The Linking of Lost Souls Part One by Katail Stanley Raymond Kowalski woke thrashing in the twisted white sheets and promptly flipped out of the bed, onto the beige carpeting. His screams still echoed in his ears as he lay on his side staring at the impartial motel walls and waiting for his heart to slow. It was that nightmare again. The one he had not suffered in a long time—a real long time, before he married Stella, before her sweet, warm body and soft murmured caresses chased it away. Stella was not here, now. She was fed up with his sorry ass. Said he did not talk to her anymore. Said he was a stranger. Said he was a drunk, and she would not cover for him anymore. Can't really blame her He spotted the line of beer bottles decorating the cheap dresser on the far wall. He winced as he sat up, fingering the bandages wrapped around his head and over his left eye. Great. Real smart Ray. Get yerself stinkin drunk while gettin over a concussion. Yer such a loser. Geez, I suck. But he could not help it. He was losing Stella long before he started drinking. He saw her doing well at the job. She had just made District Attorney and had come home all happy and excited. He was glad to see her smiling again, but he was sad too. "Can't you just be happy for me, Ray?" she pleaded. "Yeah, Stella. It's real great." Looking back, he realized that his response was less than enthusiastic. It was just that he saw all his dreams of having her and a family slipping down the drain. Now it was worse. Now she did not need him at all anymore. Ray felt betrayed. Lost. He remembered how shy and sweet she used to be. She had needed his cocky, brass attitude to protect her from the world. He would do anything for her. Anything. She was perfect and she got better every day. They were meant to be together forever. He was sure, because he loved her so much, but now she was successful and confident too. I'm not the hero anymore. Now she sees the real me—a loud-mouthed, skinny flatfoot with experimental hair. And she did not want him. He bent his head into his hands and choked back the tears that threatened to drown him once again. He hated crying, really hated it, and so three nights ago, after a huge fight with Stella, he went to a bar to avoid totally breaking down and maybe driving his car into Lake Michigan or something just as stupid. He only meant to have one or two, but the next thing he knew he could barely sit up on the stool. The bartender cut him off, and just as he was about to leave, a fight broke out. Ray got in the middle of it, and some guy he could not even identify took a broken bottle to his face and messed him up real bad— lots of stitches in his eyelid, and no reassurance that he would ever see out of it again. Not just his marriage was over, but maybe his career too. Lieutenant Briggs was willing to give him all the time he wanted. He was a good cop. It was only just lately that he was fucking up so bad. Ray asked for two days. The Lieutenant agreed, but he was delegated to deskwork until the bandages came off and his vision was declared passable. His partner, Joe, clapped him on the back and joked about Ray getting the easy life. Joe was a good guy, but he was dumber than a box of rocks. Most of the other cops in the precinct could not even look at him. They knew he had problems, they knew he tried to solve them in a bottle, and they knew that he would pay for that by maybe never walking back into the station as a cop again. Now it was not enough that his waking life was a nightmare, but did he have to get sleep terrors, too? Ray struggled to his feet as he tried to recall the details of the dream, but it was always the same. He was lying naked on a metal table with bright lights all around him. He couldn't move, and he was terrified. That's all he could ever remember about the dream, and he'd had it since he was a kid. Still scared the bejeezus out of him. Ray licked his lips and ran a hand through his unruly blond hair. He had to get moving to make the doctor appointment for 11am. Stumbling into the bathroom, he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. His blond hair was flat in places, dirty and matted. A blood shot, watery blue eye stared back at him beside the bruised, bandaged-shut one, from an unshaven face that looked several years older than thirty. Who the fuck would want that? No one is more screwed up than I am. No one is more fucked up than I am Agent Fox Mulder downed another tequila shot. My partner is gone, and it's my fault. Oh, God, Scully, I'm so sorry! I should have been there for you! Even though it had happened months ago, he could still hear her screams for him over the answering machine. "Mulder! Mulder, I need help!" She was still missing, because he had made her believe in him and as a result, she had wanted to help him with