*****DISCLAIMER******DISCLAIMER***************DISCLAIMER************** **Fox Mulder, Walter Skinner, and the X-Files are not my creations, they belong to Chris Carter and 1013 Productions.** Furthermore, I am aware that this scene may seem like a stretch of some characters, but I'll leave it up to the readers to decide. Further M/M Mulder stories will be in the first person. . . e-mails welcome.
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"Pulled off the case?!"
Special Agent Fox Mulder stood stiffly, his hands clenched at his sides, his eyes blazing as he faced his superior. After all this work. . .! "On whose authority?"
"On my authority, Agent Mulder, you know that." Walter Skinner sat calmly behind his desk, watching as the younger agent's face went through a series of rather amazing contortions - rage, disbelief, fury - before settling into that all-too-familiar dark-eyed pout. In all Skinner's years as an assistant director with the FBI, he'd never seen an agent with such a propensity for trouble as this one. Suspensions. Black marks. _s_h_i_t_ detail. None of it seemed to make a dent in the man's personal facade, and Skinner gritted his teeth as he thought again that they simply could *not* *just* *get* *rid* of Mulder. He was too _d_a_m_n_ed good.
"But. . ." Mulder shook his head. "I've been pushing this case for a month and a half! You know that! Someone doesn't want me to find out what's going on, all right, but-"
"Mulder," Skinner said, slowly and quietly, glaring at the younger man, "You and your partner have been removed from your current assignment. I'm sorry if that doesn't fit your picture of the way things should work, but the last time I checked it wasn't *your* name on that door."
Mulder flushed but said nothing.
"You are still an employee of the federal government, Agent Mulder," Skinner went on, "And there is a certain way things work around here. You take the assignments you're given, you pursue them to the best of your ability, and you *do not* question authority. Are we clear?"
"*Whose* authority?!" Mulder exploded, lunging in no particular direction and turning away from Skinner's desk. "Every single god_d_a_m_n_ed time I think I'm getting close to something, someone pulls the rug out from under me!" He was trembling, his dark hair matted, his immaculate black suit now rumpled as he clenched and unclenched his fists in fury. "At least tell me who it *was*! Give me that much. Was it the Director's office? Cancer Man? God?"
"Agent Mulder." Skinner pulled off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose with one big hand, and then looked threateningly across the desk. "You are *way* out of line here. I'd advise you to take that under advisory and shut your _d_a_m_n_ mouth before you have your ass in a sling that even *I* can't get you out of."
"My fairy godmother," Mulder muttered under his breath, waving one hand in disgust and turning for the door.
Skinner exploded.
Before the younger man so much as had time to think, Walter had lunged out from behind the desk and caught him by the back of his expensive suit coat. Mulder could clearly hear the sound of seams ripping as he was spun around and half-dragged, half-carried back across the office floor. He flailed his arms, but Skinner held fast.
"That's *it* Mulder, goddammit!" Skinner couldn't remember ever having been this angry. Right now, he'd cheerfully kill the younger agent and breathe a sigh of relief. "I am *sick* and *tired* of your insolence and your disrespect and your ingratitude! *No one* gets more breaks than you do around here, Agent Mulder, and you're in no position to be developing an attitude problem!"
Mulder was suddenly shoved from behind, thrown roughly against the conference table that sat to the right of his boss's wide desk. He sprawled face-first across it, almost falling, his head spinning from shock and disbelief. What the hell. . .! "I don't know what you think you're. . ."
"Shut up, Agent Mulder," Skinner growled. "Shut up and keep your nose pressed into that table and don't even *think* about moving. If you so much as *breathe*, I'll kick your ass out that door so fast your head'll spin. And you will never, *ever* set foot in this building again as long as you live. No slack. No breaks. And believe me, I *mean* it."
Mulder stayed where he was, trembling. Thrown out? Security? Maybe Skinner was going to break his face. He owed him one, anyway, but. . .
He heard his boss's heavy footsteps to the door, the distinct sound of the double lock, and then the buzz of the intercom.
"Yes. Eileen? Hold my calls for an hour or so. I'll be in a private meeting. . . yes."
Private meeting? But what was. . .
"Up you go," and Skinner had him by the arm again, hauling him across the office to the dark leather sofa that sat sprawled in one corner. "We're going to have a little talk, you and I, about authority and respect. I think it's time. Take off your jacket."
