Denny's Cycle I:
Miles To Go Before I Sleep
by E Nelson

STORIES ON THIS SITE ARE INTENDED FOR ADULTS ONLY

THE STANDARD DISCLAIMER: The X-Files and the characters of Fox Mulder, Walter Skinner, and Dana Scully are all the property of Fox Television and Ten Thirteen Productions. No copyright infringement is intended and no money is being made from their use. The surly waitress belongs to me, and to every Denny's Restaurant in North America, at least.

WARNINGS AND WHAT-NOT ALL: This story contains some fairly tame scenes of consensual sex between two men. If this sort of thing offends you, you should be hitting that back button right about now. This story also contains several usages of naughty words and several remarks questioning the quality of the food available at Denny's. If THAT offends you, again, you have come to he wrong place. Please go away.

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Denny's Cycle I:
Miles To Go Before I Sleep
by E Nelson

Assistant Director Walter Skinner entered the Denny's restaurant at a little after one in the morning, expecting nothing more than to enjoy a substandard slice of apple pie and some greasy coffee before he finally called it a night. Though ordinarily a healthy sleeper, he found that every now and again he could get to sleep only with the aid of an act of God. Those were rare enough in his life that he had been forced to search out some other alternatives. Denny's was hardly a favorite haunt of his-- his tastes in cuisine ran more towards the sort of menu items that didn't rhyme-- but he was restless and it was still open, which was more than he could say for the few restaurants he did frequent.

This night the source of his consternation was the same as it was more often than not. Once again Agent Mulder had managed to saddle him with a headache that could only be obliterated with the aid of several sticks of dynamite. Walter was seldom so extreme. What with Mulder's usual crap, budget requests, completely ridiculous 302s, and various other assorted aggravations, he had been unable to close his eyes without envisioning himself in a McDonald's hat, and happy to be that way.

"Table for one, sir?" The hostess asked him. Her look said it all: he was clearly a weirdo, but she had seen far worse.

"Yes, thank-you."

"Smoking or non?"

"Non."

"Right this way."

The restaurant was deserted but for one lone man, bent over a laptop computer on the other side of the non-smoking section. Whether out of charity or indifference, the hostess seated Walter in a large corner booth, facing the parking lot. From here he could see his car, the convenience store across the street, and a couple of working girls having a bad night. Still, it had to be more scintillating a view than endless Flow-bee infomericals. As if an even haircut was a major concern of his.

He scanned the menu with a jaundiced eye, halfway interested in ordering a very late breakfast. He had eaten a lot of meals like that in his youth. The dry toast and strangely green sausages were a memory that had put him on an All Bran breakfast diet for years afterward. Even the swarthiest of men could withstand only so much. He turned to the back of the menu and examined his dessert choices. The apple pie was out of stock. He could have a sundae, maybe...

"I think I saw this once on Unsolved Mysteries,'" the man at the other end of the section was telling the waitress.

"Did you?"

"Yeah yeah yeah. I know I did. This guy got his hands on a bad piece of pie, and he asked for another, but they kept giving it to him from the same plate, see, and of course the other pieces were just as bad. He finally asked for the manager."

"And nobody ever saw him again?"

"Ah, you saw that one too."

"So the pie's out. How about the fruit plate?"

"I could tell you stories about the fruit plate," he was telling her. Walter looked up. Something in the tone was familiar. Something that, for some reason, filled him with dread.

He had not been able to identify the other man on the basis of the top of his head alone, and he had not really tried, anyway. Now he saw very clearly who it was. Fox Mulder: thorn in his side, pain in his ass, and bane of his existence. If he tried to leave now, Mulder would see him straight away. Maybe if he sneaked out the emergency exit. This wasn't the only Denny's in Virginia, after all. *This is ridiculous* he told himself. *Are you a G Man, or a mouse?* With a groan of resignation, he got up from his table and crossed the restaurant to Mulder's. Mulder was wearing his glasses, lending to his expression of surprise.

"Good morning, sir. I didn't see you come in."

"It's supposed to be the innocent who sleep so well..."

"And I never see any sons of bitches when I'm out at night. You have a table?"

"Over there," he said, gesturing vaguely.

"No sense taking up two. There might be a crush."

Walter sat across from him, half-relieved and not willing to acknowledge why. "Elvis," he said.

"He's a big eater. Bigfoot, too."

"Probably not." Mulder gave him a questioning look. "No salad bar," he said.

"Who says we don't see eye to eye?" He tapped around a bit on his laptop.

