"Loners" by Anne Haynes AHaynes33@aol.com DISCLAIMER: Everybody in the whole bloomin' world belongs to Chris Carter, Ten-Thirteen and the Fox Network. Don't they? I mean no copyright infringement. CATEGORY: SRA (Skinner/other) RATING: NC-17 SPOILERS: US Season Five plus the movie It was only her second gin and tonic, but Jana Cassidy wasn't much of a drinker. The resultant buzz seemed to cast the dark bar in murky watercolors and mercifully mute the driving beat of the song on the jukebox. She looked around the bar, noting the full tables and booths despite the early hour. All of Washington had apparently had as shitty a day as she'd had. She sipped her drink, squelching the desire to spit out the bitter-tasting brew. Medicine, Jana. Drink it up like a good girl. That thought almost made her chuckle aloud. Girl? Not in years, darling. Too damned many years. The barmaid was a slim, blonde thing with big eyes and a too-thin mouth. She was eyeing Cassidy with an annoying mixture of curiosity and wariness, which pissed the older woman off. Want an IRS audit of all those tips you sock away unreported, babe? I know people who can make it happen. So stop looking at me like I'm the pathetic old broad you secretly fear you'll grow up to be some day. Cassidy took big gulp of gin and tonic. It stung going down. When had she gotten so old? So rigidly set in her ways? When had the notion of love and devotion become such a fucking annoyance? God, she'd wanted to slap that tiny little red-haired bitch at the hearing this morning. Baleful blue eyes glaring at her like she was the wicked witch of the west. *I don't believe the F.B.I. currently HAS a unit capable of investigating the evidence in hand.* Fuck YOU, Special Agent Dana Scully. Fuck you and your passion and your batshit crazy partner and your goddamned self-righteous quest for justice. "Assistant Director Cassidy." Cassidy jerked at the sound of her name. Gin and tonic splashed the back of her hand, and thoughtlessly, she licked away the droplets as she turned. Intense brown eyes gazed back at her, darkening slightly as they followed the flick of her tongue against the back of her hand. Cassidy felt a flutter in her belly. She tamped down the feeling quickly and lifted her chin to meet the scrutiny of her colleague. "Assistant Director Skinner." Walter Skinner gave a slight nod. Silence stretched between them for a moment, then Cassidy waved at the barstool next to her own. Skinner settled his muscular bulk on the stool, dwarfing it. He wasn't a particularly tall man--maybe six-one. But he was solid, with broad shoulders and a powerful chest. What he lacked in hair, he made up for in sheer personal presence. Cassidy indulged herself in a moment of alcohol-induced candor. I'd do him. But of course, that could be said of so many men, couldn't it? At her age, at her current state of social seclusion, her fantasy life wasn't particularly exclusive. There was the attractive young guard who manned the metal detector at the J. Edgar Hoover building, the director of the Psi-Crime section, even stodgy Agent Fuller in Violent Crimes, who wasn't exactly the stuff of dreams but looked like he could give a girl a good roll. At least once, anyway. She looked away from Skinner and stared at the sliver of gin-soaked lime at the bottom of her glass. She was pathetic. Well and truly. "Come here often?" She cut her eyes at Skinner, wondering if he could really have attempted such a lame stab at conversation. "No." Skinner gave a slow nod and turned to the barmaid, who was looking at him like someone had just cashed in her lottery ticket. Cassidy felt an unexpected surge of territorialism. Back off, bitch, I saw him first. God, she needed another drink. "Bourbon and branch," Skinner murmured to the barmaid. Cassidy drew small circles in the condensation on her glass and glanced at Skinner out of the corner of her eye. He stared straight ahead, as if the dark panels of the bar were endlessly fascinating. His large hands played with the napkin in front of him, tearing the edges. She could see those hands on her body, sliding over the still-firm breasts and still-taut abdomen. Long fingers rolling over pebble-hard nipples, sliding into her wet heat, clutching at her still-toned ass as he drove into her in deep, hard thrusts.... Cassidy lifted her glass to her lips and sucked a half-melted cube of ice into her mouth. She rolled the ice over her tongue and studiously watched the barmaid mixing Skinner's drink. "You're going to recommend against reopening the X-Files." His voice was low and even, but she recognized the sound of a personal blow when she heard one. For a second, it occurred to her alcohol-hazed brain that she could offer him a deal--screw me 'til I scream and you can have your precious X-Files. God knows, she'd seen enough men in powerful positions playing those games with women like herself, as if the only way for a woman to