the Duane Barry case even though she was not officially his partner anymore. His official partner was Alex Krycek. Alex-fucking-Krycek. God! I was so stupid! I actually trusted that rat-bastard! Mulder slammed the shotglass onto the shiny bar. The bartender gave him a worried glance. Mulder waved her off, and put his head into his hand. What were you thinking? You didn't know anything about him! Krycek really had him duped—the young, inexperienced agent looking for approval. His hero worship attitude had annoyed Mulder, but he had acted so honest and eager. Mulder laughed at himself. Eager. Yes, that was the word, except Mulder was not certain whether it described Krycek or himself. Mulder felt a surge of self-loathing so dark that he almost broke down right there on the barstool. He squeezed his eyes shut and bit his lip. Then he opened his eyes to the white-knuckled grip his own hands had on the counter and looked up to see the bartender watching him with narrowed eyes. Mulder got the hint and paid his tab. Once out of the bar, his thoughts immediately returned to his green-eyed, seemingly naive, ex-partner. He did have amazing green eyes. Yes. And when he laughed, his smile gave those emerald eyes a sexy glitter. Yes. Underneath all that hair gel and bad tailoring, Alex was definitely sexy. Mulder could still feel the silky texture of his muscled back, and he could smell Alex's dark musky scent. He felt his groin grow warm with the memory. He stopped in shock and then spun to kick a large, green, garbage dumpster tucked into a nearby alley. "God dammit!" he yelled. No wonder you're such a fuck-up! Always thinking with your fucking dick! You let Krycek get into your head, (Fuck it!), into your fucking bed, and Scully is gone. Then you can't handle the feelings you still have for the guy. So you fuck around with a woman who likes to drink blood. Let's not think about the fact that she was a murder suspect, and you had to lie on the report to cover up just how badly you fucked up! Maybe you should dwell on the fact that she set herself on fire about five minutes after you were done fucking her! Pain throbbed in his hand. He stared in bewilderment at blood dripping down his fingers. The knuckles were scraped and bruised. Apparently, he had switched from kicking the metal container to punching it. In the darkness, he could barely detect the stains of his blood added to the filthy dented surface. Mulder stumbled backwards out to the sidewalk again as he wrapped a hankercheif around his throbbing hand. He quickly turned on his heel and headed back to his hotel, several buildings down the block. He deliberately turned his thoughts to his newest case. The call from Agent Miller came the night after Kristen Kilar self-immolated. Mulder was so depressed that night, he only sat on his couch and just stared at the way the streetlight gleamed on his Smith and Wesson. Then the phone rang. He lifted the receiver to his ear and forced himself to say, "Mulder." The voice over the line came through both eager and controlled. "Yeah, hi, Agent Mulder. I don't know if you remember me, but we went to the Academy together—Kyle Miller." Mulder sat up on his couch. "Yes. I remember," he said as he pictured the short man with curly brown locks and dark, inquisitive eyes. Miller was a friendly guy. Everybody liked him, and he worked hard. "Great. Well, you're a hard guy to get a hold of. Are you still working in Violent Crimes?" Mulder pushed his gun along the coffee table idly. "No. I, uh, no, I'm not." "Oh," Miller said with disappointment. Mulder's natural curiosity caught him. "Why? What are you calling me for?" "Well, I have this case that I thought might interest you, and I remember we used to get along okay. I just don't want some idiot to be assigned to help me out here. Tempers are on edge. You're known for complete devotion to a case. I'm looking for someone who doesn't give a damn about district politics." It was not an X-File. Three different bodies were found near three different towns, in rivers along Rte. 88, from Fairport, Iowa and Northern Illinios. Miller needed an expert profiler. Mulder jumped at the chance. Anything was better than sitting in his office staring at Scully's empty chair and stabbing himself in the heart with regret. His boss, Skinner gladly signed Mulder's time away. It was just good to see the talented agent focus on something other than the loss of his partner. Profiling had the cherished side effect for Mulder of banishing all thoughts but those case-related. As he continued down the street, he recalled the pictures taken of the bodies at the scene. All three were young, blond boys, ages eight or nine. They were naked, arms bound crossed over chest with chicken wire. The position of the bodies suggested an imitation of a funeral. Dumping the