"If I'm intruding..."

"It's okay. Personal project." He closed the lid and set the computer beside him. "I'm not going to try to ding you for overtime."

"Or for the meal, I presume."

"No. We'll go dutch." He removed his glasses, rubbing the bridge of his nose. Without the frames to protect him, he looked weary.

"How long have you been here?"

He looked at his watch. "Since nine or so. I didn't come for the food," he assured his boss. "I just needed a change of scenery. What about you? Waiting for your roach killer to air out?"

"No. I couldn't sleep."

"And they replaced Beverly Hills 90210 with one of those goddamned Tony Robbins things."

Walter raised an eyebrow. "Are you a fan, Agent Mulder?"

"Not anymore. It isn't the same without Brenda."

The waitress returned just then. She did a classic double-take. "You two know each other?"

"This is my boss," Mulder said. Her expression told Walter everything he needed to know. He wondered what Mulder had called him this time.

"What can I get for you, Mr. Skinner?"

He looked at Mulder. "What do you recommend?"

Mulder's eyes gleamed as he shot the waitress a look. "Everything they have here is good. Just make sure you ask for the Pepto-Bismol and the stomach pump on the side."

"Keep that up and I'm going to ask you to leave," she said. "I know what kind of tipper you are."

Did Mulder flirt with every able-bodied woman in the Western Hemisphere? The AD cleared his throat as conspicuously as possible. "I'll have a bowl of vanilla ice cream. No topping. And a glass of... iced tea."

Mulder looked amused, but, for once, kept his mouth shut. "Another round of coffee for me. How's the *pumpkin* pie?"

"That'll be a fruit plate, then."

"I'll defer to your wisdom." The waitress gave him a saucy grin and was gone. "You don't know how happy I am that you're here, sir."

"Oh?"

"She gets off in another hour. I think she was planning to hit me up for a ride home."

"Not in your neighborhood?"

"Not in my generation. You say Kennedy to her and she thinks you're talking about that weird chick from MTV."

"You're a fine one to be talking about weird, Mulder."

"I'm always being persecuted," he said. He drank the last of his coffee, grimacing. "I think this qualifies as alchemy."

"Don't even think about it."

"Still, you have to wonder..."

"Mulder."

"It started out as coffee grounds and water," he said, fighting a smile. "How did it wind up as road tar?"

"Christ. I knew it."

"Must have. *You* ordered the iced tea."

Walter looked at him. What was going on here? Mulder didn't appear to be drunk. Or stoned, not that he had ever suspected the agent of rampant drug use. The man was strange enough completely straight. Granted, the two of them weren't always locked in battle, but since when had they shared even an uneasy camaraderie? He found himself giving Mulder's mug a second look. He lifted it and peered inside.

"Agent Mulder, are you sure it started out as coffee and water?"

"The only certainty in life is uncertainty, sir."

He raised a brow. "I can have the health department on this place by dawn."

"Let the obscure be explained by the more obscure, the unknown by the more unknown."

"I wouldn't have pegged you for a Clive Barker fan."

"I wouldn't have pegged you for one, either."

The waitress returned with their snacks. She looked a little disappointed, to Walter's mind, that he hadn't yet left Mulder to her mercies. He could hardly do so now. Mulder was under the influence of something, whether it was a change in the weather, the so-called coffee, or the cheesy honky-tonk music that blared from the restaurant stereo. It would be nothing less than irresponsible to leave the man alone. There was no telling what a man like him could get himself into given the right mood and the wrong woman. It sounded like some kind of pastiche Chandler line, but what the hell. It was late. He was restless. And his iced tea was more ice than tea. He winced a little.

"I see you've uncovered one of the greatest conspiracies in American history."

"That being... what?"

"That Denny's, if it is indeed a family restaurant, is a dysfunctional one."

"I'm going back to my table now." He made as if to rise.

Mulder grabbed his arm. "Hang on a second. Hear me out." He was giving Walter that intense look he had. Something in his eyes made it impossible to look away. Walter sighed inwardly. He really needed some sleep.

"What?"

"Doesn't it puzzle you why a family restaurant would be open twenty-four hours, otherwise? Christmas, Easter, Hanukkah..."

"No good, Mulder. I'm still not sending you on a Denny's hunt."

"The bureau would save a lot of money on meals, sir."

"Especially after you and Scully die of food poisoning."

