BACCARAT FUTURE: PARIS ADVENT

By Sean Spencer

seans13@hotmail.com

CATEGORY: SRA

RATING: NC-17

KEYWORDS: Mulder/Skinner Romance, Slash

SUMMARY:   The future looks bright and promising for our two lovebirds.  The City of Lights beckons.

DISCLAIMER: Fox Mulder and Walter Skinner are the properties of Chris Carter, 1013 Productions and Fox Television. No copyright infringement is intended or implied in their use in this work of fiction.

WARNING:  This story contains explicit descriptions of consensual sexual activities between two males.  Do not proceed if this isn't your cup of tea.

AUTHOR'S NOTES: Thanks to Phil. Without you, this wouldn't have started like this.

Thank you very much, Karen S. for fixing this for me.  Kristina and Kelly, thanks for your comments.

Baccarat Future is another set of stories set after Skinner's retirement as Deputy Director.  This is the first installment.
 

For Josh.
 

PARIS ADVENT
 

Hordes of tourists jostled one another as they climbed up the walkway leading up to the massive, faintly Islamic-looking but very Catholic church at the summit. Three days of rain then a sudden unexpected sunny day in spring was enough to get the cabin-fevered crowd out here in droves. This city was not a stranger to the very diverse population of sightseers. People of all shapes and sizes, of all races and religious persuasions were doing the same thing: having a good time on their way up to see the marble edifice called the Sacre Coeur.
 
 

Mulder trudged up the esplanade, elbowing his way as courteously as possible through the cheery crowd. When he reached the first landing, he broke away from the people and turned behind him. Before him, laid out as far as the eye could see, was the city of Paris.
 
 

In the distance, the Eiffel Tower dominated the horizon. The sun gleamed off its steel surfaces, making it glitter even at this distance.
 
 

A juggler performing for the Sunday throng almost bumped into him. Mulder chuckled to himself as a bunch of children screamed at the puppets of the Punch and Judy show. Were they bloodthirsty even at such a young age? Were they all endorsing wife battering?
 
 

He dismissed his thoughts as he continued to look around. Finally, he found what he was looking for.
 
 

Mulder approached the young Oriental boy carrying a bucket, hawking his wares. He made his choice of a Seven-Up and a Coke, then handed a ten-franc coin to the boy vendor.
 
 

It was more of an ordeal going down the steps. Everyone was going up and he had to make his way carefully against the tide. Near the bottom, at the large expanse of slope, he stepped onto the grass and into a mini-park. This area was filled with people lying down or sitting, each of them enjoying the sunshine. Almost all the people were in groups of two, clustered together on this lazy Sunday afternoon.
 
 

Mulder shook his head in amusement as he neared a prominent figure in the grass. Skinner, his lover of six and a half years, was shirtless, as were a lot of men on the grass. Mulder noted with some amount of pride that none of the other men were as impressive as his lover was, even if the majority of the male crowd was younger. Only Skinner was well-built, his muscles bulging under skin pinking up with the rays of the sun. Mulder almost laughed out loud when he saw many a woman giving admiring glances as they passed Skinner's physique on their way up the steps to the church. No doubt, Skinner was one of the reasons they wouldn't be able to concentrate in this afternoon's mass.
 
 

"Here, Walt," Mulder unceremoniously plopped down onto the grass beside his dozing lover.
 
 

Skinner opened an eye and gratefully took the can of soda proffered to him. To keep him company, Mulder shucked off his own T-shirt and sank down beside the old man, soaking up the sun and taking occasional sips of his drink now and then. After a lull of a few minutes, Mulder let out a roar of laughter.
 
 

"What's so funny?" Skinner gave a sidelong glance at his lover, approving the flushed cheeks and the bright red nose, in addition to the luster of sweat over his bare chest.
 
 

"You," was the cryptic answer. "You're unbelievable."
 
 

"Unbelievable?" Skinner repeated, mystified.
 
 

"Yep. If the people back home could see you now," Mulder chortled. "The recently retired Deputy Director of the FBI sunning himself in this cheesy tourist spot, souvenir-laden with all the cheap trinkets. With...his...lover."
 
 

Mulder played out the last syllable.
 
 

"Fox, people change," Skinner said, a distinct tone of defensiveness evident.
 