bodies into the river was another part of the funeral ritual. The eyes on one corpse were taped shut with standard duct tape. Mulder concluded that the killer felt remorse after death. Actually, this was a positive sign. Serial killers with remorse often try to turn themselves in, or they let themselves be caught for a less serious crime in the hope that a connection would be made to them. Unfortunately, this speculation would not help much, if the investigators could not get enough physical evidence from the crime scene. Part of the problem was that the locations of the bodies were not the locations of the crimes. Also, since the victims were naked, prints proved impossible to lift. Lastly, both the chicken wire and duct tape were easily obtained in this part of the country. The first two bodies were already autopsied. The third was found only yesterday, and its state of decomposition suggested that one was actually the first of the three victims. Autopsies confirmed that the deaths of James Hunley and William Sikorsky were from broken necks. Contusions on the heads led Mulder to think the killer knocked the boys unconscious in order to kidnap them. James Hunley, male, 9 years old, was reported missing on September 24th. He left school at 3pm, and walked his usual route home with his best friend. There were only ten minutes between when the friends separated, and when James should have arrived home. The police concluded that the killer had followed the boys from the schoolyard. Two weeks later, his body was found downstream just south of his hometown. Police had kept the scene pretty well-protected. The icy water had slowed decomposition, but the river had washed away a great deal of evidence. Or the killer had Mulder kept that in mind. William Sikorski, male, 8 yrs, went missing on October 19th. His story was much the same. Both boys were kept captive for several days before death. The strangest clues were the odd scratches on the faces of all three victims. The injuries were not inflicted in any pattern that Mulder could see, and the small town coroner had not been able to determine the weapon used to make the cuts. Mulder had the bodies sent to Quantico for further evaluation. If Scully were still around, then he would have sent the bodies to her attention. Scully. Oh, God! Scully! Mulder leaned his head on his hotel room door and fumbled for the key. He barely remembered the walk back, so engrossed was he by the case. Now, of course, he could count on staying awake all night, obsessed with either dead children or a missing partner. Damn! He could kick himself in the head for not stopping at a liquor store on the way back. Ray swore that if the lady ahead of him did not get her little brats under control, then somebody was gonna get a kick in the head. He tapped his foot impatiently as he leaned against the receptionist counter window at the busy optometrist office. Finally, the woman swept her brood out the door. Ray was left with only two patients ahead of him, and so he let his gaze wander over the pretty girl behind the counter. She had a nice smile and nice legs too. He had noticed them earlier, when she stood up to retrieve a file. Her parted blouse opened just enough that he could see the swell of her right breast and the edge of a lacy, pink bra. Nice. Stella would wear a bra like that. He shook his head before the Stella thoughts could start racing around his head like out of control carousel horses with garish colors and sharp, gnashing teeth. The first patient moved on. Ray leaned his head against the plexiglass and found himself looking at a magazine on the receptionist's desk. It was laid open to an article about UFOs. Down one side was a list entitled, "10 Reasons to Suspect You Were Abducted". 1) You have re-occurring dreams about UFOs. 2) You have dreams or unexplainable memories of being in a brightly-lit room. 3) You have experienced a period of missing time. The list went on, but the girl's arm covered it. Bright rooms and missing time. Ray smiled grimly. Yes, he had that. He recalled the time he went missing for three days, when he was ten years old. The memory was vague, because he remembered playing in his uncle's barn one minute, and then, the next part he knew was being held by his mom in a hospital room. The doctor with the East Indian accent was talking to his dad, and he could hear the conversation. "Beyond the slight memory loss, there does not seem to be any permanent damage from the bump on the head. Lots of scratches, a few bruises, and some mild dehydration. Nothing serious," the doctor said. "Well, Thank God for that. Think he'll ever remember what he wandered off after?" His dad's voice sounded tired. "Maybe, but I would not push it. Your son has just blocked a frightening time in the woods alone. I have written a mild