The conversation continued for better than an hour in this fashion, Mulder stringing together one wild theory after another, over and over, letting Skinner play straight man to his dementia. It was a playful version of the same exchanges they shouted over in Skinner's office, day after day. Walter began to relax, slowly, sucked in by Mulder's baiting, his warmth, his... flirting? He sat up abruptly, alarmed at the idea. Was Mulder flirting? Was Walter *really* alarmed at the idea? Oh, Jesus... He wasn't. Not at all. He felt rather pleased by it, actually. Of course, Mulder flirted with everyone, that much had been clear to him from the beginning. He was a very focused man. And when that focus shifted to a specific person rather than one of his endless quests, he showed no mercy.

"So, why couldn't you sleep?" Mulder asked him.

"Too much on my mind." And now he had one more thing to think about. Bastard.

"You want to talk about it?"

"Not particularly." Mulder didn't look too insulted. He decided to let it go at that.

Mulder didn't. "I was sorry to hear about your divorce."

"It was a long time coming."

"Mrs. Skinner said something to that effect."

He frowned. "She talked to you?"

"Yeah. During that whole mess with the... uh..."

"The hooker. You can say it." He sipped his iced tea to give himself something else to look at. Mulder had left his glasses off, and his eyes were becoming magnetic. Walter wondered if it was natural or some kind of special effect. He wondered if there was something to Mulder's ideas about the toxic factor of Denny's beverages. "What did Sharon tell you?"

He had the grace to look embarrassed. "She said you'd become roommates more than spouses. That you felt silence equalled strength. You wouldn't open up to her."

Walter rubbed his forehead. How the hell had they gotten onto this topic, anyway? "Some things, I couldn't talk to her about."

"She was your wife," Mulder said, gently.

"All the more reason not to tell her." He shot Mulder a look as if to add "and I'm not going to tell you, either."

"Fair enough."

Walter smirked. "You aren't going to ask me what it was?"

"Nope. If you can't tell somebody you lived with for seventeen years, you *ain't* tellin' *me.* Believe it or not, sir, I know when I'm beat."

"I had developed an attraction to someone else," he said, before he could stop himself.

He held up a hand. "You don't have to tell me. I'm just the guy with the rancid fruit plate."

He gave Mulder a defiant look. "The someone else was another man."

Mulder's mouth opened, then closed. "Nothing wrong with that."

In for a penny, in for a pound. "The man was a subordinate." His eyes didn't leave Mulder's for a second.

"Let's not get too specific, now," he squeaked. Suddenly the same fruit plate he'd maligned seemed the most important thing in his world.

Walter spooned some ice cream into his mouth. So Mulder hadn't been flirting. This should make for an interesting office dynamic, he thought. Assuming Mulder didn't report him. Assuming the ice cream wasn't laced with strychnine or something equally nasty. How in the name of Christ had they managed to taint the ice cream? He ate some more, half-hoping it would taste better with time, half-hoping it was poisoned. What a repugnant situation. When he managed to look up again, he found Mulder pinning him with another of his looks.

"What?"

He paused. Seemed to be speculating. "What if I told you I'm bisexual, too?"

"What if you did?"

Mulder raked his hands through his hair. "What if I told you your *attraction* was returned?"

Walter sat back in his chair and fixed the agent with his favorite stare. Mulder squirmed. He could almost see the wheels turning. He had never said it was Mulder he was attracted to. He had dozens of agents under his command. What an ego! It irked him that Mulder was right. Excited him that he was interested. Scared the hell out of him, too. If they took this beyond what it was, a late-night conversation over poisoned desserts, they were risking so much. Walter's work situation was always as tenuous as it was steady, and Mulder... he couldn't afford to dig himself a deeper hole. Walter thought hard.

"You want to get out of here?" *** *** *** "Nice pad, Walter." Mulder craned his neck to have a good look around without actually snooping. "I never really had a chance to take a look the last time I was here."

"What with one thing and another..." Walter murmured.

"The hour, ratboy, you topless..."

Walter sighed. "Do you want a drink, Mulder?"

"What have you got?"

"Wine, beer, coffee, apple juice, and I think--" he bent to look in the refrigerator. "Uh-huh. Sunny Delight."

"*You* have Sunny Delight? This is a revelation."

"It's not mine."

"I get that all the time. I'll go with the apple juice, I think."

Walter stood. "If you have a story about Sunny Delight, I don't want to hear it."

He smiled. "It's a good one."

"I don't care. If I ask, it's going to be some weird cult that embalms their dead in it, or an exsanguinated corpse that was full of it, or some other sick bullshit that you probably make up as you go along."

"Only outside of work, Walter. My usual sick bullshit is absolutely true."

