Title: Solitary Confinement
Author: Shera Crawler 007
Disclaimer: I don't own any of them, swear! I just like playing with them! Thanks to: Kat for the wonderful betaing and Raven for betaing and beating me over the head a bit for this. Any mistakes in here isn't their fault it's mine for last minute changes. Oh and everyone for the feedback! I loved it, I wrote more!
Rating: Rish? Uh ... not really that bad I don't think
Pairing: Mulder/Bobby
Summary: Bobby's boyfriend finally revealed while he thinks about Bobby... a lot
Archive: Go for it just tell me if you do
Feedback: *insert much groveling here*
E-mail: susie2@peoplepc.com
Previous parts found at (un)frozen or my site
Order series should go in: Wave Goodbye to Sanity / Still Waving Goodbye / Solitary Confinement / And Time Marches On

Solitary Confinement
by Shera Crawler 007

Mulder shifted on the bed, tucking one arm beneath his head while the other rested across his stomach. He studied the marbled watermarks on the ceiling of his motel room quietly, eyes tracing the strange dingy brown lines over and over. Boring, yes, but it didn't give him a headache like staring at the red shag carpeting or the orange wallpaper with huge floppy yellow flowers did.

Today was Friday, and the fact stood out that it was the second weekend in a row that he wasn't going to see Bobby. Not that he had thought about that at all during the case except for a few brief moments when he had been in that bar. Otherwise his mind had been taken up with the string of seemingly unexplainable murders that had centered on the small town of Dayton, Tennessee.

He and his partner had flown down last week on Wednesday and the case had just wrapped up yesterday, though he was still working on how to fill out the expense report, which he didn't want to write. There had to be a way to make the mass destruction of half a dozen mobile homes, one rental car, and Scully's cell phone sound reasonable. At any rate a freak snowstorm had ensured he was going to have plenty of time to think it over while he was stuck until at the very least, Monday, in this ugly little motel room, in this ugly little town, with a TV that only showed the weather channel, and a clock radio that would not stop blinking.

The weekend was going to be spent with no corny sitcoms, no porn, a partner that was pissed at him for destroying things and leaving her to explain what had happened to the angry owners of said things, and above all no Bobby. Somewhere along the line a Bobby-less, work-free weekend had become synonymous to hell.

When had that happened exactly? He tilted his head, staring at the ceiling as if he'd find the answers in the cracked plaster if he just stared hard enough. Bobby wasn't supposed to have become one of his life's little requirements. He was supposed to be a fling, someone that he used and was used by to remember what sex with someone other than himself was about.

At least that was all he'd had in mind when depression or desperation, take your pick, had driven him out of his apartment away from the files he had brought home with him to work on, and out to the bar. Not the usual one that was close to home, the bartender there knew him now and had apparently hit her quota of alien stories. These days she was seemed closer and closer to kicking him out on sight.

No, instead he'd driven around and ended up in a gay bar, not the first he'd been in, but it had been years since the last time. Bobby had caught his eye at the bar almost immediately. He smiled at the memory of how the man had looked sitting at the bar.

He'd been wearing jeans just tight enough to hug the curves of his gorgeous ass. And said gorgeous ass had been attached to an equally gorgeous body, it'd been the first thing he'd noticed about him. Then he had noticed how he was sitting, on the edge of one of the green bar stools like he was going to bolt any second, all the while striving to look relaxed and nonchalant at the same time. A nervous Bobby trying to look casual, as he now knew, only ended up looking hyper-active, neurotic, and more than slightly deranged. On reflection it was a cute look on him.

His blond hair had been mussed as if he'd been running a hand through it constantly, and his eyes had been fixed on the almost full beer on the bar in front of him like it was the Holy Grail. Every once in awhile his gaze would flicker curiously around the room, hands tapping a nervous tattoo on the beer bottle, one foot kicking at the rungs of his stool, entire body shifting and rocking just a little in tune to the beat of his own anxiety.

Mulder had watched those blue eyes begin to kindle with lust every time they snagged on one of the men around him, and he would still for a few precious moments, hardly even breathing. Then the eyes would turn guiltily back on his hands before any one noticed, and he'd be tapping and kicking and moving again with a vengeance that seemed to amuse the bartender almost as much as it annoyed him.