climb the ladder was one fuck at a time. But her damned conscience would never let her get away with shit like that. And Skinner's integrity would never allow him to spread his legs--so to speak--for professional favors. "I haven't decided yet," she hedged. That was true--more or less. The questions raised at that morning's hearing were disturbing, and there was enough of the curious young agent left in Jana Cassidy to want the answers. She just wasn't quite convinced that Dana Scully and Fox Mulder were the people to find those answers. There were others in the bureau who had expressed some interest in "straightening out" the X-Files division, setting it on a more reasonable, valuable course. Fine agents with impeccable backgrounds and a work ethic more in line with what the Bureau expected from its agents. "Agent Scully was right, you know." She looked at him. Something about the way he said Scully's name--no. Not Skinner. He was too smart to fall for a woman whose loyalties so obviously lay with another man. But he admired her--that much was clear. He liked her. Why? What was it about her that inspired one man to place his career on the line to support her work--and another man to crawl out of a hospital bed and fly to the literal ends of the earth to find her and save her? I was like her once, she thought, watching the wedge of lime float lazily near the bottom of her glass. I believed there were answers to everything, that truth wasn't just an illusion, that there was more to justice than following the rules. But twenty years in the F.B.I. had changed all that, hadn't it? It had shaped her into one of the finest legal minds in the country--and one of the loneliest women in the world. She'd sacrificed it all to her career--friendships, family life, that sweet, good man whose heart she'd broken fifteen years ago in order to climb that next rung on the ladder. She clenched her jaws and pushed the gin and tonic toward the middle of the bar. Enough of this. She was tired of thinking. She dug a twenty out of her purse and laid it on the bar, then stood and turned to leave. The room spun for a moment, and she put out a hand to steady herself. Her fingers curled around the nearest support--Walter Skinner's shoulder. He stood quickly, steadying her. His dark gaze smothered her. "I'm fine," Cassidy murmured, already feeling her equilibrium returning. Still, it was a good thing she'd decided to take a cab instead of driving herself. She released his arm and headed for the door. Outside, the warm afternoon breeze helped clear her head a little more. She glanced down the street, looking for a cab. "I can drive you home, Cassidy." His voice was too gentlemanly, too concerned. It hurt, somehow, that voice. She squelched a wince. "I can catch a cab." "I don't mind." He laid his hand lightly against the middle of her back. The touch seared like a glowing coal. Already he had his keys out. They rattled softly. To refuse would seem ill-mannered. Childish. Silly. And for all her faults, Jana Cassidy was none of thsoe things. She nodded her assent and let him lead her to his car. The ride back to her townhouse passed in silence, save a couple of terse directions to guide Skinner to the proper highways and exits. It was a surprisingly comfortable silence, born, perhaps, of the common bond they shared as fellow bureaucrats in the Bureau to end all bureaus. Cassidy was surprised by a twinge of disappointment when he reached the parking lot of her townhouse complex and turned off the car. She sat for a reluctant second, then turned to thank him for the ride. But he was already out of the car, circling to her side to open the door for her. Like a date, she thought. She pressed a hand to her forehead, feeling suddenly light-headed. The door opened and she dropped her hand quickly, sliding out of the car. The waning sunlight cast Skinner's dark face in golden tones. He looked for all the world like some exotic equatorial sun deity, all shimmering strength and mysterious motives. Her nerve endings crackled to life, and any doubts she'd had about how she'd pass the evening slipped away. She bit back a self-deprecating chuckle. Oh well, they did say self-love was the best love. And God knows, she and her hand were old, dear friends by now. He walked with her to her door and waited while she fumbled for her door key like a schoolgirl. She inserted the key in the lock and gave a little push, but the damned thing wouldn't budge. She'd been meaning to have someone come and take a look for weeks now; recent rains had swollen the door, making it stick. Biting back irritation, she glanced at Skinner, conceding defeat. He reached over her shoulder, giving the door a hard shove. It flew open at his touch, and his forward momentum sent his body surging against hers--not hard enough to upset her balance. But definitely hard enough that she could feel the ridge of his mild erection slide against