Drunkard By Choice
by Halrloprillalar

SPOILERS: None.

DISTRIBUTION: Archive freely. Email forwarding OK.

RATING: NC17 for manly men doing manly things with their manly
bits.

KEYWORDS: Slash.

SUMMARY: Skinner/Doggett. Your basic drunken songfic truckfuck
no-such-thing-as-an-ex-Marine extravaganza.

DISCLAIMER: Not mine.

MORE FIC: http://prillalar.tripod.com/fic/fic.html

March 2001

For the Scullyficcers, closet slashfen.

NOTE: I've come to believe that there is a lot of scope for a
serious and deeply felt Skinner/Doggett slash story. This is not
that story.

TIMELINE: It's warm out.


     Soldier by day, lover by night,
     Drunkard by choice, Marine by God!


DRUNKARD BY CHOICE
by Halrloprillalar <prillalar@yahoo.com>

** A pitcher of beer **

Skinner poured out. Doggett took the glass and drank. The bar was
loud, country music blaring from the jukebox and people laughing
at their tables.

"I didn't know there were this many ten gallon hats in DC."
Doggett looked across the table at Skinner. "Were we supposed to
wear them?"

"We're not undercover here." Skinner downed half his glass. "You
have one?"

"No. You?"

"No."

Quite the look from Skinner there. "I take it you didn't pick the
meeting place."

"No." Skinner looked around the room, answered without turning
back to Doggett. "Agent Scully did."

"Ah." Doggett leaned back, sipped his beer. "And where is Agent
Scully?"

"She'll be here." The rest of Skinner's beer disappeared and he
filled the glass again. His trench coat rang. "Skinner...where
are you?...all right...okay...uh, hi to her too."

"Scully?"

Skinner nodded. "Her mother dropped in. So the meeting's off." He
drained his glass, so quickly Doggett was impressed, and stood.

"You're going to leave me here to drink alone?"

Skinner stared at Doggett, still standing. "What?"

Jeez, the stories were true. AD Skinner was a robot. "You had
something else to do? Sit down and relax for once."

It took a few more moments of staring first, but Skinner sat
again, shrugging out of his coat. He topped off Doggett's glass,
then filled his own. "If you're going to drink with me, you'll
have to keep up."

"I can do that."


** Two shots of Jager, two bottles of Sam Adams **

"Isn't there anything worth listening to here?"

"Do you like 'The Devil Went Down To Georgia'?"

"Give me another quarter. We can play a whole album."

"'Johnny Cash Sings Ballads Of The True West.' Nice choice."

"You don't like Johnny Cash?"

"Do they have 'Ring of Fire'?"


** Another pitcher **

"C'mon, rack'em."

"We playing for money this time?"

"We'll play for the tab."

"Damn, the table's warped."

"It's just the way you're standing."

"It's a trick shot."

"Sure."


** Shot of Jack, leave the bottle **

Doggett toyed with his glass before pouring out another shot.
"Skinner, do you really believe this alien stuff?"

Skinner leaned in over the table. "I've seen so many things.
Things that I can't explain."

"What kinds of things?"

"Spiritual things. Paranormal things."

"You're still being vague here."

Skinner frowned. "Sorry." He stared at his empty glass for a
minute, then splashed in some whiskey. "Lessee, there was the
time when...the time when..."

"When what?"

"When I was in Viet Nam and I died and then--" Skinner stood
suddenly and bumped the table. "I'll be right back."

Doggett yawned and stared at his drink. After a while, he became
aware of someone standing beside him.

"I'm sorry sir, we're closing. Your bill."

Blinking, Doggett fished his wallet out of his pocket, then
fished his credit card out of his wallet. He signed something,
stuffed a piece of paper into his pocket. Looked at the plastic
card and finally realised he was supposed to put it away. Skinner
came back. One more time, they raised their glasses and drank.

"You owe me for the tab, Skinner."

"The table was warped."


** Outside **

The night breeze was cool on Doggett's nose. And the back of his
neck. He and Skinner headed down the sidewalk, bumping at the
shoulder.