 

"Who would have thunk it...the hardass DD...Uuuumph!" Mulder's statement was cut off abruptly as he was engulfed in a kiss. He was vaguely aware of some mutterings from the tourists, but Skinner's mouth on his own was his more immediate concern. Seven-Up mingled with the Coke he'd just taken. Before he could even break away, Skinner's aggressive tongue filled his senses and he moaned inspite of himself. He shivered as a fingertip brushed lightly and very briefly against his bare nipple.
 
 

Mulder couldn't help it, but he found his arms going around his lover's torso, eager to intensify the contact between them despite this very public display.
 
 

Just as abruptly, Skinner broke off the kiss, leaving a stunned and speechless Mulder. The younger man looked about him warily. Only one or two couples that dotted the grass were staring disapprovingly. The rest of the couples were doing what couples normally do on the grass in Paris in spring time, too preoccupied to care.
 
 

Skinner smugly lay back, replacing his glasses back onto his face. When Mulder's consternation subsided, Skinner leaned over once more and flicked a thumb at the edge of the full lip. It took all of Mulder's willpower not to take the thumb into his own mouth.
 
 

"Let's get out of here," Mulder urged. The sun and the crowds had finally gotten to him. His skin felt too hot and right then he couldn't say if it was from Skinner's magnificent kiss or the relentless rays of the sun. Besides, the kiss required a definite follow through.
 
 

Mulder reached behind him and put on his shirt. He was annoyed when Skinner dawdled, taking too much time fussing over his plastic bag of souvenirs.
 
 

One thing he found out about his lover: Skinner loved the whole tourist thing. Their hotel room was already crammed with French berets of all colors, enough Eiffel Tower replicas to populate a miniature city, postcards and tiny porcelain plates. Their previous getaways in foreign countries had been confined to beaches. Not much in the way of souvenirs to collect in those places.
 
 

But here in Paris, five souvenir shops dotted every major tourist spot and Skinner spent his money on anything he could find. They said it took years to really get to know a person. Mulder didn't know if he found Skinner's quirk appalling or charming.
 
 

"Don't you want to see the paintings in the artists' colony?" Skinner asked as he pulled on his own shirt.
 
 

Mulder leaned down to him and whispered , "I want you now." Skinner's eyebrows rose but the twinkle in his eyes were unmistakable even beneath his spectacles.
 
 

They hurried downhill to the Metro, tackling the cobblestone streets with gusto. In the subterranean halls, this time, it was Mulder's turn. He grabbed Skinner into a tiny alcove and groped and kissed his lover. He laughed as he abruptly cut off the kiss.
 
 

"You'll pay for that!" Skinner yelled indignantly as Mulder mischievously raced away from him.
 
 

Once they were on the platform, however, they were on their best behavior, as if they never made a scene on the grounds of a public park a scant number of minutes ago. They were unaware of the appreciative glances that came their way. Even if they were very correct on the subway platform, it was obvious to all that they were a couple. They stood too near each other, their shirts equally grass-stained, color high on their faces, hair disheveled from lying down on the grass. Their jeans were tight enough at the right places, Mulder's old pair with a rip at the knee.
 
 

The ride to their stop was brief and uneventful. The subway crowd was dense and for a while, Mulder and Skinner were separated from each other. Mulder smiled to himself each time Skinner returned his glance with a smirk, their heads towering above the crowd.
 
 

Mulder frankly couldn't wait by the time they emerged from the Metro station at their stop. The afternoon sun was kinder than the noonday one they left behind at the Sacre Coeur. Mulder reached a hand out to his lover and he grinned when Skinner readily took it in his. Skinner's dry, cool hand in his own warm one felt wonderful. They strode purposefully through the street together, their long legs eating up the two blocks to their hotel in no time.
 
 

For Mulder, the inevitable wait at the hotel lobby for the elevator was sheer torture. Skinner wasn't helping any by riling up Mulder. The older man pretended to be absorbed in the hotel's souvenir shop, which stood by the elevator. If they didn't get up soon, Mulder's beginning erection in his jeans would grow unbearable.
 
 

They were alone on the elevator, much to their relief. Skinner gave up all pretense of ignoring the younger man. He didn't have to exert much effort to pin Mulder against the wall.
 
 

"Ooooh, what do you have here?" he playfully asked in between kisses, as his hand encountered Mulder's thickened groin.
 
 

"Shut up," Mulder retorted. He took Skinner's face in hand and deepened the kiss.
 