sedative for your wife. It will help her sleep. Other than that, you can take him on home." Ray never did remember the events that occurred while he was lost those three days, but a UFO? Nah. He chuckled to himself. No way. He was so lost in his thoughts, that it took a moment to register the receptionist's voice. "Sir? Sir, are you all right?" Ray jerked his head up to see the pretty receptionist looking at him with a worried expression. "Sorry." He smiled and ducked his head to hide the blush. "It's okay," she smiled, "Patients often feel dizzy when their eyes are damaged. Your equilibrium is off." "Yeah. Um. Thanks. Um. Am I next?" Ray asked, as he saw no one else at the counter. "Yes. Your insurance covers everything. Just sign here." The girl pushed a small slip of paper to him through the arched opening in the plexiglass window. "Thanks." Ray scribbled his signature and gestured to the magazine. "You read that stuff?" he asked. The girl glanced down and back up with an embarrassed grin. "Yes. I don't believe in it, but think it's interesting. My friend's mom is really into it. She totally believes she was abducted." "Yeah? That's funny." "Yeah, except it's a little scary too. I mean, she's a big time lawyer. It's scary to hear her talk about it." Ray's eye narrowed in thought. "You don't believe her though?" "Well, no. Kind of hard to, but there's this convention going on at the Institute this weekend that people who study UFOs are going to be at. She wants to take me and her daughter with her. I guess to meet other people who have the same story." "Huh. Well, have a good time," Ray said and then quickly made his exit. Yeah, have a good time hangin' out with all the freaks, he thought, but he wondered if taking a swing by the place might be interesting. Afterall, he had nothing better to do— only one trip to the hospital for an evaluation. The doctor had said his eye was healing nicely, but he needed an opinion on plastic surgery for the scarring. Ray hoped he would not need any surgery. Hospitals gave him the creeps. They smelled funny. Mulder could still smell the morgue on himself. Another body was found. This one was along the Fox River just outside of Chicago. The preliminary report placed the death only a week ago. That would place the kidnapping only a week after the third victim. The killer was getting braver. This meant they did not have much time before the next child went missing—less than a week probably. The final autopsy report came back on the body recovered last week- victim # 1. He still was not identified, but there was not much left after exposure to the elements for three months. They would have to trace the identity through missing children reports and dental records. That would be time consuming, but Agent Miller already had someone working on it. The details of the first victim could tell so much more about the killer, if, that is, this was the first victim. The only point of information that helped was the location of the body. The killer was moving East for certain. That would place the next murder either in the suburbs or the city of Chicago. Mulder prayed that he could stop him beforehand. News of the related deaths hit the streets last Friday. The FBI had only been called in the day before, and the officers who were working together from the different jurisdictions could hardly be called a task force. Then some reporter got information on three victims with the same M.O., he wasted no time slapping "Serial Killer: Little Boy Blue" into the headlines. Mulder guessed the reporter was referring to each victim living in a rural area, but he did not care. What mattered was that, immediately, more support was give to Agents Kyle Miller and Gail Vaughn. Agent Miller encountered no refusal when he requested Mulder to help on the case. Now every newspaper and TV station in the Chicago area was clamoring for more information. At least now, any cop coming across a body of a nine or ten year old blond boy was going to think about this case and would give the new task force a call. In the mean time, Mulder was glad to be back in his hotel room. There were few things worse than the smell during an autopsy- some mixture of spoiled meat, urine, shit, and the iron tang of blood. Plus, and let's not forget this one folks! Formaldehyde! Mulder was pretty good at acclimatizing himself once he entered the room, but the smell that clung to his clothes afterwards, made him repeatedly gag every time the air shifted. He stripped off his expensive suit and tossed it on a chair with a reminder to find the nearest dry cleaner. A shower was the best course of action. He stood with his head bowed and let the steaming hot water rain down on his neck and back. Rivulets drizzled from his hair and into his face. He closed his eyes. Pictures of a dead little