, the tension actually drained out of Blair. "Man, you have got to stop eavesdropping on me. You're starting to piss me off, okay?" But he smiled. That lovely, room-lightening Blair-smile that was so far from pissed off.

Jim couldn't help but feel lighter, too, and he smiled back. "You work me like a dog, teaching me to control my senses, then you're pissed when I use them?"

Blair punched him on the shoulder and snorted. "Good one, Jim. But you don't get off that easy. I know you're mad about the thing with the cases, but Walter has obligations to his job, just like you do to yours. If there's stuff he can't tell you, then there's a good reason. Lighten up on him, okay?"

Jim sobered. "I'm just concerned about you. I know you think you know this guy..."

"As well as I know you." Blair looked him square in the eyes, met his gaze without flinching. "And I trust him as much as I trust you."

"People change, Chief."

"So you're saying I won't always be able to trust you?"

Jim sighed. There wasn't any comeback to that. Well, fine, Blair trusted Skinner. But Jim didn't. And he couldn't warn Blair away with innuendo and gossip. He just didn't have anything to go on but one of Simon's twitchy feelings.

A few minutes later, he kept his mouth shut and his fists jammed into his pockets as he stood on the sidewalk and watched Blair and Skinner split away, saying they were going to check a bar a couple of blocks over. Even though he knew, because he'd eavesdropped again, that Skinner was going back to his room and Blair was to follow him up after a few minutes. They had made the arrangement in that intimate shorthand speech that made it seem secret assignations were an exciting everyday occurrence for them. It made Jim want to grind his teeth.

Mulder sidled up beside him, waiting until Simon said his good-byes and walked away, before speaking. "I'm in Room 314." He had his hands shoved into his pockets, too, but probably because the air had turned cold since sundown.

The words, white and frosty and scented of rich, red wine, were so neutral in tone that Jim couldn't tell they were an invitation to talk about the case or a low key pick-up line. It was so much a contrast to the easy understanding between Blair and Skinner that it annoyed him. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." Mulder ambled off down the sidewalk, turned and took a couple of crab-like sideways steps, showing off a handsome profile and a very enticing bulge in his jeans. "I'm more used to Happy Hour Motel rooms. But this one's great. Lace curtains. Big bed. Right next door to Skinner's." And then he walked away, showing off a nicely filled-out seat in his jeans.

Jim stood on the sidewalk, watching his breath make patterns in the air, until the cold began to seep up through the soles of his shoes. He watched his own internal monologue with detachment, like sitting on the sidelines of a boring tennis match, watching the balls go back and forth. Watching his words go back and forth.

Blair would really be pissed if he went so far as to check up on him. But he couldn't shake the squirrelly feeling that Skinner gave him. As long as he was standing out there, alone, just outside of the ring of cold, greenish streetlight, he could admit that part of it was that he was attracted to Skinner himself. And as long as he was admitting attraction, Mulder wasn't chopped liver himself. Jim didn't usually go for that pretty boy, runway model look. He liked bigger, stronger guys...like Skinner. A guy who could take his weight without wincing. But he'd liked the way Mulder felt, standing toe to toe with him in the bar. And his dick was pretty damn well interested in what Mulder was packing in those jeans. The ball landed out of bounds, though, when he reminded himself that Mulder was a colleague, of sorts. And a Suit. They might still wind up butting heads over this case.

Game. Set. Match. Time to go home. Alone.

But what if Mulder hadn't been coming on to him? What if Mulder was trying to warn him about something? It wouldn't hurt just to make sure everything sounded okay. Not eavesdrop exactly, but just... reconnoiter, before he headed home. So he ducked into the Westin and made his way up to the third floor. Room 314 was near the end of one hall, and Mulder was already in the shower, humming a little off-key, making a foamy mess with the soap.

Just a few feet down, and across the hall, was the alcove housing snack and drink and ice machines. Jim slipped into it to get his bearings. The room to the left of Mulder's was empty, but the one to the right, nearer the elevator, was Skinner's. He was moving around inside, handling paper and glass. Cleaning his glasses, maybe, or tearing the paper off a hotel glass.

A minute later, he heard Blair coming up in the elevator.

Jim stepped back, into the shadow of the ice machine. The flocked wallpaper caught at the threads of his shirt. Even above the grind of the elevator and the hum of the drink machine, the shifting of melting ice, he could hear the quick catch in Blair's breathing. His hurried footsteps on the thick carpet. He tapped lightly on Skinner's door, and Jim dared to peek around the corner.

Skinner opened the door. Barefoot, shirt untucked and unbuttoned. The hall light glinted on his thick, dark chest hair and the wire-rimmed glasses, cast soft shadows across the rippling muscles.

Blair said simply, "Wow."

"Get in here," Skinner growled. He caught the sleeve of Blair's shirt between forefinger and thumb and tugged.

Blair slipped inside, and the lock snicked, and then there was silence. Too much silence.

Jim closed his eyes and imagined the two of them, standing just inside the door, not touching, just staring at each other. Standing so close they were leeching each other's heat. Breathing each other's breath. Just...wanting each other. Drawing out the tension of finally being alone together, after so many years.

The lack of movement drew out his tension until he felt strung tight. Stretched to the point of breaking. Stretched to the point of feeling ridiculous and unworthy. A total ass for spying on his best friend, for feeding off his passion like some scaly parasite sucking up blood and warmth.

He took a deep, deep breath, and adjusted himself in his pants. He was so hard he could feel his pulse against his zipper. He knew it was time to leave. But he wanted to linger there, listening to them, breathing with them, until they moved. Touched. He wanted--

He stepped out into the hall, intent on getting away as quickly as possible, and a door opened. The door to the room next to Skinner's. Mulder's room. Before Jim could step back out of sight, Mulder stuck his head out and looked straight at him. As if he knew Jim was there.

Jim froze, that old deer-caught-in-the-headlights thing, and had the grace to shrug ruefully and stand his ground when Mulder grinned and raked him with his knowing gaze. He'd just been caught skulking. There was little point in adding insult to injury by slinking away. Especially when Mulder motioned him inside.

Without thinking, without giving himself time to think, Jim stepped into the room. Mulder closed the door behind him and the lock snicked into place, just like the other had behind Blair. The room was in darkness except for one tiny bit of light.