 

Then he remembered something quite significant. He pulled away. "Walter, this elevator...security cameras..."
 
 

Abashed, it was Skinner's turn to be embarrassed. He chuckled weakly as he distanced himself from Mulder, both of them running a hand over swollen lips.
 
 

It was amazing how Mulder could make him feel young and carefree and do foolish things. It was one thing to be in a gay-tolerant beach resort, but quite another to cavort in the elevator of a respectable but straight Parisian hotel. They cooled their heels until they reached their room on the tenth floor.
 
 

Their mutual teasing was forgotten the moment they were in the privacy of their room. They grappled, popped buttons and unzipped, eyeglasses tossed aside as their desire for each other overpowered everything. Except for panting and an occasional whimper, they were silent as each one single-mindedly devoured the other.
 
 

Mulder reached him first. Somehow, the younger man wrestled him onto the bed and once his mouth got down on him, Skinner was powerless to move.
 
 

"Fox..." He could only moan weakly in encouragement. Skinner felt an even deeper stirring in his groin when he found that Mulder was furiously jerking himself off at the same time he sucked. Skinner shut his eyes in bliss, Mulder's expert hot mouth keeping him appropriately occupied.
 
 

After a scant number of minutes, Mulder replaced his mouth with a hand as he frantically reached for the lubricant on the nightstand. He applied it generously to his lover's erection, his heart catching in his throat as Skinner shuddered. Then Mulder reached behind and lubricated himself between his buttocks.
 
 

Mulder straddled his lover and savored Skinner's large hands cupping his backside. Mulder paused a minute, leaned his head close to Skinner's neck then said with as much sincerity as he could muster, "Walter, I love you."
 
 

He didn't care if Skinner was too far-gone to heed what he said. He lowered himself and sighed with satisfaction when Skinner's large member bore through him.
 
 

Mulder hissed when Skinner's hips jerked. He was used the slight burn, especially when they were this eager. The tiny pain turned almost instantaneously to the intense, visceral pleasure that was essential to his very existence.
 
 

It was his turn to shut his eyes as he started riding his man, rocking back for the push and rocking forward for that pull. Mulder arched his neck, his arms straight out as he desperately gripped Skinner's broad shoulders, leaving angry red marks. The more he bowed his back, the more Skinner was driven further inside him.
 
 

"So good...so good..." Mulder chanted, liking the way everything fit: from the way Skinner grasped each cheek, to his knees and thighs gripping Skinner's sweaty supine torso, to the solidity of Skinner's pelvis bracing his, to Skinner's erection so large and hard, just the right size for that massage and friction he could feel at the very base of his penis. Fitting against each other so well drove home the point of their unity in body and spirit.
 
 

"T-touch yourself, Fox," Skinner managed to stutter. He shifted his grip on Mulder's buttocks, so that his fingers could feel where they were actually joined. At the moment, in Skinner's sphere, there was nothing hotter than having Mulder squirming like this on top of him, taking pleasure from him. The sexual flush over Mulder's upper chest stood out in patches of crimson. The seep of clear fluid from his turgid penis all the more told Skinner what needed to be done. "Fox, touch yourself, p-please..."
 
 

Mulder had to sit up more as he released one hand from Skinner's shoulders and masturbated, his hand working so furiously on himself. Skinner blindly felt around until he reached the tube of lubricant abandoned on the bed. He squirted more of the stuff onto Mulder's hand, yearning acutely for his dear lover's maximum satisfaction.
 
 

It was too much for Skinner. The sight of his lover rocking against him fully absorbed in pleasure, plus the fact that he was so uninhibited in masturbating was all it took. Skinner grunted and moaned, the conflagration spreading first to his chest then once the heat reached the tips of his toes, the inevitability of it uncontrollable. He roared and arched his own neck and back as he came, feeling the relentless pulsing in his groin as he filled up his lover.
 
 

"Ooh, baby," Skinner moaned as the fierce pressure in his scrotum dissipated with each spurt of his seed. He broke into a sweat, the sexual tension that had built up suddenly evaporating. He quivered in pleasure as a voluptuous languor washed over him.
 
 

But with Mulder in midstride, the pleasure wasn't complete for Skinner. With him softening, he had to hasten his lover's culmination.
 
 

"Let me, darling," he urged, taking Mulder's erection.
 