boy flashed across his mind. There was something he was missing. The pictures rearranged and flashed again—magnified. Bloated white little body wrapped tightly in wire that cut into the skin. The hands crossed in reverence on the chest. Blue-black mouth. Open, glassy, milky, blue eyes staring forever into blackness. The first picture showed the lower half of the body still in the water. The head rested on a decaying log—twisted at an angle too severe to mimic rest. Mulder tossed his head back and shook the image from his brain. Then he stared down at the water swirling around his toes. No trace evidence trapped under the wrapped wire or in the vicitm's hair. The killer probably washed the body before emersion into the river. Ritual bathing? Washing away their sins? Maybe, but the killer doesn't see the children as dirty themselves. More likely, the cleansing was for what he did to them. Mulder sighed. Maybe analysis of the scratches would tell more, but he wouldn't get that report until at least Monday. Dammit! If Scully were there... Mulder squeezed his eyes shut. Scully was not there, and she was not here by his side either. He had let Scully down, and now she was gone—still missing two months later. Mulder straightened and turned to slam the water off. He stepped out and briskly dried himself off. He kept think of Scully all day long, especially in the morgue. When was the last time he was in a morgue without Scully to give him the details? He kept seeing the pathologist's large, blunt-fingered hands melt and morph into petite, nimble hands, whose porcelain beauty was covered with protective latex, and in turn, covered a surprising strength. It was a strength he had learned to depend on. Scully was his pillar, the tether that kept him from drifting away. He kept seeing the flick of her flame red hair in the corner of his eye, and he missed the click of her determined heels behind him. There was an empty space that nothing could fill, but wishes and memories. The wet towel was tossed onto the carpeted floor, and Mulder crawled under the covers. For the hundredth time, he wished it were all a dream. He wished Scully was on the case with him where she belonged. He wished he could hear her in the next room drying her hair after a long bath. She would lay in the bed on the other side of the wall, and he would know that his anchor, his partner, his friend, was safe, and therefore, he was safe. Now he thought he might go completely insane. His days, at least, could be consumed with the case. He laughed bitterly to himself. Ironic that you owe your sanity to an insane killer. Pushing aside your own terror with someone else's. The nights were much harder. Sometimes he dreamed of Scully- the night she was taken. "Mulder! I need help! Mulder!!" Mostly he dreamed of his sister Samantha and the night she was taken. "Help me, Fox!" "Samanthaaa!!" The two he cared more about than anyone else, and he had failed to protect them. The worst of all was dreaming of Krycek, because those dreams were not nightmares until he woke and cursed himself and the sticky wetness of the sheets. Alex Krycek haunted his bed, Samantha echoed in his past, and Scully's ghost tormented him while he worked. Tomorrow, he would write his report thus far, and he had to prepare a lecture to be given at the MUFON convention tomorrow night. Those tasks together he hoped would be an adequate distraction for a while. Mulder closed his eyes and prayed for sleep to come quickly. Blessedly, exhaustion conquered all self-blame and loathing tonight, and he slept deeply through most of the night. Ray did not remember going to sleep again last night, but he did wake up with another raging hangover. He managed to stumble into the shower to wash away the stink of cigarettes and stale sweat before his stomach rolled, and he opened the shower curtain to puke into the pristine bowl. Not so pristine anymore, he thought. Ray ducked back under the steaming spray and rinsed out his mouth. That made him feel a little better. Then he worked at scrubbing his hair. What is it with goin' out to bars that yer hair feels so skanky? Maybe it's just me, cause I pretty much feel skanky all over. Ray tilted his head back to let the shower wash away all the suds off his head. He really did feel much better clean. He stepped out and dried himself in front of the foggy mirror. His long, thin body was still marked with fading, greenish bruises. His knuckles were scabbed, and the stitches along his eye stood out starkly against his pale face. "Ya ain't gonna win any beauty contest, Ray" he said to his reflection. "Don't matter. Who would wantchya anyway?" He briskly scrubbed the towel over his head as he walked naked out of the bathroom. He dropped the towel on the floor and looked at his watch as he strapped it on. Today was