He glanced around quickly, orienting himself, noting that Mulder was right. It was a nice room. Large and airy, muted, soothing colors, high ceiling, cushiony carpet. Lace curtains over the large window, just like Mulder had said. A king-sized bed covered with a quilted, satin comforter. And in the front corner, a connecting door between Mulder's and Skinner's rooms. Opened so slightly that only a paper-thin sliver of light shone through.

Mulder leaned into him, his scent overlaid with toothpaste and soap now. "You like to watch?"

The whisper was as intoxicating as those calling to him from the next room. As exhilarating as that sliver of light, the soft sighs escaping in it. That glimmer drew Jim like a fly to honey, moth to flame. The light called to him. The whispers... Blair... Blair's voice called to him. A siren's song even stronger than the light.

Mulder's hand, hot and dry, slipped down to his wrist. Drew him towards the door. Mulder was barefoot, too. Dressed in thin cotton sweatpants and a well used, ragged t-shirt. His hair was standing up in spikes across his forehead, still damp from the shower.

Jim didn't even have to get close to the light to see through. To his eyes, that tiny sliver was like a wide open door. A window through which he felt something he'd never expected to feel. Desire. Heavy and wriggling and thick as syrup. Scaled with sharp edges.

He could see part of the dresser and large mirror, most of the king-sized bed, already stripped of its heavy comforter. And his partner in Walter Skinner's arms, kissing him. He'd never seen Blair kiss a woman the way he was kissing Skinner.

Blair's big, square hands were molded to Skinner's naked skull, holding his head in place while his mouth invaded Skinner's. Tasting him and biting him and inhaling him. Blair was stretched up, not quite on tiptoes, plastered to Skinner, body moving against his, melted against his. Skinner's two-handed grip on his ass held him in place. And that didn't seem right. It didn't seem right that anyone could kiss Blair Sandburg and not want to have his hands buried in that glorious hair.

Jim grabbed for something, anything, to keep him from pitching forward with the weight of his erection. The front of his body was so heavy, weighted down with blood and lust... He clutched at the door frame, the corner of wood smooth beneath his fingers. Mulder pushed up under his arm, just past him, a rake of shower-cooled body along his armpit and his ribs. That same coolness filled the space between Jim and the door, a pocket of cold air with Mulder at its center, not quite insulating him from the heat in the other room.

Mulder pressed his face to the opening. His intake of breath was almost silent, would have been unheard by any but Sentinel ears, but arousal poured off of him like it was leaking from his pores. "Oh, my god."

In the other room, Skinner pulled back, touched Blair's face with gentle fingertips. Rasp of fingers on beard, on the soft skin of Blair's throat, the soft cotton of his shirt. Skinner pushed the cloth off his shoulders, continued down his chest, ruffling the thick hair. "I didn't think you could get any more beautiful than you were back then. But you've...changed. You've grown up." He rested his fingertips in the groove of muscle along the backs of Blair's arms. "You're so strong."

Blair laughed, deep in his throat, delighted. Aroused. Heating the room so that his scent, that dry silk musk, washed through the crack of the door and mingled with Mulder's soapy coolness. Blair attacked Skinner's shirt with feverish intensity, and the moment it came off, mirrored Skinner's slow fingertip perusal of his body. He laid his open palms on Skinner's chest. "You haven't changed a bit. And I still like all these muscles." He drew his fingernails down Skinner's arms, back up his rippled belly.

Jim's stomach muscles quivered in sympathy, in envy. Along with him, Skinner shivered, laid his thumbs on Blair's nipples and scratched. Jim's nipples tightened, and he stifled a moan while Blair let his go, voicing his pleasure without reservation.

Mulder stepped back slightly, fitting his ass in the curve of Jim's hips. He stayed there, and Jim had to stifle another groan. Sound, sight, smell, and now touch. All he needed was taste. And all he had to do to get that was lean forward. Fasten his teeth onto the soft flesh beneath Mulder's ear. Suck until sweat and salt and blood filled his mouth.

But it wouldn't be the taste of Blair. And it shocked him to his core, to the place where his bones and nerves knotted, that it wasn't Mulder he wanted to taste. It wasn't Skinner. It was Blair. His partner. His best friend. Blair, who was making love to another man...

Blair unhooked the button on his own jeans with just two fingers, tongue caught between his teeth. He put one palm flat on Skinner's chest and shoved, and the bigger man let himself be pushed, gaze glued to the blue eyes staring up at him. One step, two, turn, and back onto the bed. Skinner reached up at the last minute, tried to drag Blair with him, but Blair resisted, staying upright long enough to shed jeans, socks, shoes, all in one piece, no longer moving with sultry slowness. Hurrying to get undressed. Then he climbed up onto the bed, onto Skinner, astride him. Naked except for the leather necklace threaded with tribal beads. Every bit as beautiful as Skinner had said he was.

Jim groaned out loud then. Not caring if anyone heard. Because maybe if Blair heard, he'd open the door, and Jim could lie down on the bed and Blair would crawl up over him. It was Blair he wanted. It was Blair's scent he was filtering out of all the others. Blair's voice that was clinging to his skin like warm, wet satin.

Skinner laid his hands on bare thighs, stroked up along Blair's belly and his ribs. Blair leaned forward into the caress, trusting Skinner to hold him up while he removed the other man's glasses. Then he leaned back, arching, stretching to set the glasses on the nightstand. Skinner stroked him, his ribs and his thighs and the soft, curling hair on his belly. He grazed his fingertips along the underside of Blair's cock. Blair braced his hands on Skinner's thighs and stayed where he was, his back bowed in a lovely arch, his thick, straight cock impudently up-thrust into the air. He reached back behind his neck to untie the knot of leather at his nape, and Skinner said roughly, "Leave it on. I like it. Makes you look more naked."

Jim squeezed down on the door frame, cold wood under his palm, when what he wanted was the soft-over-hard texture of Blair's cock, the weight of Blair's thighs. He knew the way Skinner's cock must feel, straining against his zipper to get at Blair's ass. But all he could feel were his nails digging into the paint.

Blair rolled forward, unfastened Skinner's trousers, kissed his way down the expanse of heaving chest before him. And finally, finally, Skinner touched his hair. Gathered it up and let it spill back down onto his torso, fanning it out so that the tendrils played across his skin. The curls caught and dragged on the hair on Skinner's chest. Tremors rippled across his muscles.

Skinner jerked as his cock leapt free and was recaptured, this time by a hungry mouth. Mulder jerked as Skinner did, almost butting Jim in the face, but he barely noticed it. Barely felt the movement near his jaw. Barely heard Skinner moan, "God, Blair, you're just too damn good at that."

