We gather together
to offer thanksgiving
for all of the heavenly blessings we've known.
The troubles that find us
are only to bind us
and daily remind us we're never alone. (Traditional)
I roll over as I hear the light tapping on the door. It's that "I'm tapping so you can hear, but nobody else can" tap. I'm ignoring it.
The door is opening. I'm going to pretend I'm asleep. This is not happening.
He's behind me. I can't get away and he's on me. Oh god.
The trip was doomed from the beginning. Mulder was giddy, singing (badly) with the radio, all chipper and ready to go out and shoot the bird himself if necessary.
Fact: Mulder loves Thanksgiving. I do not. I'm not going to burden you with my sad stories, but it just isn't something I like to revisit on a regular basis.
For some bizarre reason I decided to humor him and agreed to go to his mother's house for the weekend. I had yet to meet the inimitable Teena Mulder and well...there was no time like the present.
We got to her house late Wednesday night. The porch light was on, the house burning with light. I followed Mulder slowly up the steps. The thing is, and since I know this I should just get over it, but once I decide that I'm not going to like something, it's very hard for me to, well, switch gears.
I smiled as we shook hands. She seemed nice enough. I know that she's from old money. Mulder never said as much, but between his love of Armani, the Oxford education, the summer house...well, I am a detective.
Money intimidates me. Usually that makes me act like a real jackass like I did when we were on that case with Judge Amdahl's kid. Other times it just makes me quiet. Fortunately for all the parties involved tonight I chose to be quiet. I sipped at my White Russian and pretended to follow the conversation between Mulder and his mom. I really could have cared less.
Finally I yawned, fairly loudly, quite frankly.
"I'm sorry, Tim. You must be exhausted from your trip up here," Mulder's mom said. She was so damned nice. I needed to snap out of this.
"Thank you, Mrs. Mulder, I am. I worked a double shift today and well, I'll be much better company if I get some sleep now," I say, trying to make any excuse for my boorish behavior.
I followed her up the steps. Her room is downstairs, so it would just be me and Mulder on the second floor. She pointed out the bathroom, the towels and then my room.
"I thought you might be more comfortable in here," she said, pushing open the door. This must be Mulder's room. There are trophies, books on the shelves and a big poster for Star Wars over the bed.
"Are you sure Fox doesn't want to sleep here?" I said, my tongue tripping over my lover's unfamiliar name.
"The bed in here is much better. Fox said you had a bad back," she explained.
I thanked her and set my bag down. This was a bit much. My mother had never preserved anything of mine, let alone this long-standing shrine of a bedroom.
I turned around to find Mulder standing behind me, his eyes starting to droop as well. I nodded.
"Well, I'm just...over there..." Mulder pointed to the room across the hall.
This was so weird. Here we were, grown men, living together, sleeping in our separate twin beds.
"Yeah, well, sleep well."
Mulder stood there for a moment and then moved to take me in his arms. "Thanks for coming, Tim. I just...I just love you so much and her too. This means a lot to me."
Now I really felt like a heel.
I rolled over and stared at the wall. This might have been the better of the two beds, but it was still a twin bed. I haven't slept in a twin bed for more years than I can remember. I'm just glad Mulder isn't here. There really couldn't be anything worse than having him in here with me...with his mother downstairs. We never spend the night at my mom's. I've never spent the night with anyone at my mom's. I could not do it.
I flop back on my back. Was that a noise? A tap? Oh god, no. It can't be.
"What are you doing here?" I whisper as Mulder crawls into bed with me.
"It was cold in the other room. I need to warm up." Mulder rewards me by sticking his freezing hands between my legs.
"That isn't going to help move things along," I respond.
Mulder answers by nuzzling my neck. The bed groaned slightly under his movement.
"If this bed collapses, that would be a total cliché."
"We're good," he answers.
"So you've taken a 195 pound man in this bed before?"
"No, a 6'2" volleyball player."