 

"That's it, Walter," Mulder moaned, as Skinner's knowing grip replaced his. "...there...right there..." Mulder clenched his eyes shut as his wet tongue swept his lower lip in rapture. He gasped then grimaced, his hips never once relenting in the rhythm he'd established. The stretching he craved in his bottom, the fullness, was heightened with Skinner's thumb gently stroking his glans. "Yeah...oh, right there...Yes!"
 
 

Mulder's fulminating orgasm sent drops of rich creamy come to his chest and stomach. His mouth drew into an O of absolute pleasure, a picture of extreme gratification that was Skinner's and Skinner's alone.
 
 

Skinner bit back a laugh of joy. Oh, to be young again and come like a rocket. Mulder's inner muscles briefly gripped Skinner's flagging erection, sending an additional faint jolt of pleasure through the older man.
 
 

Skinner drew Mulder to him, effectively disengaging spent penis from slickened anus, as they fell into a panting heap. Fantastic, athletic sex with Mulder, so beautiful and beloved: it was much more than he'd ever hope could happen to him.
 
 

In the fading afternoon light, Skinner's eye caught sight of his own wrists. Already fading, the scars from the handcuffs he'd endured months ago cruelly reminded him how all this wouldn't have been possible without this man beside him in bed.
 
 

"Ow!" Mulder complained drowsily when Skinner's arms around him tightened too much.
 
 

"Sorry, babes," Skinner murmured apologetically, ruffling the sweaty, unruly thatch of brown hair on Mulder's crown. From the way their bodies lay against each other, Skinner cherished how Mulder's heavy post-coital breathing subsided into the slow even breathing of deep sleep.
 
 

"Love you," Skinner whispered softly, kissing Mulder's closed eyelid.
 
 

..........................
 
 

A knock. It was Mulder's turn to answer the door.
 
 

The knocking continued, more insistently this time. Skinner's head emerged from underneath the pillow. Mulder's side of the bed was empty.
 
 

Then Skinner remembered last night. After waking up late from their lovemaking, they had a late dinner followed by nothing more complicated than the latest Arnold Schwarzenegger film in one of the cinemas on the Champs Elysee. Then a long walk back to the hotel, taking in the illuminated monuments in all their night time glory
 
 

The knock again.
 
 

Breakfast, Skinner realized. He jumped out of bed and let in the waiter with their morning room service. Plates, cups and saucers were efficiently laid out on the small table by the window. Once the waiter left, Skinner looked around the room for any clue as to Mulder's whereabouts. He found a note under his watch on his nightstand.
 
 

"Went for a run," the note said in Mulder's scribbled hand. Skinner relaxed.
 
 

It was a consequence of his abduction that they took to leaving notes of their whereabouts. They had a big row over that a few days after Skinner was discharged from the hospital.  He was still limping then, needing to use the cane to walk around. But he wanted to get out of the apartment for an hour at least. Mulder was back to work at the Hoover. Skinner didn't even think of it when he went down to the basement parking and drove away just to get some fresh air. He even stopped by the video store to borrow a comedy just to lighten his mood. Thinking it was a short trip, the DD didn't take his cellphone. Unfortunately, the notorious D.C. rush hour caught up with him. When Mulder returned to an empty apartment, he was furious. Skinner was taken aback by the agent's anger. When he finally made heads or tails of it, he realized that Mulder feared that the militia had kidnapped him again. Of course those fears were groundless and irrational, but still a natural consequence of what happened.
 
 

Skinner poured himself a cup of coffee and stood by the window. Right in front of the hotel, across the street was a large athletic field. Sometimes, he would watch Mulder on the tracks from this vantage point.
 
 

But the running track was empty. Instead, the hive of activity was right smack in the middle of the field, where a soccer game was in full swing. Skinner spied an unmistakable figure in the midst of the other soccer players. Someone who wasn't wearing the football jersey of either team. Someone in a plain gray T-shirt and white shorts.
 
 

Skinner narrowed his eyes then put on his glasses. Even from the tenth floor looking down with very myopic eyes, Skinner had no doubt that it was Mulder playing soccer down there. The agent's fluid grace on the field was something Skinner was very familiar with.
 
 

Skinner chuckled to himself. Even with Mulder's athletic prowess and agility, experience wasn't on his side. More than once, the soccer ball was divested from him by aggressive, complicated footwork of the opposing team members. As Skinner watched, he realized that the Frenchmen were testing Mulder's skill with the ball, making allowances for errors. In effect, they had an easy game going as they deigned to allow the foreign American to play with them.
 