Numbness tingled, teased at the edges of Jim's awareness. Rippling as it tightened down. Smell and touch and sound, all being sucked up as blackness slowly moved in on him. The desire to taste slipped away before he'd even had the chance to indulge it. All he had left was sight. The sight of Blair...

Naked. Not naked like he'd seen him before, just stepping out of the shower, or shedding his work clothes for sweats. Erect and purring with arousal. Little silver beads flashing amongst the glass ones at his throat. Sweating and licking and humming. His wet, pink tongue inscribing circles and patterns on a big, pulsing cock. Back arched and legs spread so that Jim could see his cock and the swirling pattern of glossy hair behind his balls.

Blair pushed Skinner until he was all the way up on the bed, and his legs were spread wide. Knees coming up. Letting Blair see him the way Jim was seeing Blair, and the sight of Skinner like that, open and vulnerable and giving another man control over him, made Jim tremble with want and fear. He couldn't really even focus on the man. Everything but sight was fading. Going fuzzy and dull. He was zoning. Zoning on Blair, but without Blair there to drag him back. Without the steady security of Blair there to help him open his other senses back up.

Skinner grabbed handfuls of Blair's hair, dragged him back up his body. Twisted and rolled Blair onto his back. Blair hooked his foot in Skinner's trousers and yanked them the rest of the way down, around his ankles. Blair arched up, groaning, welcoming the weight of the bigger body, and Jim reached past Mulder and pulled the door closed.

His fingers were so numb he couldn't feel the doorknob beneath his fingers, or hear the snick as the door caught. He only knew he'd succeeded because the light went away, because he went blind. For a moment, he was cocooned in nothing. He couldn't feel the clothes on his skin, or the air on his face, or smell the man who must surely be standing only inches from him. He couldn't hear, not even the roaring of his own blood. He was sure he must still be hard, throbbing, but his balls were numb.

A panicked scream coiled in his belly. No sound, just a fluttering, bashing wildness, and he noted dispassionately, So that's what a scream feels like. Building. Swelling. Battering its way up his chest and into his throat. Catalogued by some internal sense that he couldn't name. How long had he been there? Surely Mulder wouldn't go off and leave him there, wrapped in nothingness.

Then everything, sight and sound and smell and truth, slammed back into him at once. All of it roaring back because of a breathy whisper that cut through the fog. Blair's voice. A throaty, panted whisper. //Suck me. Oh, yeah, just like that.//

Mulder was there, right in front of him, fingers digging into his arm. Voice annoyed. "Why in hell did you do that?" They were in the dark, but his eyes were compensating. Senses dialing up so he could see Mulder, feel him heating up. His cock smelled hard as that scrubbed clean shower scent evaporated off his skin.

And he could hear again. Really hear. His own breath, roaring in and out of his lungs. Blair. Moaning. His body moving on the bed and his voice, raspy with pleasure and laughter. //God, Walter, you're just too damn good at that.//

Jim's body flared back to life, trembling and sweaty and prickling like something electric was crawling on him. Mulder's hot fingerprints through his shirtsleeve. The rough wallpaper against his shoulders. His cock, trapped hard against the seam of his jeans. Rubbing against the threads of his boxers. Demanding to be set free. To be touched. Demanding... Blair. His mouth and his clinging hair and his musky perfume.

Jim let his legs fold out from under him. Slid down the wall until his ass connected with the floor. He sat there, slumped. The only muscle in his body that hadn't melted was between his legs. That one was taking up the slack with a vengeance. He wanted to come so badly it took all his concentration to keep from rubbing himself off right there, to keep from just letting go and coming in his shorts.

Mulder's hand stayed with him until he was sitting, then slipped away. Fumbling through the darkness, Mulder found a small lamp on the bedside table and turned it on.

Jim closed his eyes against the flare of light, and by the time he'd dialed it down, Mulder was back, kneeling before him. Smiling that voracious, knowing smile. Staring into him. "You didn't know, did you?"

Jim swiped his arm across his forehead, his lip, wiping away a fine sheen of sweat. The damned turtleneck shirt was choking him, pressing on his throat, and he stretched it away from his neck. "Know what?"

Mulder leaned forward, so close that fine strands of his hair tickled Jim's jaw. And he blew a soft stream of air down Jim's collar. Mulder's breath was warm, but still cooler than the sweaty, humid air trapped inside his shirt. It swirled around his exposed neck, circled his adam's apple, swirling like a vortex.

Jim jerked. His cock throbbed, pulsed; one quick burst that was so close to orgasm, he groaned. Prickles of pleasure stabbed along his spine, squeezed his balls.

"You didn't know that you wanted him."

The words made different patterns than the deliberate breaths, not swirling as much. They turned lazily across his throat and climbed up under his ear. Annoyance flitted through the shivers coursing over his skin, slowed the throb of pleasure threatening to undo him. Two could play that exposing-a-nerve crap. "Did you know that you wanted Skinner?" he snapped.

"Since the first time I saw him." Mulder drew back, blushing.

Blushing! Like a schoolboy. They had just stood in a doorway and spied on his boss. Mulder's heartbeat had chewed like a jackhammer. And like a wanton alley cat, he'd rubbed his ass against Jim's dick. And right now, he was kneeling with his knees spread wide, every curve and pulse of his erection visible through the thin cotton sweatpants. Yet he was blushing like a schoolboy. It was either the most charming or the most annoying thing Jim had ever seen. He didn't know whether to kiss Mulder or punch him.

"They sent him in to clean me up, to straighten me out. Assigned me to him although no other department has to report directly to an AD. I was so pissed off, so cocky. I was planning to chew him up and spit out the remains. I thought I was so smart, I would just...handle him. And he stood up from behind his desk, and it was like he swallowed up the whole room. I was so hard I couldn't even stand up. I would have stripped and crawled across the floor naked if he'd asked me to. I would have gone down on my knees and done anything he wanted. But he's never asked. Until I saw him with your partner yesterday, I didn't even think there was a possibility."

The man was a walking, talking, breathing contradiction. Jim shook his head. He was sitting in a stranger's hotel room, angry and jealous, arousal boiling as hot as iron in a furnace. So hard he hurt. Wanting to be where Skinner was so badly he hurt. And all the blushing, smiling Mulder saw was a possibility. What might be. He was an endearing, annoying, sexy contradiction.