November 11th and two weeks until Thanksgiving. Nothin' like being thrown out on yer ass just before the holidays. Oh, but let's face it, Ray. Yer lucky Stella forgave ya for last year. Last Thanksgiving was the beginning of Ray's descent into the bottle. Stella had to work late again. Ray was home on time, because this night, the night before Thanksgiving Day, was going to be special. It would be the first year his parents were away, and Stella and he would have this time to themselves. The past couple of months had been pretty rocky for them. Lots of fights were started. They were both working so much, they barely had time for each other. He could not remember the last time they just cuddled and talked. So Ray had planned a very special night with dinner and dancing, and it was meant as a surprise for Stella, but Stella called to say she would be late—an hour or so. Then she did not get home until almost midnight, and Ray was passed out on the couch with two empty bottles of wine on the floor. The next day was hell. A hangover, worse than the one he had now, made the fight they had unbearable, and Ray fled the scene before he lost control of his temper. Ray leaned forward against the dresser, gripping the edge and squeezing his eyes shut to rid himself of the bad memory. Think of the year before. Yeah, that was nice, or even better, think of the first year you were together. Ray smiled and relaxed his aching fingers. That was probably the best Thanksgiving ever. He and Stella were married a few months before, and they talked and made love all the time. They planned on having a baby, but Stella wanted to wait until her new job at the district attorney's office was more secure. That was fine with Ray, because everything else was just perfect. That holiday was spent at his parents' home. Peter, his brother was visiting from California and told them all about some new investments that were paying off very well. Ray, himself, was just given a commendation for bravery on the job. He spent that afternoon with his dad in the garage tinkering with the black GTO, while Stella and his mom chatted in the kitchen. Peter came out at regular intervals to tell them the score for the football game on tv. It was like one of them Hallmark cards, all warm and fuzzy. Ray snorted and shook his head. Dumb to think about that. Just gonna make yer sorry self feel real lonely. He could not bear to think about being without Stella on a holiday. That had not happened since before they were married. Ray straightened, and set about getting dressed. He had an appointment at the hospital in half and hour. Okay, Ray, pitter patter... He tried to concentrate on what to wear, but it seemed pointless if he was not to see Stella today. Hey, come on buddy, never know who you might see. Ray paused. What did that mean? It's not like I'm lookin' at other women—well, not really lookin'—serious like. Then that Thanksgiving weekend before they were married popped back into his head. He was reluctant to think about that year, but the memory washed over him before he could stop it. Stella was away at college, and Ray was in the academy. They usually met together on the long weekend, but Stella had decided to stay on campus to study. Ray went to his parents' house as usual, but he had a terrible fight with his dad, and he left to drive back to the academy the very next day. The only other cadet in the barracks was Antonio Sanchez. Ray got along okay with him. Sometimes they would pal around with a couple of other guys, but that day, Ray caught the shorter cadet strolling out the door by himself. "Hey, Sanchez, where ya headed?" "Ray? Hey, my friend, what are you doing back from your family?" "Emmm, not somethin' I wanna talk about," he answered as he put down his bag. "Hey, no problem," Sanchez answered and held up his hands, "I understand. So do you have plans for the day?" "Nope. I was thinkin' of goin' to the car show over at the civic center. You wanna come with me?" "Yes, and I have some shopping to do, too—for Christmas." Ray groaned. The last place he wanted to be at was near the crazy shoppers on Thanksgiving weekend, but hey, at least he was not by himself. That was how the whole day began. Ray ended up having a great time. After a long day, they ate dinner in a small Irish pub and stayed even longer to have a few drinks. It was not long before they were both in that easy, unrestrained moment of drunkenness when it seemed the guy next you could be your best friend. They rambled on about everything from the cosmic beauty of baseball to the dickhead of a sergeant that taught self-defense. "Yer a good guy, Sanchez. I mean it. I feel like I could tell ya anything, and you would give yer honest opinion. I like that—honesty," Ray announced as he signaled the waitress for another round. When he turned