Mulder just stared at him dumbly.
"Take it *off*!!"
Mulder flinched -stunned into silence- and slipped out of the now-ripped black sport coat. Skinner took it, tossed it aside, and then grabbed the back of Mulder's neck, forcing him down over the back of the sofa. Struggling did the younger man no good - his superior was ex-military, taller and stronger than Mulder's lanky six foot build, kept toned from daily workouts and sparring matches.
"Now. You grab the edge of that sofa, Agent Mulder, and you listen to me."
Mulder obeyed, opening his mouth to speak.
"Don't you dare wise-ass me, Mulder," Skinner warned, "Not now. You're in enough trouble as it is." Mulder heard the chink of metal and then a rustle, frowned for a moment, and started to back up off the sofa. Skinner held him fast.
"You've been going to hell for way too long, my friend," Walter said, not unkindly. "Pushing it and pushing it. Testing the limits. Trying to see how far you can go without getting _s_h_i_t_canned or killed. What are you trying to prove? That you're a bigger asshole than the rest of the Bureau?"
Mulder's face flushed deep crimson and he bucked against the stronger man's hold.
"Here is where the bull_s_h_i_t_ stops, Mulder. Nothing else works with you. Nothing else ever has. I can't suspend you - either you stick your nose where it doesn't belong anyway, or it's a waste of your talents when we need you - I can't fire you, not without losing one of the best agents the FBI's had since Hoover. So I'm giving you a private lesson."
"A *what*?!"
"A lesson, Mulder. One you won't be forgetting in a hurry. About how to treat your superiors and how to take orders. And how to keep your god_d_a_m_n_ed mouth shut and not talk back when it's *your* ass on the line."
"What. . .?"
"Something you've needed for a long time, I think. Maybe something that'll finally get through that thick head of yours. I'm going to take it out of your hide."
The younger man jerked as if he'd been stuck with a hot poker, squirming and cursing and trying fruitlessly to break Skinner's hold. "Who the hell do you think you *are? You can't do this! You don't have a right to even *touch* me!"
Skinner smiled faintly. "You're right, Mulder. So the choice is yours: do you want to run out into the hallway screaming for help?"
Mulder's blush deepened until it was almost purple. His lips opened and closed, but he said nothing.
"Here's your option, Agent Mulder. You shut up and take whatever discipline I feel is necessary, or I sign your walking papers right here and now and we never see each other again. Personally, I'd feel that that was a waste of one of the most gifted men I've ever met. But you're right. Technically, I can't. So what's it going to be?"
Skinner already knew what the answer would be. Mulder had spent more than ten long years at the FBI working harder - in his own way - than anyone the A. D. had ever seen. He was driven, sometimes to the point of obsession. But he was too mouthy, too reckless, and beginning to get noticed by all the wrong people in all the wrong ways. He needed limits, needed them fast, and he needed to remember who exactly was in charge here.
"So? Last chance, Mulder. Drop your pants and grab the edge of that sofa and we do it my way, or wait out in the hallway for a signature. But I have some people coming in this afternoon, so make it fast."
With a trembling sigh, the young man unsnapped his dress slacks with a flick of his wrist and they slid to his ankles, revealing dark red silk boxer shorts outlining his toned buttocks. He caught his breath, bent forward, and assumed the position.
"Very good." Skinner inhaled and stepped back, hoping he could carry this through right. "This *is* for your own good, Mulder. You need someone to set you straight."
SNAP!
An involuntary cry of pain and surprise forced its way from Mulder's lips as Skinner's wide leather belt caught him swiftly across the ass. The man was strong, and he wasn't pulling the blows.
CRACK!
"All this-"
CRACK!
"-time, Mulder, you've-"
CRACK!
CRACK!
"-been pushing it-"
CRACK!
"-and pushing it-"
CRACK! CRACK!
"-ignoring assignments-"
WHACK!
"-disobeying orders-"
CRACK!
"-doing everything your own _d_a_m_n_ed-"
CRACK!
"way!"
Mulder was squirming beneath the blows, twisting from side to side, trying to fend off the strokes of the belt by shifting position. He couldn't believe what was happening to him- at his age. . . in the FBI building, of all places. . . by this man. . .! But these thoughts were fading quickly as Skinner held him over the sofa and continued the punishment.