Very sexy. Kneeling there, palms on his legs, thighs spread wide. Making no effort to hide himself. Scenting the air with his arousal.

Jim's nostrils flared as he breathed it in. Sweat and salt and precome and lube. Lube and quickened breaths and a huskily whispered, //You want to go first?//

He was so abruptly yanked back into the room with Blair and Skinner, he didn't even have time to cover it. No time to hide as he arched and the back of his head thumped the wall and his cock jumped and his mind supplied images to match the sounds.

Blair moaned as he was penetrated. Writhed and bucked back, slick sound of skin sliding on skin, and gasped, //Do it with two fingers. Now! God, I want more now!//

Skinner grumbled, //Don't be so bossy,// but there was laughter in his voice.

//I'll show you bossy.// Blair twisted and pounced.

The mattress and Skinner's lungs protested. Dry skin sliding on skin as they struggled against each other. Breath huffing out and groans huffing out. Then that strong scent of lube again and slick skin on skin and stillness as Skinner hissed, //Easy! God...//

Blair murmured to him, soothing him and kissing him. //You're so tight. Did I hurt you?//

//No. No. Just...slower. It's been a while.//

Jim couldn't stop the moan that seeped out. The soft, "God..." It was weird, disconcerting, to be blind to the other room, and yet to be seeing all of it. Playing out in slow motion on the backs of his eyelids. To have his mind piggybacking on the sounds and smells and supplying images. It was maddening. Arousing. Jim blinked. Blinked again.

Mulder was right in his face. So close he was breathing the stream of Jim's air. His eyes glittered like his brain was on fire behind them. "You can hear them, can't you?"

Jim jerked. Opened his mouth to deny. Denial was easy. Nobody would ever believe anyway, even if he told them. Nobody would believe.

Skinner whispered, //Let me...//

And Blair shifted. Shifted again. Moaned. //Oh, god, yes. Two. Fuck me. Fuck me!//

Jim shuddered. His muscles contracted as if it was he who was being penetrated and stretched.

Nobody would believe. Except Mulder. Bright, quirky, eerie Mulder. Bits and pieces of the things Mulder had been telling Simon floated into his consciousness, the rumors his friend in DC had heard. Mulder chased UFOs and monsters who lived in the sewer and serial killers who had lived for hundreds of years. Mulder would believe. Mulder wanted to believe.

Mulder shifted back from him, giving him room to breathe. Resting his butt on his heels. Knees still spread wide, like what he was carrying between his legs was demanding space to grow. He moved his long, elegant fingers, slowly, so slowly, across the bulge in his gray sweatpants and stroked himself in time to his words, as if the idea turned him on as much as the touch. "You can hear them," he said breathlessly, with utter conviction. "I know it. I saw it. In the bar, you were listening to what they were saying. And at the station. You heard me tell Skinner about the murders. From across the room. And now you're listening to them." Mulder scrabbled at his waist, lifting the edge of his ragged t-shirt, shoved his hand down into his pants. Stroking bare flesh. He gasped.

And Blair gasped. Whispered, //Suck me. Oh, yeah, harder. Want three fingers now.//

Background music to the wet, velvet slide of Mulder's palm across his own cock. Mulder shoved his pants down, past his hips, to mid-thigh, exposing a cock that matched his long, elegant fingers, set in dark hair so soft, so fine it had no curl.

A rush of heated, Mulder-scented air washed around Jim's face, stronger than the scents from the other room. Wrapping him in sex-scent. In steamy skin-scent. Wrapping him in Mulder as Mulder leaned forward and licked along the line of his jaw. Rasp of tongue across his beard. Another shot of hot breath along his neck. Mulder sucking at his neck.

Rasp of Blair's voice, heavy with passion. //I'm ready. I want you so much.//

Jim moaned and let his head drop back, exposing his throat. He let his knees drop, giving Mulder his body. Those strong, hot hands covered his cock and squeezed. Teeth grazed his adam's apple.

"Tell me," Mulder whispered against his jugular. "Tell me what they're doing."

Jim gasped. His conscience tried to muffle the thought and failed. It zinged straight into his cock. He pushed up into Mulder's hand, hard.

Mulder bit down on his earlobe. He yanked Jim's jeans open and wrapped a hand around his erection. "Yeah, you like that. It turns you on, doesn't it?" Mulder shoved the other hand up under his shirt and pinched Jim's nipple.

//Come on, fuck me. If you can,// Blair taunted. He slithered along the bed, laughing darkly.

Skinner growled with wordless frustration and dragged him back. Tried to hold him to stillness while Blair wriggled and struggled against him, moaning and groaning and laughing. Pausing to gasp out in pleasure, then wriggling across the sheets again. He grappled with the bigger man, and his laughter, his hoarse, delighted laughter, never stopped. //You bastard. Just wait until-- oh, god, your mouth is so hot.//" More gasps and lube being squirted onto skin. Flesh sliding on wet flesh. "Just wait until I get you on your knees...oh, god..."

Skinner growled again, words Jim could understand this time, even though they were muffled around a mouthful of flesh. //That's what I'm counting on.//

Jim shivered. "Skinner's sucking him," he gasped, thrusting up into the tight fist. And finger fucking him. But he couldn't quite bring himself to say that. To tell Mulder that, and he didn't know why. Didn't know why one sex act seemed a thrill to speak out loud, while one was... Was... What he wanted so badly he was afraid to say it. Blair inside of him. Blair...making him ready with his fingers... Stretching him...

Mulder grabbed his shoulders. Yanked with such strength and intent that Jim pitched forward onto him. His erection caught on Mulder's, scrubbed back and forth in the silky pubic hair.

They wrestled across the floor, shedding clothing. Thrusting against each other. Mulder smelled like soap and sweat and tasted of salt and sunflower seeds. And he moaned the way Blair was moaning. He wriggled out from under Jim and pushed Jim's head toward his belly. "Suck me. Suck me the way Skinner's sucking him."

The tip of Mulder's cock slid across his mouth, leaving a line of slick, salty precome. It woke him to the smell of Blair's, of Skinner's, of his own. He licked at the tip, let the length slide along the roof of his mouth.

Mulder hissed and thrust up. He arched again when Jim slid a slickened finger back past his balls, searching. Raised up on his elbows and pierced Jim with his gaze. "Is that what they're doing?" He pulled his knees back and out, opening himself to Jim. Rolling his head from side to side, his muscles twitched like he was being shocked. "Do it. Do it. Whatever Skinner's doing to him."