He handed Mulder his glass. "You want the tour?"

Walter didn't know what to do about the tension that had crept into him on the drive home. Mulder had taken his own car, but he'd felt his presence, all the same. This was out of control, already. He had pushed all impure thoughts of the man out of his head months before, and had never given it another moment until tonight. One look in Mulder's eyes and he was trapped. He had gone from a solitary meal to this, in no time at all. And Mulder was playing Don Juan Triumphant to the hilt. If he had been flirting quietly before, he was shameless now, encouraged presumably by the certainty that Walter would not harm him for it. But it had been a very long time since Walter had been involved with another man. In his heart he knew things could not have changed all that much, but his nervousness stayed with him.

He led Mulder through the kitchen, the two bathrooms, the living room and the study, showed him all the appropriate knick knacks and made all the appropriate comments. It wasn't until they reached the bedroom that Mulder showed any real interest. Walter understood completely. It was strange to be pointing out the view or explaining a painting when they had such a specific purpose in coming to his home.

Mulder peered inside, but did not enter the room. "I don't see any shackles."

"Disappointed, Mulder?"

He smiled, lazily. "I've always gone for silk scarves in situations like that. Less chafing," he said.

"I keep all my b&d stuff under the bed," Walter said, all innocence.

"Your uh... what?"

He crossed the room and knelt by the bed, making a show of poking around underneath. "You know. Ball gags, ball harness, butt plugs... Sharon got all the best stuff in the divorce settlement."

Mulder choked on his apple juice. "I think it's time for our first 'relationship' discussion."

Walter frowned. "No good?"

"No." He gave Walter an uneasy smile. Trying to be diplomatic. "Let me-- uh-- let's see what you have under there." He crouched down on the floor and peered under Walter's bed. "You bastard."

Walter began to laugh. "The look on your face--"

"Cut it out." He couldn't. He just laughed harder. Mulder stretched his arm under the bed and came back with the only thing there: The Gipsy Kings' Greatest Hits on cassette. "You got a thing for 'Volare', Walter?"

"That song will wreck you," he said.

"Depends on your definition of the word."

Mulder was inches away from him. Every sense was completely focused on him. Walter was drowning in him. He leaned closer, and closer still, his eyes never leaving the younger man's. His breathing was shallow. Everything he wanted, everything he was, all of it narrowed down to nothing more complicated than the possession of that mouth.

"Last chance," he said, in a voice he barely recognized.

Mulder cupped his face in both hands and pulled him in, welding his mouth to Walter's with a need nothing in his manner had betrayed. He opened his mouth on a moan and Walter thrust his tongue inside. He buried his hands in Mulder's hair and gave himself up to sensation. Mulder's own hands were hard at work divesting the AD of his clothing, feverishly tearing off one item after another. Walter collapsed on top of him. Both men moaned when their groins met.

Walter rocked his hips slowly, experimentally, his mouth fastened firmly to the agent's throat. The man was emitting the most amazing sounds, somewhere between entreaty and accusation. Walter took his time undressing him, pausing at each new exposure to stroke and to tease. Once Mulder's chest was completely revealed, Walter settled on a new assault. He began at the younger man's neck, kissing his was down to his nipples, lingering there. He bit him gently. Mulder arched beneath him, and he smiled to himself.

"Sensitive?"

"Just a bit," he gasped. Walter tried the other one, and Mulder's hands gripped his head, holding him there. Definitely sensitive. The AD nipped at him, licked the marks, and continued on his path until he reached the waistband of Mulder's slacks. The agent sighed.

"We should really take this to the bed," Walter said. Mulder's eyes opened into slits, his look unfocused. "Come on," Walter urged. "You ever have rug burn on your back?"

Mulder blinked. He stood, slowly. As soon as Walter rose to stand beside him, he wrapped his arms around the AD's neck and kissed him, hard. He ran his hands along Walter's back, scraping his nails along his skin on the downslide. Walter moaned into his mouth, his hands fumbling over Mulder's belt. He slid his tongue around the shell of Mulder's ear at the same moment the agent began to stroke his cock. Walter bucked helplessly into his hands. Mulder laughed softly.

"Sensitive?"

"Bastard." He slipped Mulder's pants off his hips, only to reveal a pair of blue silk boxers with an orange goldfish pattern. He smirked. "I take it you weren't expecting to get lucky tonight."

Mulder sat on the edge of Walter's bed and pulled off his socks. "You're supposed to be too blinded with passion to make fun of my underwear."