the curve of her ass. For a second she froze as every cell in her body gathered for a brief meeting to discuss the ramifications of the hard-on pressing against her. Her options were pretty limitless, but she had to make a decision quickly before Skinner took back her moment of advantage. If they discussed it, it would never happen. No fucking way. So words were out of the question. No quiet conversation over wine and candles. No pre-coital bubble bath. No mental foreplay. If she wanted what was pushing insistently at her ass, she was going to have to take it while the getting was good. She turned and faced Skinner, gazing up into his dark, enigmatic eyes. She saw a glimpse of wariness there, a hint of embarrassment. But no retreat. Dear God, no retreat. She slid her hand between their bodies and palmed him. He was huge--thick and long. For a moment she almost quailed beneath the most practical of considerations--after several celibate years, could she actually TAKE a man this size? Then practicality skittered away, and she grabbed his belt buckle with her free hand, drawing him back into the townhouse with her. She let go and pushed the door shut behind them, pushing him back against the solid wood panel. He bent his head as if to kiss her, but she moved her head aside, not wanting that, not wanting intimacy. She just wanted him in her. Now. She tugged at his belt, freeing it from the loops of his pants. She went for the zipper next, but his hands closed over hers, stopping her. "Just looking for a quick fuck, Cassidy?" he murmured. "Yes." His eyes narrowed slightly, and for a moment, she was terrified that he was going to simply walk away and leave her there, quivering and unsated. But instead, he grabbed her hands and spun her around, pinning her against the door. The lines of his face grew hard with determination, and Cassidy sucked in a shaky breath, trembling with a mixture of alarm and anticipation. Tension buzzed between them, hot and electric. This--this was what she wanted. Wasn't it? Skinner pinned both of her arms above her head with one hand and slid his other hand down her thigh, moving purposefully toward the hem. Silk rasped against nylon as he ran his hand beneath her skirt, stroking upward, upward, over the curve of her Stair-Master-sculpted thigh. His fingers danced along the sensitive flesh of her inner thighs, first her left leg, then her right. Up, up, up-- Shit! His fingers pressed against the center seam of her pantyhose, pushing nylon and cotton in hard, purposeful circles against her clitoris. He let go of her arms and knelt before her, his other hand joining the dance of fingers on nylon-encased flesh. He pushed her skirt up, not bothering to unzip it, merely bunching it at her waist, as if they were horny teenagers too primed and impatient to bother baring anything but the necessities. Cassiday splayed her fingers against the door behind her, biting her lower lip to hold back a moan. Had it really been so long since her last good fuck that this strange sort of quasi-adolescent fumbling had her already on the verge of release? He covered her with his mouth--hose, panties and all. Yes. Tongued her through the fabric, sliding the cotton against her just forcefully enough to inflame without igniting. Oh, God, yes. She dug her fingers into his shoulders. "Take them off first," she growled. He lifted his gaze to meet hers, his eyes intense and hungry. She looked away, somehow terrified of being the object of such focus--terrified that he would see the screaming desperation in her own eyes. Skinner made a soft noise low in his throat, then yanked her pantyhose and panties down roughly, baring her flesh to the heat of his breath. He didn't finish the task, leaving the garments halfway down her legs, effectively hobbling her as he dipped his head and drove his tongue against her burning center. Oh God oh God oh God.... She spread her fingers over the crown of his head, kneading the smooth skin in cadence with his rhythmic assault on her senses. Her hips bucked and danced as he found hot spot after hot spot with surprising skill. Heat raced along her nerve endings and through her veins. The muscles of her belly bunched and twitched in anticipation of the impending storm. Too soon, too--soon-- She came hard, whimpering low, raw, profane words, twisting her head side to side against the hard wood door at her back. Every inch of her body felt on fire, especially the hard, swollen knot of nerves Skinner's tongue continued to worry. It was too much. Too intense. She gasped a plea and pushed him from her, sliding down the door until she was on her knees. Skinner remained still, kneeling in front of her, waiting for her to recover. She could feel his gaze on her, like fingers on flesh, but she couldn't look at him. After a moment, he rose to his feet and began to unbutton his shirt. She lifted her gaze to his waist, noting the hard bulge beneath