Jim let the cock pop out of his mouth and stared across the naked, heaving torso into eyes gone green with desire.

//Turn over,// Skinner breathed. //Turn over, baby. Let me fuck you.// The bed creaked, and hands moved over skin. Hoarse words, breathed over skin. //God, you are so beautiful.// A foil packet crinkled. Ripped. And Blair rocked against rumpled sheets.

Jim licked his lips, mouth tingling with the salty sweet taste of cock, frozen by a strange inertia. He wanted to do it. Wanted Mulder. Wanted Blair. Wanted to test Skinner's heavy muscles against his own. To feel the weight and strength of the other man pressing him down, the thickness pressing into him. But this...

"Whatever he's doing to Blair... I want you. I want them." Mulder fell back, releasing his gaze. Lay there, quivering, waiting for Jim to make the decision.

After a moment, he nudged his finger up against Mulder, stroked the tight swirl of his asshole. Mulder sighed, rocked with the movement. Pushed against him, and his finger slid in, clenched and swallowed by strong, hungry muscles. Mulder muttered a strange, strangled sound of approval, arched his back and rocked. The same way Blair was rocking back on Skinner's cock. Burbling his approval and tossing his head so that his hair whipped across his shoulders.

Skinner buried his face in the thick curls, muffled his whispers. //Okay? Are you okay?// At Blair's murmured assent, he pushed forward until flesh slapped on flesh.

"Get on the bed," Jim rasped. "Let me fuck you."

Mulder's head snapped up, a question in his eyes, and Jim nodded.

Mulder flipped over and pushed up. For a moment, he stayed there, knees braced wide on the rough carpet, grinning back over his shoulder at Jim. Then he crawled the couple of steps to the edge of the bed, crawled up over the edge. Hips swaying sexily, beckoning with that lush mouth and his animal eyes and his pale, flawless ass. He kept crawling, aiming across the bed for the leather kit on the nightstand.

Blair and Skinner rocked in slow rhythm. Jim could hear their knees moving on the bed, the sheet shifting against the mattress. The slow, slick slide of cock. The light contact of thigh against ass. Could smell latex and lube and sweat.

//I've missed this,// Skinner murmured. "I've missed you.//

Jim followed Mulder up onto the bed, growling as he pinned the lithe body beneath him.

Mulder snagged his overnight bag and held on Jim dragged him back into the center of the bed and up onto his knees. He fumbled in the kit, finally upending it and spilling the contents across the bed. Soap and shampoo and toothpaste. Hairbrush and toothbrush and dental floss. Little square foil packets. And a huge bottle of lube. He shoved the packets and bottle towards Jim, the rest of the stuff over the edge of the bed. It thumped and pattered onto the floor, rolling on the carpet as Jim fumbled with the lube, then with Mulder.

He pushed back onto Jim's slicked fingers, groaning loudly. "I'm ready. Come on, I'm ready." Mulder took him much more easily than Blair had taken Skinner. He opened up and rocked back, urging Jim to hurry. To fuck him the way Skinner was fucking Blair. When Jim slid into him, groaning at the warmth, the tightness, Mulder hissed, "Make me come. Make me come when Skinner makes him come."

Jim tried to hold back, to go slow, but the sounds, the words, the tandem pulse of Mulder's ass and his cock was too intense. He lunged into Mulder, harder and faster than Skinner was taking Blair. Mulder keened his delight, and the contact of their bodies echoed through the room. Pleasure bloomed, sparkled, wild and hot, until it was a bright, burning thing threatening to swallow him up. Burn him out.

//Oh, shit, don't stop!//

The cessation of sound from the other room slowed him. Damped the fire. He hesitated in midstroke, thighs trembling with the strain. Body dancing on the edge of orgasm.

//Don't stop. I'm so close.// Skinner silenced Blair's protests with a kiss so ferocious it stopped Blair's breathing. So passionate it only ended when they had to break apart, gasping for air.

//My turn,// Skinner whispered into Blair's mouth. //I want to come with you in me.//

Jim held his breath as Blair sucked his in. A thrill shot through him as his imagination painted the picture. Blair over him, pushing into him. Stretching him. Filling him. Into him. Blair inside of him.

Blair's breath started up again, ragged and strained. //No fair,// he whispered back. //That's why you went first. You tricked me.//

Skinner laughed, low and sinister. //Age,// he said. //Age and experience always win out over youth and enthusiasm.// Foil ripped and Blair whimpered as the condom was rolled down onto him, and Skinner's was snapped off.

"Don't stop," Mulder moaned.

But Jim couldn't move. He could barely breathe, as he listened to Blair push Skinner around, shove him down onto the bed. He couldn't believe Skinner was allowing it. Going down on his stomach and spreading his legs wide. He didn't seem the type. Didn't seem like he could give up control that easily. But he was. He had his fists twisted into the sheets so tightly Jim could hear the threads popping. His knees dug into the mattress. His face was muffled in the crook of his arm as he begged, //Please, baby, do it. Don't tease me. Just take me.//

"Did they stop?" Mulder rolled his hips in a wide circle. Bucked back insistently. "Shit, I don't care. Don't you stop."

Jim cared. But he didn't want to stop. Didn't want to chance losing the images playing out inside his head. Didn't want to give up the hot vise of Mulder's body. Pleasure blinked along his nerves like lights on a string.

Skinner moaned loudly, voluptuously. Mixed pain and pleasure.

Blair's fingers dug into his skin. Held him still as he leaned down and they murmured to each other. //God, Walter, you're so tight.//

//Been a long time,// Skinner grunted. //Just don't stop. I want it. All of it. All of you.//

Jim grabbed for the lube again. Held the bottle in one hand and squeezed, forcing the thick liquid onto his fingers. Reached back and stroked himself. Letting Mulder's demanding rhythm carry his rough fingertips through the crease of his own ass. Across his hole again and again.

Until Skinner cried out in surrender and triumph. And then he shoved his own fingers into his body. Took himself the way Blair was taking Skinner. The pleasure was sharper than the pain, rounder. It rolled like a wave, across his hips, up his back, snuffing out the individual pinpricks of sensation, replacing them with a huge, enveloping throb.

Mulder jerked beneath him as he lunged forward. Rode back with him as he rocked back onto his own fingers. "Yeah, that's it. Do it just like that. Again. Again. Is this what they're doing? Hard like this? Do it again!"