I roll to face him. "We're not having sex in this bed."
"We're not doing it in my sister's white canopy bed."
"We're not doing it in this house. Not with your mother downstairs."
"She sleeps like the dead."
Mulder kisses me again, starting slowly, then pushing more firmly into my mouth. I gasp as I feel my dick harden. His hands move across my chest. My nipples harden in response. He knows all my buttons and he is pushing them hard. Hard. Everything is hard.
"Oh god," I gasp.
"You want me to stop?"
"Fuck you," I reply.
"No, fuck you."
Once he got over the shock of having sex with a man, Mulder had become pretty adventurous. I had found that a number of new books were gradually rounding out his personal library. Right next to his texts on abnormal psychology was the "Joy of Gay Sex." I never knew quite what to expect when I went to bed.
"Roll over," Mulder says, his voice deep. I follow his command, turning my head so it won't be smashed into the pillow. "Did you shower?"
"Mmm hmm." He knew that I always showered after a car trip. I just feel stale after sitting in that small box for hours.
He helps me out of my t-shirt, sliding my boxers down my legs. I am totally relaxed...except for my dick, which has refused to stop throbbing. Mulder begins to move his hands up and down my back, massaging the knots from my shoulders. His hands move down my sides, along my ribs. I squirm slightly. It tickles. His hands move across my ass, rubbing, massaging. I fight the urge to reach down and finish myself off.
"Muld..." What is he doing? He's on my ass again, but this time with his tongue. It pushes and probes, working its way around my hole. We have never done this before. I groan slightly. This is amazing, but I need to release. I need to do it now.
"Mulder," I say again, this time rolling on my side. "Oh god. I need. I need." Mulder slips down, pulling the precum off my tip. He looks up at me and smiles.
"So, Detective Bayliss...now do you have anything to be thankful for?"
I cut off his conversation, this time taking his mouth in mine. I feel like devouring him like the drumstick I will face tomorrow. I am so wet. I want him all over me, I want him in me. I want to feel full of him.
"I'll be thankful if you fuck me hard."
He pushes me up against the headboard, my legs over his shoulders. His hands on my shoulders, he pulls us closer and closer. With his dick poking me, I can feel the wetness dripping onto the bed.
"We're making a mess."
"I know where the laundry closet is."
Dropping down onto his knees he leans forward, thrusting further into me. I am ready and waiting to accept him. He grunts, calling my name again and again. I feel the pillow shift below me as I bang slowly against the wall over and over. I pray that he was right about his mother. We are being anything but quiet as he finishes and slips from me.
Suddenly I feel him on me again, this time taking my dick in his mouth. I'm not sure how he's going to pull this one off. We aren't gymnasts and at our ages the parts don't all bend the way they once did. I can feel myself growing hard again, filling him as he filled me. The rhythm beats to a crescendo and then he falls slack against me.
Every time we're together I feel like it's something new. I guess it's still hard for me to accept that this man loves me and wants to be part of my life. I wrap my arms around him, pulling him closer into my embrace.
When I wake up I can hear someone moving around downstairs. I extricate myself from Mulder's arms and make my way to the kitchen.
"Good morning, Tim. How did you sleep?" Mulder's mom asks me.
"Good. Good bed," I reply, helping myself to a cup of coffee.
I sit on a stool and watch as Mrs. Mulder finishes stuffing the turkey. I used to get up and watch my grandmother do this when I was little. I always liked that part of Thanksgiving.
"I'm so glad you boys could come up here this year," she says. "It gets lonely. I know that Fox would prefer I just move down to Washington, but I can't leave, not yet."
I know what she means. It's hard to give up the things that you know, the things that are familiar. Her hand on my arm breaks me from my thought.
"You're good for him, you know. Now that he has you, I don't worry about him being alone."
I nod. I know, I just have to remember it. Besides, he's good for me, Mrs. Mulder. And together, neither one of us will ever have to be alone.