 

Mulder must really be in a good mood to insinuate himself into a soccer game with a people who took this particular game very seriously. The agent, known for his preference for solitary pursuits at work and leisure was actually out there holding his own. Finally, as if by mutual agreement, everyone tired of playing down to Mulder's level and let him go with claps on the back.
 
 

Skinner settled back to the table and resumed his breakfast. A few minutes later, Mulder returned to the room, sweat-stained T-shirt plastered to his torso and an unmistakable reddened forehead.
 
 

"You're awake," Mulder remarked, grabbing a strawberry from the plate and popping it into his mouth after kissing Skinner's bald head. "Good morning."
 
 

The younger man shed his clothes unselfconsciously before stepping into the bathroom for a quick shower. Skinner gave a start when he found a bruise on Mulder's right hip. No doubt, from yesterday's vigorous lovemaking and entirely his, Skinner's fault. He looked down at his large, square hands, adorned with the single ring on his little finger. He ruefully reminded himself to be less avid in keeping beloved things in his grasp.
 
 

........................
 
 

The older man was taking his time with the exhibits.  Mulder opted to wait outside the building for him.  This was the seedier part of town, and it showed. The narrower streets weren't as well-lit this time of night. He looked at his watch. It was close to midnight. Like all spring days, the glorious weather two days ago reverted back to a gray, rainy one. Tonight wasn't just cool, it was downright cold. Mulder drew his jacket closer to him.
 
 

Across the narrow street were a couple of men, both of them young, with cigarette smoke wafting from them in a cloud over their heads. It took some getting used to, the way Parisians smoked everywhere. One didn't find smokers hovering around building entrances as was the custom in the U.S. Instead, smokers here had a relative freedom of contaminating the air with tobacco smoke.
 
 

Mulder shoved his hands into his jacket, moving once in a while to keep warm. He was nonchalant when the men crossed the street over to his side. >From what Mulder could see, they weren't doing anything suspicious, but his senses were still on alert.
 
 

It was with some relief when Skinner finally emerged. Mulder unmistakably saw one of the men, the bigger, older one move to approach  him but later halted when Skinner appeared.
 
 

"Those two giving you any trouble?" Skinner asked as they walked away.
 
 

"Not that I could tell," Mulder shrugged. "So, did you like it?"
 
 

"Educational, like you said," Skinner guffawed, clapping Mulder on the back. "Never in a million years would I have thought of visiting this place."
 
 

Mulder grinned. This was their last night in Paris and Skinner finally relented to visiting the History of Erotica Museum. Even if he'd visited this place years ago, Mulder still learned some new things tonight.
 
 

He looked back briefly to check on the two suspicious characters. Fortunately, the two seemed rooted to the spot, right under the lone lamp lighting the stretch of the narrow street. Mulder impulsively took Skinner's hand, giving it a squeeze. Skinner arched an eyebrow at him, without a doubt wondering why.
 
 

"Nothing," Mulder smiled at the unasked question. He released Skinner's hand as they turned off into a busier road, where there were more signs of night life. Mulder was more familiar with this part of Paris, the less prosperous arrondissements.
 
 

He remembered being a backpack tourist here more than fifteen years ago when he was up at Oxford. Back then, he had to stick to a student's budget and had to contend with dingy youth hostels. He'd been miserable in more ways than one. His freshly broken heart, courtesy of Phoebe, had colored his first visit to this city. The language and cultural barriers only aggravated the morose air that had settled on him like a miasma.
 
 

But now, everything was different. True love definitely lent rose-colored glasses to everything. Even the brief moment of uncertainty back there, with the two men with unknown motives sidling up to him, was quickly forgotten once Skinner was with him.
 
 

"Want a crepe?" Mulder asked as he approached one of the food stands dotting the medieval lane. As he waited for his two butter-and-sugar crepes, Mulder fondly watched his lover standing in the middle of the street, taking photographs.
 
 

It was the middle of the night and the lights weren't that bright. It would be a miracle if any of the shots turned up anything. Inconspicuously, Mulder brushed back a tear.
 
 

He couldn't remember ever being this happy.
 
 
 
 

END OF BACCARAT FUTURE: PARIS ADVENT
 

Feedback very much appreciated  seans13@hotmail.com

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"A beacon in the night."

Mulder in reference to Skinner

Nisei

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