"You have friends, Mulder-"
CRACK!
CRACK!
"-but treating them like _s_h_i_t_-"
CRACK!
"is going to get you nowhere fast-"
CRACK!
Mulder cried out. He couldn't help it. The stripes were burning agony now, and he felt tears start in his eyes and stubbornly bit his lip against them.
And still his boss went on: "and then-" CRACK! WHACK! -"you'll be out of a job-" CRACK! - "and everything you've worked for-" CRACK! CRACK! - "will have been worth nothing!" CRACK! "Do you *hear* me?" CRACK!
"Please," Mulder gasped out, squirming, "please. . . okay. . . enough."
"Let's talk about respect for your superiors," Skinner said mildly.
CRACK!
CRACK!
CRACK!
CRACK!
"Now, Agent Mulder: do you hear me?"
"Yes!!" Mulder wailed, completely unselfconscious now and aware of only the pain in his well-strapped backside. "Yes, yes, I hear you, I hear you!"
Skinner drew back his arm.
CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!
"Try again, Mulder."
CRACK!
CRACK!
"Yes, sir!" the younger man moaned, "I hear you, sir!"
"Very good, Agent Mulder. Will you address me correctly from now on?"
CRACK!
CRACK!
"Yes sir! Yes!"
CRACK!
CRACK!
"Yes, sir! Please! I hear you, sir, please, stop. . ."
CRACK!
"No more bull_s_h_i_t_ when you're given a direct order?"
CRACK!
"No SIR!" Mulder sobbed, "no!"
"Remember where your limits are and *respect* them, and respect when people are trying to help you?"
CRACK!
CRACK!
Mulder lay over the back of the couch, whimpering, his knuckles white on the sofa's edge and his body jerking with every new stroke of the belt. He was crying openly now, and around the edges of his boxer shorts his ass and thighs had gone a deep red that matched the underwear.
"Yes, sir," he muttered. "yes."
CRACK!
CRACK!
Skinner threw down the belt.
"All right, then, Agent Mulder," he said, almost a sigh. "You've been punished enough, I think."
He let the younger man stay where he was for a few moments, crying it out silently, knowing how deeply he'd been humiliated, but knowing also how necessary it had been. For Christ's sake, he didn't want Mulder getting killed or maimed simply because he hadn't taken the time to think ahead. He didn't want him to get _s_h_i_t_canned, either, no matter how tempting the idea was at times. Mulder was *good*, he had heart, and he was so _d_a_m_n_ talented it hurt the heart. And he had personal reasons - Skinner had seen him bleeding inside and out enough to know that. He wasn't about to let the agent lose everything.
When Mulder had quieted a little, Skinner took his arm and helped him up off the couch. "Now, Mulder, I want you to go stand in the corner and face the wall until you've composed yourself. Hands on your head, and don't say a word."
Mulder's tear-stained face dropped open. "The. . . you want me to. . ."
Skinner sighed loudly. "Or would you rather go on your merry way out the door just as you are, past my secretary and whoever else you happen to meet in the hallway?"
Mulder hung his head. Without another word, he pulled up his dress pants and fastened them - wincing as he did so - and made his way to the corner. He stood with his fingers laced on top of his head for fifteen minutes, and when his boss called him out of the corner his face had regained its normal color and much of the puffiness had gone out of his eyes. He realized that the corner time was, as much as anything else, a gesture of respect - he couldn't imaging having had to face *anyone*, after that. Not after that.
Skinner helped him back into his coat, and handed him a manila envelope.
"What's this?"
Walter smiled. "Your next assignment, Agent Mulder. The one you were pulled from? It looks like a joke compared to this one. I earmarked it for you. I figure maybe you can do something with it that nobody else can. They're all at a loss, so it's yours."
Mulder nodded and made his way to the door.
"Agent Mulder?"
"Sir?"
"I won't say a word about this. . . but do you understand what I told you about limits? Restraint, Mulder. Learn how to save yourself, or no one else will be able to, either. You get me?"
"Yes, sir." Mulder nodded - no trace of sarcasm left in that boyish, wounded face. "I get you."
"Good." Skinner donned his glasses. "You're dismissed, Agent Mulder."
The door closed behind him, and Skinner breathed a sigh of relief.
For now. . .