Pleasure and guilt rushed him, for what he wanted and what he couldn't have and what he couldn't give. For wanting one man while he used, enjoyed, another. He tried to shut out the sounds from the other room. Concentrated on the man beneath him, on thrusting lazily in and out of him and stroking the lean, muscled back. On taking his time and making him moan. He rested his palm in the small of Mulder's back and felt his spine moving. Writhing. Despite the strain on his thighs, he leaned down to stroke Mulder's long cock. But not even that could shut Blair out.

//Faster,// Skinner demanded. //Harder. I'm close. I can take it.//

Blair laughed knowingly. //I know you can.// He held the bigger man still and moved against him so slowly, with such power, that the bed protested. //You like this best, don't you? You always did. You on your knees with your face in the mattress and your ass in the air. Begging me to fuck you. You think I don't know it makes you hard just to think about me taking you like this?// Every word was punctuated with a thrust. A withdrawal. With a swipe of tongue across sweaty flesh. With an increasing pace. And Skinner groaning his agreement with every thrust. His pleasure.

Skinner buried his face in the handful of sheet to muffle the sounds, but Jim moaned for him. Let the rhythm of the two other bodies guide his. Let his senses take in all they could. Glutted himself on sound and scent and touch until he could no longer tell who was touching whom. Who was in whose bed. Until his own fingers in his ass became Blair, plunging in and out of him. Until it was Skinner underneath him, shoving greedily back onto his cock. Until Mulder's cries were his own. And their pleasure was his. Their nerves firing under his skin. And through it all, Blair's voice. Fucking him. Taking him. Pushing him to orgasm.

He went down on both hands, giving the delicious fullness in his ass, gaining the heat of Mulder's back against his belly. But he could move. Hard and fast, the way Blair was.

Skinner came first with a guttural cry of release that was nothing like what Jim would have thought the man would utter. Followed it with a roar of pleasure that was everything he'd thought would come from that velvet voice. Somebody's hand was stroking Skinner's cock. Semen pulsed out over it, and he thought it was his, but then the cock in his fist jumped, and it was Mulder's, not Skinner's. The pulse of Mulder's cock, the scent of Mulder's come, the song of his pleasure and the tight clench, release, clench of Mulder's ass dragged him over the edge.

He tried to clamp down on his muscles, will his orgasm back. He wanted to come with Blair. But he couldn't wait. The spark of it fired, low in his belly, liquid ecstasy. Built, swelled, like a wave rolling in. Rising up and cresting, and he caught it. Surfed it. Let the wash of pleasure take him, let it break over him and turn him upside down. Then Blair's voice joined his, rough and sweet and strong. Mulder and Skinner groaned in unison, in appreciation.

Jim slumped down over Mulder, letting the smaller man take his weight, holding him up as he tried to gasp air back into his overworked lungs. Finally, laughing and gasping himself, Mulder just collapsed to the bed, taking the dead weight on his back down with him. Jim's softened cock slipped free, and Mulder's expressive voice keened his disappointment. Then he twitched, pushing up on one side and rolling Jim off him.

Jim slid away quickly, thinking he'd hurt him by collapsing on him, boneless and weak.

Mulder made a disgusted sound and swiped at his stomach. "Fell in the wet spot."

Jim sat up slowly, gaze caught by the man who sprawled further over into the space he'd just vacated. He'd thought Mulder in a business suit was sultry, and Mulder with his eyes glowing green with lust was intoxicating, and Mulder, naked, on his hands and knees, was irresistible. None of those compared to Mulder, sated and boneless and vulnerable, grinning up at him as he swiped at the glistening semen on his belly.

He ran his thumb softly over Mulder's full bottom lip. "I'll get a towel," he said gruffly.

"Okay." Mulder rolled completely over onto his back and let his arms flop down. Lazy. Content to lie there and let Jim clean him up. He had one of those cocks that didn't retract much when it was soft. It lay, long and enticing, against his thigh. Sticky and shiny with semen.

Jim couldn't resist stroking it, testing the spongy softness, remembering the salty, hot taste of Mulder in his mouth.

Mulder hummed his approval and spread his legs a little wider. "That was great."

Suddenly, he couldn't look at Mulder. Couldn't meet the smiling gaze. The enormity of what he'd done slammed into him. He'd just had sex with a colleague while eavesdropping on his best friend. While wanting his best friend. He pulled away and went into the bathroom. He disposed of the used condom and washed away the evidence of his transgression, avoiding his own reflection in the mirror. He couldn't face himself. And he wasn't sure how he was going to face Blair either.

Blair and Skinner were just on the other side of the wall from him, just a few feet away. In bathroom together, arguing good-naturedly over which man was going to pee first. Running water on cloths. Cloth scrubbing over skin, the crinkle of body hair against soft, wet terrycloth. A different sound than his own smooth, almost hairless clean-up.

As he lifted the toilet seat, one of them urinated into the bowl. It made his bladder ache, like listening to water running when he'd had too much to drink.

//Hey! I was supposed to go first.// Blair jostled Skinner, who sucked in a breath and managed to stop the flow of urine.

//You'll make a mess.// Skinner growled at him.

Blair laughed, //I thought you liked it messy,'' and he did whatever it was he was doing again. //Then move over.//

Jim urinated, sighing with pleasure. As he rinsed his cloth, wet another for Mulder, he realized with a shock that Skinner had done exactly what Blair said. He'd stepped over. They were urinating at the same time. Standing side by side, skin touching skin. Kissing, hands stroking over skin. Two streams pattering into the bowl together.

Jim's head jerked up. He met his own gaze in the mirror. His face was still flushed with orgasm, but now it flushed hotter. It was so...intimate. More intimate than the kissing and the fucking and the knowing so much about each other. Decadent and erotic, and it shouldn't be, should it? Jealousy clutched at him with red spiked claws. He'd never had a relationship like that with a man. He'd never had one like that with a woman. He'd never wanted one like that with anyone. It was just too...familiar. Too naked.

They left the bathroom together, still touching. Crawled back into the bed together and snuggled in, rearranging sheets and limbs until they were settled. Blair lay his head on Skinner's chest, muffling the beat of the other man's heart, scrubbing his evening beard against chest hair.

Moving on automatic, Jim went back into the bedroom. Mulder was nearly asleep. He barely registered the damp cloth being swiped over him. Didn't even protest when Jim wrestled the comforter, blanket and sheet from under him and wrapped them over him.