back around, Tony had the strangest look on his face. "What? Wha' did I say?" Ray asked. Tony looked down at his beer between his hands. "I, ah, I'm..." Tony sighed. "I want to tell you something, Ray, because I trust you, but I'm, I'm afraid to tell you." Ray peered back at his colleague in concern. "So, okay, just spill it. Come on, buddy, you can tell me anything." Tony raised his face to stare back at Ray's piercing blue eyes. "You can't tell anyone, Ray. It's very serious." "Geez, was it somethin' ya did? It ain't illegal, right?" "No, no," Tony smiled, "It's not illegal. It's just, we're cops, and you have to have a certain image as a cop." Ray's brow wrinkled in confusion. He was getting a headache. "Look, just tell me already. I promise not to squeal on ya, okay?" Tony still held back. "Listen, Sanchez, if you don't come clean, then I'm gonna have to pop you one, ya got it?" "Okay. Ray, I didn't tell you before, because I didn't know how you would react, but now I think maybe it's okay to let you know that I'm gay." Blue eyes stared back blankly at the dark brown pleading ones. Ray twitched as his brain scrambled to pluck out the important fact from that statement. "Yer gay?" he concluded. "Yes. Are you mad?" "No. I ain't mad," he answered and then suddenly wondered why he was not upset. Was he okay with this? Well, apparently not, since he could not seem to find anything to say. He looked down at the table and pushed himself back into the bench seat. Sanchez was gay? A cop? Well, why not? Pretty dumb if ya think all gay men have careers in hairdressing! Ray was not sure how he felt about this news. Part of him was shocked. Okay, that I understand. Part of him had every anti-gay slur he ever heard running around his brain like a speeding train—most of them in his father's voice. Gee, thanks Dad. Then, part of him was excited, and that had Ray worried. Ray looked back up to see that Tony was paying the tab. "I'm sorry, Ray. I should not have said." "Naw. It's okay. I still ain't gonna tell anybody. I just, I gotta think this one over, ya know?" "Yes. Do you want me to get my own ride back?" Ray stood and laughed nervously. "Naw. Don't be stupid, Sanchez. Ya gotta tell somebody sometimes, right?" Then an idea occurred to him. "Is that why you aren't with yer Mom and Dad this weekend?" "Yes. I'm not allowed in the house. Usually, I go to my sister's, but she's away this year." The dark-haired man turned his face away, and suddenly, Ray felt terribly selfish. Geez, he must be pretty lonely. Ray shrugged on his jacket and patted his friend's shoulder. "Sorry, man. Let's get outta here." In the car ride back, they barely said a work to each other. Each man was busy with his own conflicting thoughts. Ray was hypersensitive to the man sitting next to him. He tapped his fingers nervously along the steering wheel of the old souped up Monte Carlo. Sanchez is gay. The guy next to me in this car is gay. I spent all day long with a gay guy. Okay, so? I had a good time. That does not mean that I am gay. I am not gay. "I am not gay, Sanchez." The other cadet turned his head and faced Ray with an incredulous look. "I didn't think that you were," he answered. Ray nodded. "Good. That's good, cause I'm not. Okay." Silence reined for a moment. The drumming of Ray's fingers on the wheel seemed to take on a pattern that remind Ray of the telegraph sound in the movies. Dee-dee, da, dee-dee, da-dee! He consciously stopped the tapping and shifted in his seat. Finally, he blurted out, "What? I'm not attractive? I'm only good enough to be a pal? What?" Sanchez shook his head in amazement. "Listen, Ray, I didn't think you were interested. I certainly didn't mean for you to start questioning your own sexuality." "Hey! Whaddaya mean? Who's questioning? Not me. And yer right. I ain't interested." Sooner than the normal speed limit would allow, they were back at the barracks, and just as Sanchez opened the car door, Ray spoke again. "So what's it like?" he asked. Ray continued to look out the windshield with both hands gripping the wheel. "What is what like?" Sanchez answered with one foot out the door. "Kissin' a guy. What's it like?" Sanchez sighed and looked around. "I think we better talk about this inside. I don't want anybody to overhear. Is that okay?" Ray cast a startled look at the dark-haired man. "Yeah. Shit. I'm sorry. I didn't mean ta be so loud." Then he leaped out of the car and strode into the empty barracks first. Ray stopped in indecision just inside the hall. "Ray." A hand was laid on his shoulder, and Ray felt his heart stop as he jumped, and he turned around. "What?!" "Nothing. You were just blocking the door," Sanchez replied, "Listen, my friend, there is no reason to be nervous. I told you. I just want to be your friend. Nothing more." Ray licked his lips