It had been painfully obvious that he didn't know what to do with himself, and the sight of the blush creeping over that fair skin ... well he couldn't resist hitting on him just to see what he'd do. It had more than paid off, both for the relationship that had come of it ... and the entertainment value. Even now it brought a smile to his face, along with a soft chuckle, remembering how Bobby had looked when he had fallen off his stool, face bright red with embarrassment that battled interest in his eyes.

And that was all it was supposed to be. Entertainment. But somehow the man had wormed his way in to being more, so much more, faster than Mulder had ever imagined possible. It was hard to believe that it was more than two month's worth of weekends, each one more addictive than the last.

It hadn't been part of the plan to give him his phone number that first time ... it definitely hadn't been part of the plan to spend a jittery Friday at work wondering if he would call. Of course he tried to pretend he hadn't been nervous; but if he was truthful with himself for once, he had been tied up in knots by the time he had let himself into his apartment. Pitiful of him to be that wound up over someone he hadn't even planned to see again originally, but how much more proof did you need that Bobby had gotten to him from the very beginning.

There was something about him, something about the innocence in his eyes. The innocence of someone that wasn't disillusioned with life, that didn't wonder if he was going crazy time after time when things, evidence, people disappeared without a trace. His lover didn't know what it was like to go through life watching people's eyes slowly glaze over with boredom or derision when he talked about what he really thought, he hadn't had to live with being immediately filed away as crazy as soon as he introduced himself by name.

In other words, Bobby wasn't mixed up in the bad sci-fi plot that was his life, he was the little bit of sanity that was his reward after a week of what passed for normal. So maybe that was why Bobby was now a requirement in his life. Bobby was so wonderfully ordinary; for god's sake he was a Certified Public Accountant living in one of those private schools for the rich. He'd even had the Gunmen check to make sure for him after the second weekend they spent together so he could stop having nightmares of another Krycek come to betray him.

Every weekend B.B. (Before Bobby) he would come home late, go jogging, shower, and spend a long restless, sleepless night on the couch with either his videos and his hand or a stack of case files that he brought home with him. Both more often than not. And maybe for variety he'd get a visit from whatever local consortium spy felt like dropping in, or call Scully in the middle of the night just to hear someone else's voice so he'd know he wasn't completely alone. So he'd know that he wasn't living in an endless nightmare any more than usual, that if something happened to him ... someone would care.

Now instead of feeling as if he was slowly going mad waiting for Monday, he had something to look forward to. He was able to pretend at some semblance of normality if only for a couple days. Alright, so maybe coming home to spend a weekend in and out of bed with another man wasn't society's idea of normal, but compared to the rest of his life it was probably the most ordinary thing he had been a part of in years. He hadn't woken Scully up at two in the morning since.

And the benefits he got from it were worth it, with Bobby the awkwardness and pain he had felt with the women that had been in his life was absent and he doubted that would change. The man seemed incapable of purposely doing anything that would upset him and that made all the difference. He was too sweet to do something like that, sweet and open, with his emotions and insecurities written plainly in his eyes, on his face, in the way he walked the way, and held himself.

Absently stroking his stomach he considered his subject, sweet yes, innocent yes, but every once in awhile of late he had caught something more. Every once in awhile he'd wake up in the early hours while Bobby was getting ready to leave, during that long stretch of time that was always the worst to stay awake through because everything seemed thick ... still and oppressive. The time when all the old myths and horrors seemed closer, when even the innocents of the world could feel the brush of the eerie things he dealt with day to day.

It was then that he'd see The Look.

He hadn't before realized how heavily even Bobby's best 'serious' expressions were laced with that edge of humor that kept conversation light. How could you get too serious with someone that seemed to want to laugh at everything, and hoped you would join in with him? There was no trace of anything even vaguely resembling laughter in those few early morning looks. He would wake up feeling that uncomfortable itch of being watched, and slit his eyes open slowly, just enough to catch sight of Bobby kneeling naked at his bedside, arms wrapped loosely around himself. Just staring.

Bobby's eyes would be dark and serious in the dim light that shone through the bedroom window, watching him sleep with an intense stare that seemed unfocused, as if his thoughts were turned inward on himself. Straight white teeth invariably worried at his bottom lip hard enough that when Bobby shook himself out of whatever he had lost himself in, teeth marks would gleam wetly on reddened skin.