Skinner stopped and grabbed Doggett's arm. "My car's the other
way."

"You're too drunk to drive."

"Right." They walked a little further. "Where are we going,
then?"

"My truck."

"You're as drunk as I am."

"'S okay, we're not going to drive."

Skinner nodded or something and they kept going. Doggett started
to feel a little uncomfortable. Like he'd forgotten something.
They came up to an alley. Ah.

"Just a sec, Skinner." He stumbled a few feet down the alley and
unzipped. Oh, yeah. Nothing felt better than this.

"Hurry up," Skinner called.

"Keep your pants on, Skinner," Doggett called back and started to
laugh. So funny. He was impressed with himself. He zipped up and
went out to the street to see if Skinner was laughing too.

"Keep your own pants on, soldier."

"Sir, yes, sir." Doggett saluted. Skinner returned it and they
held the pose for a few seconds. And a few seconds longer.
Doggett's arm was getting tired. "Permission to stop saluting,
sir."

"Granted. We'll stop on three.  One...two...three!" They didn't
stop.

"Someone has to stop." Doggett didn't know how long he could keep
standing up so straight. "I'll stop."

"Okay, you stop."

"I'll stop now." Doggett brought his arm down sharply, then
slumped a little. Skinner did the same, slinging his arm over
Doggett's shoulders.

"Which way?" Skinner turned his head and Doggett got the full
benefit of his breath.

Doggett turned too and tried to focus on the face a few inches
away from his own, on the end of the wide nose. "This way." He
pulled Skinner along the sidewalk, winding his own arm under and
over Skinner's back.

Skinner started to sing and Doggett joined in:

    "From the Halls of Montezuma
     To the Shores of Tripoli;
     We fight our country's battles
     In the air, on land and sea;
     First to fight for right and freedom
     And to keep our honor clean;
     We are proud to claim the title
     of United States Marine."

People were staring, impressed by the glorious display. Doggett
held his head high. And realised they'd walked right past the
truck.

Skinner kept singing:

    "Our flag's unfurled to every breeze
     From dawn to setting sun;"

"This way." Doggett turned around, dragging Skinner around with
him. Skinner kept on going, though, and Doggett had to yank him
back to keep them from spinning right around.

    "We have fought in ev'ry clime and place
     Where we could take a gun;"

Here was the truck. It took a minute, but Doggett got the
tailgate open. "Here we are, Skinner."

Skinner was leaning against the side, ignoring Doggett.

    "In the snow of far-off Northern lands
     And in sunny tropic scenes;"

"Come on, get in." Doggett pushed Skinner, propelling him in the
right direction. He had to shove Skinner's head down, though,
before he could get him to crawl in under the tarp stretched over
the box. Even that didn't shut him up.

    "You will find us always on the job--
     The United States Marines."

Doggett crept in after him and slammed the tailgate shut.
Somewhere in here there was something he needed. Maybe in the
corner. He was blind in the dark so he felt around for it. No,
not there. Maybe in the other corner. He reached over but
something was in the way.

"Hey, whatcha doing?"

"Looking for something. Can you move a little?"

Suddenly Doggett was blind in the light.

"I have my flashlight." Skinner sounded pleased.

"Point it away from me!"

It was a few blinks before Doggett could see. Skinner held the
flashlight under his own chin, ghost-story style. "What are you
looking for?"

Doggett had to think about that. He was drunk, under the tarp in
the bed of his truck, late at night. What would he be looking
for? Logically: "A blanket." As soon as he spoke, the flashlight
pointed back into his face. "Stop it! Look in the corner."

The light moved again and sure enough, there was the blanket.
Skinner pulled it over top of them.

"No, blanket underneath. Jackets on top. Sleep."

"Sleep. Got it." Skinner switched out the light. They thrashed
around together and finally got the blanket mostly underneath. It
was lumpy, but slightly more comfortable than the metal floor.