Jim sorted his clothes from the bits and pieces of Mulder's that were strewn from the connecting door almost to the bed. His boxers had to be there, somewhere--he could remember Mulder's hands cupping his ass as he pushed them off--but he couldn't find them.

Around a mouthful of pillow, Mulder mumbled, "You don't have to go. You're welcome to stay." He rolled up out of the covers and smiled. "I'd like you to stay."

Jim paused, khakis held open in his hands, ready to be stepped into. He wouldn't have hesitated to fuck and run if it had been some stranger who'd picked him up in a bar. But he had to see this stranger again, maybe face him over a conference table, because even if Simon was willing to let the cases go, he wasn't. It wouldn't necessarily make it any easier to face Mulder over a case file if he spent the night in his bed, but--

Then Skinner said softly, //Come back to DC with me.//

And Jim knew that nothing would make him budge from the room. Nothing would make him stop listening.

//What?// There was the glide of bodies moving. Sheets slithering and the subtle pop of neck joints and the silken hiss of hair on skin.

Jim could see it in his head. Blair, slumped bonelessly over Skinner, his hair spread out over a broad, sweaty shoulder. Then the question breaking the silence, and Blair raising up, peering into the other man's eyes. What would it be like, to be the one lying there, warmed by a naked Blair, staring into those glistening blue eyes?

Mulder looked up at him, blinked sleepily. He lifted up the edge of the covers and held them open to him. Inviting him back in.

After a moment, Jim dropped his pants over the back of a chair and slid into the warm pocket Mulder had made in the bed. Mulder snuggled up against him, fitting his legs alongside Jim's and his head into the hollow of Jim's shoulder.

//Come back to DC with me. Stay with me.//

Mulder nuzzled his collarbone. "You're listening again. What are they doing?"

Jim wanted to clap his hand over Mulder's mouth to make sure he didn't miss the answer. Mulder nudged him with his chin, and he said, hurriedly, "No. I was just thinking I should go home."

"You don't have to go. There's no reason--" Mulder stiffened suddenly and jerked his head up from Jim's shoulder. "You're not married, are you?"

Jim shook his head, and Mulder settled back down, wrapping an arm across his belly. "Good."

//Walter...// Blair breathed it. Like it was a benediction, a prayer offered up to the sky.

Jim sucked in air, trying to be quiet and not alert Mulder. Trying to ease the tightness across his chest that paralleled the arm lying over his stomach. The muscles in his gut cramped until he thought they would shatter if he tried to push one more breath down against them.

//It would work, Blair. You could finish your doctorate there. And I-- It would be so good to come home to you every night.//

The bed squeaked and skin slid on skin and they kissed, long and slow. Blair's hands ran over skin, ruffled chest hair. Across and down and down.

Skinner sighed as he was fondled, stroked.

//Yes,// Blair said finally. //It would be good. We were always good together. The best. But you know I can't leave Jim.//

The band that, just seconds before, had been lying like lead, like granite, across his chest, shattered into bits. Mulder moved against him, stroking across his skin as if he was brushing away the dusty remnants.

//I figured something like that, even if you did say you weren't together.//

//We're not together. Not...like that. But I can't leave him. It's...complicated.// Blair pulled Skinner up to him for a kiss, to whisper in his ear. //Besides, be fair. You know who you really want to come home to every night. I'd just be a substitute.//

//Christ.// There was the sound of springs creaking, as if a big body had flopped back down onto the bed. The kind of crunch/crinkle of fingers being worked against eyelids. //I'm not sure I like this grown-up you. Didn't I used to be better at fooling you?//

Blair laughed. //No. Never.//

There was a long silence during which Jim lay perfectly still, staring at the ceiling. Listening to them have sex, he could excuse as being caught up in the moment. Thinking with his dick. And listening to them pee...well, that was weird and kinky and exciting in a decadent sort of way. But this...there was no excusing it. None. He was guilty of the kind of invasion he would never tolerate from Blair. And he would just have to live with it, because there was no way he could tune them out.

//I'd have to be blind not to see it, Walter. You can't take your eyes off him. And he wants you, too. Everything he says, everything he does, it's like he's holding his breath, waiting to see if it'll get a reaction out of you. And you stiffen that jaw up like somebody shot you up with starch. What's up with you, man?//

Skinner sighed. Deeply, with as much regret and maybe even more sorrow than when Blair had asked about his marriage. //Like you said, it's complicated. Mulder's... Mulder's beautiful and brilliant and one of the most courageous men I've ever known. There's nothing, nothing, he's afraid to look at. He's made me define heroism in a whole new way.//

The last piece of the puzzle fell into place. The shadowy things his contact couldn't understand about Skinner, the way he seemed to champion the man he'd been told to control. The way Skinner handled Mulder, with stern control and infinite patience. And the way Skinner had glared at Jim when Mulder was flirting with him in the bar. Some detective he was!

He looked down at the man who was almost asleep, drooling on his shoulder. Jim reached up and stroked Mulder's hair. It really was as silky and as soft as it looked. Just like the downy hair cushioning his cock.

//He's beautiful and brilliant. And he'd be all over you if you quirked one finger. That's very complicated, Walter.//

Mulder hummed his approval of the fingers stroking through his hair and shifted, lifting up his mouth to be kissed. Jim barely hesitated before accepting the invitation. Mulder's mouth was as soft, as lush, as it looked. Not exactly sweet and fresh, but earthy and salty and different. Oddly exotic, like there was something there, under his skin, other than water and salt and copper.

Mulder sighed happily and licked at Jim's lips, meeting the slow thrusting of his tongue.

Skinner sighed unhappily. //Because he's also made me redefine foolhardy. In addition to brave and strong and brilliant, he's strange. Strange and--christ, so fucked up. I never know what he's going to do next. Sometimes I'm not even sure he's sane. Sometimes, I think that the part of all this he likes the most, the part that makes his dick hard, is knowing that I don't know.//

Blair laughed. //God, Walter, you've gotten so staid. Like all you want to do is sit home in your rocking chair and knit. I thought you liked excitement. I though you liked taking chances.//

Jim couldn't help but steal another kiss. Skinner was right. There'd never be a dull moment with Mulder around, and Skinner didn't even know the half of it. Hadn't even guessed at the possibilities. Yet. But now that Mulder had seen the possibilities... Jim grinned.

Skinner snorted. //There's taking chances, and then there's suicide. Jumping without a parachute's exciting, but you only get to do it once.//

//You're just scared,// Blair said gently, soothing Skinner with his hands and his voice.