the zipper of his pants. Something she could deal with. Something tangible. She curled her hand over his erection, squeezing lightly. Skinner's fingers trembled to a halt halfway down his shirt. She unzipped the fly and freed him. She had been right. He was huge. Thick, long and hard as steel. She closed her fist around him and gave a gentle stroke, emboldened by the sound that rumbled in low in his chest. This she could do. It had been a while, but it was like riding a bicycle, right? She took him into her mouth. His flesh was hot and remarkably silky, with a salt-sweet taste she'd never experienced before. She bobbed her head, taking him in and easing him out, using her hands and teeth and tongue to pleasure him while his hands settled in her hair, fingers twining. She waited for his grip to tighten, to hold her head in those big, strong hands, to steady her while he took charge of the thrusts, turned her into an object of his pleasure. Then everything would be okay. She would know it was just sex. Nothing more. She would be absolved. But his fingers played tenderly in her hair, stroking and twining but never holding. His palms slid warmly against her cheeks, caressing her. He whispered her name. "Cassidy." Something inside her chest seemed to shatter and spill, and to her utter horror, tears leaked down her cheeks. Fuck fuck fuck. She backed away, letting go of him, pushing herself away as soft, unwelcome sobs burbled up from somewhere dark and vulnerable inside her. Damn it! She waited for his anger. His ridicule. His silent contempt. Or maybe just laughter at the pathetic woman, past her prime, who wept like a schoolgirl at his feet. He reached down and lifted her to her feet, his fingers curling through her hair, drawing her head back. She closed her eyes, unwilling--or perhaps unable---to meet his gaze. When his mouth closed over hers, she gasped, taken by complete surprise. His lips soothed, then challenged, parting hers. His tongue glided over hers, hot and hard and smoky-sweet--a taste of herself. His erection pressed against her belly, hard and ready. Answering moisture pooled in her center. Act fast, Cassidy--while he still wants it. She tugged at his arms, urging him down to the floor with her, but he resisted. He broke their kiss, his lips blazing a fiery trail to her ear. "Not on the floor. This isn't fucking anymore." Then what the hell was it? He drew away slightly, reaching for the buttons of her suit. He pushed away the jacket and unfastened the pearl-white silk blouse beneath, revealing the swell of her breasts, straining slightly against the white lace bra. His hands fell away from her body for a moment, and he just looked at her. Cassidy ventured a glance at him. Was he pleased? Aroused? Repulsed? And why the fuck did she care all of a sudden? He lifted one hand and ran the tip of his finger over the upper curve of her right breast. The flesh bunched and twitched beneath the light touch, her swelling nipple straining against the lacy fabric. He lifted his other hand and cupped her left breast, his thumb teasing the peak. His gaze met hers. "Is that good? Do you like that?" She nodded, wordless. His left thumb and forefinger gently rolled the nipple of her right breast. The resulting sensation shot straight to the still-throbbing nerves at her center. He explored her slowly, his huge hands kneading and splaying across her belly, her hips, her back, her ass. He removed her skirt, finished taking off her panties and hose. For a second his breath lingered, hot and promising, over the curls of her sex. Then he rose and unlatched her bra, pulling the garment away, baring the last inch of her flesh to him. His mouth worked silently for a moment, as if he were searching for words. Please don't talk, she thought. Don't tell me I'm beautiful, don't wax rhapsodic about my alabaster thighs or honeyed breasts. Please don't lie to me, don't feed me lines. Just take me to bed. He reached out and caught her hand in his, fingers twining. "Where's the bedroom?" She led him there, grateful that for once she'd bothered to make the bed before she left for work. While Skinner stripped off the rest of his clothes, she went to work, pulling back the covers she'd so carefully tucked in earlier that day. She fluffed the pillows, smoothed the sheets, looking for any reason not to turn around and look at the naked man in her bedroom. It had been too damned long since she'd had a man in her room. In her body. Skinner's arms circled her, holding her from behind for a moment. His grip was loose, his hands moving in slow, gentle strokes against the bare flesh of her belly and dipping lower. His erection pushed against her hip. "Tell me what you want," he murmured, his lips grazing the tendon on the side of her neck. She turned to face him, finding the resolve to meet his gaze. She closed her hand over his erection. "You. In me." He produced a small foil packet from the