Doggett struggled out of his jacket and spread it on top of him.
A trench coat settled over his face. He pulled it away just in
time for a shirt to take its place. A shirt? "What are you
doing?"

Skinner bumped Doggett and stretched the tarp and banged his
shoes against the floor. "Can't sleep in these." He continued to
roll and flail.

"What do you sleep in?"

"Nothing." Finally, Skinner fell back and lay still.

The small sane part of Doggett looking out from under the hazy
layers of alcohol and darkness knew with absolute clarity that he
was drunk and he was lying in the bed of his truck with the
Assistant Director who was also drunk and almost certainly stark
naked. That small part of him also knew that this was Not A Good
Thing.

The other part of Doggett threw his arm around Skinner and buried
his face in the man's neck.

The neck was warm, textured with tendons and pulse. Doggett
nuzzled at it, trying to feel it all through his skin. His hand,
meanwhile, took in Skinner's chest. He'd never seen the chest in
its natural state and unless he could find the flashlight, he
wasn't likely to now. But felt a lot like he'd imagined it
looked: hard and sculpted, toned, hairy, muscles moving under his
fingers as he felt hands pulling at his own shirt and sliding up
his bare back.

Doggett let drunken instinct help Skinner get the shirt over his
head. A firm hand gripped his jaw and then they were making out
in earnest, crushing kisses, probing tongues, roving hands -- the
whole bit. There was so much Skinner but Doggett couldn't get
enough. Neither could Skinner, by the feel of it. The man's hands
were on Doggett's ass, pulling him close and his mouth was
Doggett's neck. Doggett tried to remember if he even owned a
turtleneck sweater anymore.

There was too much flesh tempting him, so Doggett moved down
Skinner's body as best he could, licking and biting his way. When
he got down to the flat abdomen, he plunged his tongue into
Skinner's navel and felt Skinner arch under him. It wasn't the
best-tasting part of Skinner, but Doggett liked the reaction so
he did it again and again.

After a while, he couldn't wait any longer, and he took Skinner's
cock into his mouth.

At least, said the small sane part of Doggett, you two are too
drunk to...oh shit.

Skinner was firming up nicely. Doggett crouched rather awkwardly,
but he ignored the crick in his neck and the pain in his knees
and his head hitting the tarp as he sucked Skinner off. This part
of Skinner tasted much better.

When Skinner came, he was noisy, gasping an invocation and
pounding his fists on the floor. Doggett swallowed and crawled
back up until he was head to head with Skinner again. He licked
the man's cheek. "Don't go to sleep on me, guy, it's my turn."

"Mmm...right." Skinner ran his hand down Doggett's side. "Take
'em off."

Doggett managed to get his belt unbuckled and his jeans
unbuttoned, but they were only down to his knees when Skinner
took him in hand. Doggett just held on, mouth on Skinner's
shoulder, hands somewhere, blood all rushing to his cock, as
Skinner jacked him with more care and control than Doggett
expected at this point. When he shot, he bit down hard and it was
Skinner who gasped again.

A hand smeared across his belly, rubbing jizz into his skin. It
tickled and Doggett started to laugh. Skinner joined in and they
giggled and poked at each other until they began to shiver. Then
they heaped shirts and pants and jackets over themselves and
drifted off to sleep.


** Morning After **

Doggett opened his eyes. It was still dark for some reason. He
sat up and hit his head and lay back down and hit his head, as
though it didn't hurt enough already, and then he knew oh fuck
just where he was and just whose sticky naked thigh was thrown
over his also very naked body.

Skinner moved and Doggett knew he was awake. Neither spoke and
Doggett tried to think. "Tell you what, it never happened."

"Okay." Skinner moved his thigh. "It never happened."

"We'll never speak of it."

"Never."

"Good." Now they just had to somehow get dressed and out of here.
Doggett wasn't quite sure where to begin.

"One more thing." Skinner stretched and Doggett could feel every
muscle ripple against his side.

"What's that?"

"Next week I'll pick the bar."

F I N I S

Does anybody know how to get "Ring of Fire" out of my head?
prillalar@yahoo.com