"Sorry."

"Did I say anything about those Fruit Of The Looms?" He pointed disdainfully at Walter's pile of discarded clothing.

"You'd prefer I wore a G-string? Or something with sequins, maybe?"

"Hey, if it's good enough for Hoover--" Walter shoved him on his back and settled on top of him. "You're very aggressive, all of a sudden." The agent rocked his hips, his erection colliding with Walter's. The AD kissed him hotly, and they began a gentle rhythm, tongues and hips thrusting in tandem.

"How do you want to do this?" Walter rasped.

Mulder gave him a loopy grin. "Any way you want. I can't argue."

"This is a historic moment."

"Everybody's a comedian."

Walter sat up and reached across to his nightstand. He fumbled around a bit and finally came up with what he was looking for. He squirted some of the lubricant into his hands and warmed it up.

"Is that Astroglide?"

"Yeah. Why?" He parted Mulder's ass cheeks and tested his opening. Mulder was very tight. He stifled a groan.

"I've always thought it sounded like something from Star Trek."

Walter slid a finger inside the younger man. The agent arched his back, moaning softly. Walter was mesmerized by the expression on his face. He added a second finger, sliding them in and out, very slowly. "Must have been an out-take," he murmured.

"Ohh... what?"

"Star Trek," he said. He began stroking Mulder's cock with his free hand. "Kirk and Sulu, maybe."

"Please," the agent moaned.

"What? Kirk and Chekhov?"

"*No.* Oh God..."

Walter took his hand away. He bent over the younger man and took his cock into his mouth. Mulder let out an agonized moan.

"*Don't.* Oh God, I can't, *please...*" Walter released him. He collapsed into the mattress. The AD knelt between Mulder's legs and pulled them over his shoulders.

"Wait," Mulder said.

"What?"

"Maybe we shouldn't."

"*What?*"

"Just kidding."

He gave Mulder an incredulous look. "You're out to drive me crazy any way you can, aren't you?"

Mulder wriggled his hips by way of reply, his ass bumping against Walter's cock. The AD pushed inside him slowly, savoring that first moment, his senses rioting. Sunk all the way inside, it took everything he had not to just thrust mindlessly, heedless of the pleasure of the man before him. And he wanted Mulder's pleasure almost as much as his own.

"Okay?"

"That's... not the word I would have chosen."

Walter grinned and began to move inside his agent, slowly picking up speed until he and Mulder had hit upon a good rhythm. Mulder met him thrust for thrust, moaning almost constantly now, alternately begging and commanding his boss, his hands clutching uselessly at the sheets. Walter began stroking Mulder's cock in time with his thrusts, moving faster now, driven by his pleasure. Mulder bucked against him, again and again, and it felt so good, he was so close... his orgasm struck him by surprise, his hips slamming into Mulder as he let out an ecstatic shout. Mulder came just as Walter's climax was ending, his entire body stiffening. For once in his life, possibly the only time, he didn't make a sound. *** *** *** The following morning, Walter was in the act of straightening his tie when Mulder's cell phone rang. He turned just in time to see the agent lurch out of his bed and snatch the phone off his nightstand.

"Mulder." Walter watched him execute a feline stretch. He looked down at his fully clothed body with some regret. "I'm not sure where I am, Scully. The last thing I remember is somebody clubbing me over the head at the corner store. Could be an abandoned mine shaft. Could be the bottom of a well." The agent sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. "It's only..." he glanced at the clock. "Okay, it *is* kind of late. I slept in."

Walter handed him a cup of coffee and set about trying not to appear to be eavesdropping.

"I'll pick you up in half an hour." Mulder folded the phone and sipped his coffee. "Scully has a flat," he said.

"You'll never make it in half an hour, Mulder."

"Hah! I'm king of the five-minute primp."

"That would explain some of your hairstyles."

"Jealousy. That's all I get out of you."

Walter leaned against the wall and watched Mulder scramble for his clothing. "It's a scientifically proven fact that men with hair loss problems have higher levels of testosterone." He looked pointedly at Mulder's lavishly covered scalp.

"It's so like you to prey on a man when he's naked and sleepy and pressed for time."

The AD gave him a look. "Are you still okay with this, Mulder?"

He blinked at the shift in topic, but recovered quickly, all things considered. He crossed the room to Walter and kissed him very persuasively. "More than okay. You?"

"Still fairly okay."

"Good. Then help me find my underwear. I really gotta go."

end

If you'd like to read more, Denny's Cycle is available at the Annex.

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