Then he'd shake himself, stand, and maybe bestow a feather soft touch, barely perceptible, on his face. Once Bobby had leaned down and brushed his lips against his forehead in a silken caress before walking out of the room to dress and leave.

Bobby was thinking about them and no doubt all the little problems their relationship entailed. He knew he was. Now that he could admit it to himself it worried him ... he didn't want to lose Bobby and he had a feeling that he might. It'd be so easy for the man to get scared and run.

Hiding a relationship that took up most of your days on the weekend couldn't be easy living in a school full of nosy students and teachers. At least not when you were friendly with half of them. And that's what he assumed from the two times he had called him. There was always some sort of low-grade buzz of conversation, most of the time from people trying to talk to Bobby even though he was on the phone. One of the reasons he didn't call often.

Which was why Bobby never spent the night. They hadn't discussed it but it wasn't something that really needed to be. They both knew. He knew Bobby wanted to stay the night. Bobby knew he would be welcome if he ever could. That was the problem, he wouldn't ever be able to, not until he was willing to come out. It probably wasn't even a possibility, or at least it wasn't yet.

He could live with it, he wanted more, but what they had would satisfy him if it had to. After everything he had gone through on his search for the Truth, taking what he could get in his love life was simple. The problem was that he didn't think Bobby could be satisfied for long.

Bobby was a romantic. It hadn't been too obvious yet, but it was there. He was looking for Mr. Right even if he couldn't admit that particular fact to himself yet. He was looking for permanency; looking for something that was a hell of a lot more than just weekends.

There wasn't much he could do about it either. At least nothing he was really willing to do. He liked having his workdays to himself, without having to trip over someone else's feelings because of his obsessions. It was hard enough sometimes to shelve work for the weekends, no matter how much he enjoyed them. So this was going to have an ending. How depressing.

Suddenly he wished Scully wasn't still fuming over her phone, so he could talk to her. Not about this exactly but he knew just talking to her would help him think clearer. Maybe he could figure out if he was overreacting.

If she still had her phone he would risk calling her rather than face her wrath head on ... but her phone was in little pieces in a cow field across town buried in snow by now. He wasn't stupid enough to knock on her door before they could leave, dying didn't hold any appeal.

He closed his eyes, liking the view behind his eyelids better than the ceiling. Maybe he should risk death anyway, he could always stun her before she went for his throat and tell her he needed relationship advice about his boyfriend. He could most picture the expression she'd have, probably stunned disbelief.

Although it'd be up for grabs whether she'd be more stunned about the relationship part than the boyfriend part. Spooky Mulder sleeping with anyone other than his right hand and the videos she found in his desk sometimes was no doubt more unbelievable than the fact it was a man he was boffing. Or hell maybe she wouldn't find it shocking in the least, and just tell him to go back to bed and leave her alone unless he had a new cell phone for her. Sometimes Scully knew him better than he did.

The thought made him grin, and in the nature of all good obsessions his thoughts turned back to Bobby again. If he were here right now without a doubt he'd be making fun of the room décor, or lack thereof. And he'd laugh whether it was funny or not just to be rewarded with watching those baby blue eyes light up and dance.

Forget all the depressing thoughts of when and how they would end, and all the things that weren't working like he wanted. Right now all he wanted to concentrate on was the things that were great between them. Like finally having someone that listened to his theories and stories of aliens, liver eating mutants, even the Flukeman, and anything else he could think of without batting an eye. Half the time Bobby even joined in, actually had his own ideas, his own input ... and it was like heaven.

Even if the sex had been horrible, he would have been tempted to keep seeing him just for that. For the rush that came from discussing aliens and conspiracies with someone from the real world that treated it like a perfectly reasonable subject instead of grounds to start calling mental hospitals. Yes, his ego liked being stroked, it didn't happen often and he was going to suck the life out of the opportunity while he had the chance.

Thankfully, the sex was anything but horrible. For someone that had almost hyperventilated over being picked up on by a guy in a gay bar, Bobby didn't hold anything back when it came to getting down and dirty.

Mulder let his hand smooth down his stomach to rub lightly over the erection beginning to tent his suit pants, silently thanking god for an eidetic memory. He might not have porn, but he didn't need it anymore with the memories he'd been making lately with Bobby.

Maybe the weekend wouldn't be a complete bust after all.

continued in "and time marches on" >>

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