Date: June, 1999
Summary: Skinner shows he still has it.
Warning: Humour, in the time of Sleepless (maybe) Archive: Archive X, Gossamer: others, please ask so I know where it went.
DISCLAIMER: Yes, they belong to CC and 1013. No, I'm
not keeping them. Deep sigh.
Skinner was looking at his reflections in the mirrored walls of the ensuite bathroom.
He'd just come out of the shower and droplets of water were making their way down his muscled body.
He was quite proud of that body, worked hard to maintain it to this level of quality. No steroids, just plain hard work on the machines. Couple of hours during the week, good workout on the weekend.
Diet was less important than the genes he'd inherited, though he did watch what he ate, kept the beer down to a minimum. And not that horse-piss lite stuff either. If he was going to treat himself, it was with the best he could find. Moderation did not mean low standards.
He pulled a towel off the heated railing. One thing to be said for these expensive hotels, they gave you your money's worth in the details. Warm towels, multi-head shower stall, whirlpool bath. One of those nice, thick velvety bathrobes hanging on the bathroom wall. Even included shaving gear, toothbrush, all the stuff a regular bathroom would have.
Good thing, too. He hadn't intended to stay past the noon conference. Had even sent his things ahead to the airport.
He took his time drying himself. Checked himself out in the mirrors. Decadent sort of thing, these mirrored walls. Went well with the decadent price of the suite. Not the sort of thing you put into your own bathroom. But nice to use, once in a while, if only to support your own idea of self.
He flexed his arms and shoulders. Nice muscle definition there. He pulled in his stomach. Not that it pulled in much. Or had to. Rib cage showed well. Upper body was not of the classic proportion to waist and hips, but hell, no one had ever complained. He'd gotten lots of remarks from women (and men) about how small his waist and hips were.
He looked into the other mirror, to view himself from the back. Back was pretty good, too. Spinal line was well-resolved. Led the eye to tight buttocks. Good and tight. He slapped himself, hard, on a cheek. Pleased to see very little wobble. Repeated the action on the other cheek.
Lightly furred legs. Good, strong legs. Strong thighs.
Arms still firm. No flab.
Pecs. He was quietly proud of those. Filled out his shirts well.
Like his cock filled out his briefs. A little droopy right now, but something to make a man proud. Not his father's; his grandfather's. Like some other things that skipped generations. Like hair. His father had a full head, but hardly any body hair. *He* may have inherited his grandfather's receding hairline, but also his body hair. Some on his arms, legs; nice tuffs in the armpits; nice bit on his upper chest, smooth line to the groin, and a good, thick bush to go with a good, thick cock.
He sent a rather sassy grin at the reflections in the mirror. Assumed a classic Schwarzenegger pose. Laughed at himself. Not as good as Arnie, but then Arnie wasn't exactly a classic himself these days.
He finished drying himself, and went to get into the clothes he'd worn yesterday. Usually, he hated wearing the same clothes two days in a row, especially the shorts. But, hell, he'd actually worn those for only part of the day. He'd be in DC by mid-afternoon and was going straight home from the airport. He'd change then.
He finished fixing his tie, put his suit jacket on. Checked in the mirrors to be sure everything was hanging right.
Checked his watch. He had just enough time to sign out before the airport limousine was due to leave.
Passing the oversized round bed that was the focus of the bedroom, he leaned over and swatted two rounded lumps, huddled under the covers.
"Up and at 'em," he called. "Checkout is in an hour. I'll see you back in DC."
The door closed as the two lumps began to move. Very slowly. Two different voices made moaning and/or groaning sounds as they made their way from under the covers. Two dark heads came out. Neither looked particularly rested, in spite of the luxuriousness of their surroundings.
One of them lay still on the bed as other attempted to sit up. It was obviously very uncomfortable to do so.
"Jesus! Mulder." said the first, "Next time keep your cracks about baldness and testosterone levels to yourself, will you?"
"Shut up, Krycek. I'm not the one who called him an old man."
Downstairs, Skinner got into the limousine, feeling quite replenished.