pocket of his pants which draped over the back of a nearby chair. He began to rip it open. She reached out and stilled his hand. "Let me." He gave her the condom, and she slipped it over his sex, unrolling it with slow, thorough strokes. Even when the latex sheath was safely in place, she continued the rhythmic glide of her palm against him, lifting her eyes to meet his dark gaze. Grasping her hips, he dipped his knees and positioned himself between her thighs. She guided him slowly into her, biting her lip as he stretched and filled her. Cradling her against him, he lifted her onto the bed and rose up over her. Then he began to move. Cassidy was a bit rusty, but he was patient. When she found his rhythm, he gave her more, bracing his arms on either side of her to bear the brunt of his weight. She drew her knees up, urging him deeper. Harder. He responded, his powerful body driving hers into the soft mattress. She was going to hurt in the morning, but it would be a good hurt, the kind of hurt she hadn't felt in far too long. She didn't wait for him to add his hand to the occasional brush of his pelvis against her clitoris; she was a grown woman, and she knew what to do. She slipped her hand between their bodies, speeding the onslaught of her impending release. But when it came, she was completely unprepared for the raw power of her orgasm. Every muscle in her body went rigid with pleasure and a ragged cry tore from her throat. Rocked by wave after wave of pleasure, she clutched him with arms, legs and greedy inner muscles. Skinner bit off a hoarse cry and surged inside her, following her into the dark, swirling madness. Several long moments later, he rolled onto his side and lay face up beside her, his breathing uneven and harsh. Hers was even harsher, belying all those step aerobics classes she'd attended over the past couple of years. Was she supposed to say something to him? Thank you? It was a pleasure doing business with you? Good God almighty, what a fuck? She was out of practice, and she'd never had sex with a colleague-- which was a whole other mess. "If you were faking that, please don't tell me," Skinner murmured. She blinked in surprise, then turned her head to look at him. He was staring up at her ceiling, his gaze unfocused. They'd knocked off his glasses somewhere in the midst of their passion; she hoped they weren't crushed somewhere beneath them. "I don't fake." His lip curved slightly. "I sensed that about you, Cassidy." She arched one eyebrow. "You sound like you've given it some thought." "I have." She was surprised. "You're a good-looking woman, Cassidy. You're smart and you're fair, even if you can be a real tight ass." For a moment, she felt a niggle of doubt. Maybe this WAS Skinner's bid for the reopening of the X-Files. Maybe he wasn't above fucking his way to something he wanted. "And you understand the job. What it takes out of a person." He passed one large hand over his face. "Sharon didn't. She tried, but she couldn't understand, and I couldn't seem to explain it to her." She relaxed a little. "Your ex-wife?" He nodded. "We tried. After her accident, we gave it another go, but it just didn't work." Cassidy studied his profile, noting the strength, the raw beauty of his features. "I was engaged. Once. A long time ago." He turned his head to look at her. "Then you were reassigned, right? To Tulsa or Tucson--" Her lips curved slightly--familiar territory for a lifetime fed. "Sioux City, Iowa." He gave a little nod. "And he didn't want to go." "He was an interpreter with the Egyptian Embassy. Not much need for fluency in Arabic in Sioux City." "So you left." "And he married a lovely woman---they have three children. I still get Christmas cards." "And you never married." "Never saw much point." She looked up at the ceiling. "It's been a good life, though." He made soft chuckling sound, and she knew that he saw through the lie. "You make it sound as if your life is over." In some ways it was, she thought. She was forty-seven years old-- already flirting with menopause. There would be no children, no husband, no normal life. And her job didn't make it easy to connect with others--between the crazy hours and the enforced secrecy of her work-- Skinner shifted, rolling on his side to face her. He spread his hand across her belly, lightly stroking. Heat radiated outward from his touch. "Gets lonely, doesn't it?" She wasn't sure what he meant. Was it a simple comment? A question? An offer? His gaze grew warm and languid as it swept over her face. "Cassidy-- you think too damned much." As his hand slipped lower, he bent his head and captured one of her nipples between his lips, suckling lightly. Pure electricity shot straight to the knot of nerves between her thighs, the hard little knot he now rolled between his thumb and forefinger. And she stopped thinking at all. END AH My XF Fanfic is stored at http://members.aol.com/ahaynes33/index.htm