//To death,// Skinner admitted ruefully. //It's not just that he's a complete fucking flake.// He sighed. //I guess I actually kind of like that part. But complicated is too simple a word for what could happen if we were caught. The situation with work... I can't explain it, Blair. There are things I can't tell you. But if Mulder and I were together, if anyone found out...//

//And when has that ever been any different? Do you know how many movies I missed because we couldn't go out? People still make references to things and then look at me like I'm crazy when I don't get it, because it's from some movie that everybody else saw twenty times. And we drove an hour each way every day. And kept the blinds drawn. And never bought rubbers in the same store twice in a row. And--//

//This is different. I can't explain it, but Mulder and me getting caught... It would be worse. Much worse. It would-- Just take my word for it, okay?// Skinner's voice had gone stern and gruff, the way he had been during the conference.

It was the first time Jim had heard him rebuff Blair that way. The first time he'd heard him raise that abrupt exterior to Blair.

//So I shouldn't ask?// Blair said quietly.

//Not about this. I don't want you to know more.//

//Like you don't want us to know more about these cases you're working on?//

Jim could hear Skinner's jaw working, teeth grinding. //Yes. Exactly like that. I don't want you involved. And if you care about Jim, then you don't want him involved either.//

There were sounds of skin and sheets and hair again, and Jim knew Blair had settled back down on Skinner. His arm ached with wanting to feel that weight, with wanting to know the warm scratch of Blair's cheek, pressed just above his armpit, the tickle of hair falling against his throat. He touched Mulder's face softly, regretfully. Ashamed to be holding one man and wishing for another.

Blair changed the subject. Easily. Willingly. As if he understood all the things Skinner wasn't saying. Jim would have been shaking the man, demanding to know what he knew, but Blair just let it go. His voice moved easily from serious to tender teasing. //So let me get this straight. You're willing to risk the dangers of a same sex relationship for me, but not for the man you really love?//

Skinner sighed again, a drawn out sound of much exasperation. //Have I mentioned I'm not sure I like this logical, grown-up you?//

There was so much affection in the man's voice, it made Jim hurt. Skinner knew Blair so well. And Blair knew him. Accepted him for who he was the same way he'd accepted Jim. Another pang of jealousy bit at him.

//It wouldn't be any safer with you that way. But it would only be my reputation and my job I'd be risking, and if I lost it, then...I'd move on. But Mulder's... Mulder needs to be where he is. I don't think he'd make it through if somebody pulled that out from under him right now. But I think if anyone threatened to out you, you'd just laugh in his face, go to the nearest window and shout, I'm queer, and I just butt-fucked an Assistant Director of the FBI.//

Blair chortled. //I'm bi. And I'd never say butt-fucked. That's so crude.//

Skinner laughed, too. //This from the man who was just crawled across my bed, squealing fuck me in the ass?//

//Squealing! I do not squeal.// There was the sound of another pounce. Skinner grunted and tried to defend himself, then gasped as he obviously couldn't. Choked laughter and protests rang as they grappled, then a sigh of pleasure as Blair was pinned to stillness, kissed to breathlessness.

In the long silence that ensued, Jim strained, hating his curiosity and the absolute need to know what Blair was doing. It was like walking into the middle of a horrible crime scene, hating to look, having to look. Knowing that he was cheating, but willing to do whatever was necessary to know.

But they didn't appear to be doing anything but lying together. Soft breathing, gentle stroking of a hand on somebody's back. Or maybe a hip. Strong, square fingers stroking the square, masculine curve of hip.

Skinner said, //And I really love you.//

Blair rewarded him with a gentle, prolonged kiss. //I really love you, too. But it's not the same, and you know what I mean. What the hell happened to your balls, man? The Walter Skinner I knew, he would have risked anything for a chance with somebody he cared about. He did risk everything for that.//

//Yeah,// Skinner said bitterly. //And look where it got me. Seventeen years wasted on my big chance, and all I've got to show for it is divorce papers and an empty apartment to come home to.// There was a long indrawn breath, a long silence. //I think... I got older, Blair. And disenchanted. And...you're right...afraid to take chances. I hate to disappoint you, but I don't think I'm ever going to hear the mermaid's singing.//

Blair laughed, delighted. //Teach me to hear mermaid's singing. Oh, man, I can't believe you remember that.//

//Of course I remember it. When I'm sitting in my rocking chair, in the dark, reminiscing about old times, I think about it. You know how us old geezers like to dream about the good old days.//

//Oh, yeah," Blair snorted. "Old. Ancient. Do you take your teeth out and soak them in a jar now?//

More tussling and tickling and punching of pillows. But then Skinner subdued Blair again and pulled him into his arms. //It really was a good time, Blair. I came with Mulder on this trip...well, I came because with Scully staying with her family, I need to keep an eye on him, but I was hoping I'd see you. Sometimes when things get so crazy, I think about us. I think about coming home and you'd be sitting in front of the fireplace with papers strewn across half the room, and I'd sit there with a glass of wine and listen to your voice...//

//I still read things aloud to memorize them,// Blair admitted. //And it always makes me think of you helping me with that damned lit class. Making me read all that crappy poetry aloud so I'd remember it.//

//Sometimes, it seems like the closest I've been to normal in my whole life. Sometimes, I think I'll never have that kind of normal again.//

//I think you're the only person in my whole life who ever thought of life with me as normal.// Blair's words were teasing, but his indrawn breath was ragged, like something was caught in his throat.

For a moment, Jim felt the sadness, too. He felt sympathy for Skinner, a kinship that was painful in its recognition. He had that normalcy with Blair, and he'd never appreciated it before now. Had never acknowledged how much it meant.

The strong hug in which Skinner held Blair was returned, then Blair sat up and wrestled with the bedclothes, straightening them out. Settled back down, dragging the blanket with him.

Jim knew he really should get up. Go home and sleep in his own bed. Stop torturing himself with the sounds of Blair settling to sleep in another man's arms. But he was tired. And Mulder was so warm. Breathing heavily against his nipple. And he was starting to drift pleasantly. To reach that place where the walls blurred, and he could let his senses blur, too.

The last thing Jim heard before he drifted off to sleep was Blair, voice muffled against Skinner's neck.

//Mulder sort of strikes me as the kind of guy who'd enjoy reading crappy poetry aloud.//

Continued in part two.

Text version of part two: http://www.squidge.org/archive/cgi-bin/convert.cgi?filename=1_2000_xover/mermaidssinging_a.html