and shifted on his feet. His shoulder was hot where Sanchez had touched it, and he briefly wondered what the broad, rough palm would feel like on his bare skin. He found himself staring at the man's hands, and quickly jerked his eyes away. "So, ya gonna tell me?" Sanchez shrugged. "Not much different than kissing a woman, I guess." "Whaddya mean? Ya guess?" "Well, it's been a long time since I kissed a woman." Ray did not know what to say to that. He rubbed his hand along the back of his neck and looked at the floor. "Ya know, I don't mean to be nosey, or anything. I just, you know, I'm curious, is all." "Hey, it's okay," Sanchez said and started up the hall, "You can ask me all the questions you want. I don't want you to make assumptions." His friend flashed him a bright smile full of even, white teeth, and Ray wondered what it would be like to feel those teeth pressing behind full lips into a kiss on his own mouth. He was sure that kiss would be harder, sharper than the sweet, soft brush of Stella's lips. "Ray? Why are you staring at me?" Sanchez seemed worried. "Sorry. I, uh, I'm not sayin' things right. I'm just curious." "I understand. You're curious. I told you, it doesn't bother me, if you ask questions. Now come on, let's get out of the hall, if you're going to continue to be curious." Ray followed nervously behind Sanchez. "Yeah, well, I don't wanna ask anymore. I just wanna know. I, uh, I wanna.." Ray grabbed his friend's arm. "I wanna kiss you." Sanchez looked at him in astonishment. Ray turned his head away, embarrassed. "Okay, so you don't wanna. I get it. I just thought it wouldn't be a big deal. I just-" Ray stopped his rambling as Sanchez took his hand. "I would like to kiss you, Ray. Let's get out of the hall." "Yeah, okay. But, Sanchez, it's still just friends, ya know. I, uh, I'm just curious." Sanchez nodded and pulled him down the hall and into his room. When the door was closed, Ray's palms started sweating. Oh, Geez, what the hell am I doin'? But when he looked up into the calm, brown eyes, then he knew everything would be okay. Sanchez had kept his own secret from everyone, and no one would find out about this moment. "First thing, you have to call me Tony. I mean, you can't kiss a guy and call him by his last name. It's not right." "Yeah, okay. You got it." Ray felt a thrill run through him as one strong, tanned hand smoothed down his arm. "What if I wanna do more than just kiss ya?" Sanchez softly smiled. "One step at a time, Ray," he said and leaned in to cover Ray's mouth with his own. Ray smiled at the memory. They never went past kissing and petting that evening, but it was the beginning of one of the best relationships Ray ever had. He spent a lot of time with Tony until the day they graduated. No one ever guessed that they were more than just good friends, because they still hung out with the guys and did guy stuff. Only, some weekends they would go off by themselves to explore the gay bars. Or maybe rent a room and explore each other. Ray laughed to himself. In the end, they spent a tender night together full of soft kisses. Neither one wanted to say goodbye, but Tony knew that Ray's heart belonged to Stella, and Ray knew it was not fair to pretend otherwise. It's good to think about Tony again. All this time, I pushed those kinda thoughts away. Dumb. Yer a dumb fuck, Ray. Wantin' to be with guys ain't yer problem. Thinkin' about the Stella all day, that's where the trouble is. She don't want ya right now. Okay. Well, ya just get yer mind off thinkin' about that, and before ya know it, she'll be lookin' for ya again. Ray recalled that when he was spending all that time with Sanchez, he hardly ever called Stella, and by the end of his training, she was calling him. Yeah, so that's how it'll be. Besides, it ain't like I'd be cheatin' on 'er. He decided then and there to go out that night- not to a bar and get drunk, but to a club to dance with someone... distracting. Just to dance. Well, okay, maybe a little more. He gave himself a crooked smile in the mirror and then jumped as he looked at his watch again. He really had to hustle to meet with the doctor. "Fox Mulder! What a pleasure to finally meet you! I'm Doctor Burrfield." Mulder smiled and shook the pudgy hand of the short bespectacled man. "The pleasure is all mine, Doctor," he replied as he mentally cursed himself for arriving at the lecture hall so early. Dr. Burrfield was a notorious gossip hound, and his over-eager friendliness made it difficult to break away once one was ensnared in conversation. Mulder prayed for a rescue as the little man launched into a string of praise over his last article. An opinion-filled, one-sided conversation followed as Mulder anxiously waited for the current lecturer to finish, so that Mulder could go up to the podium and prepare. Just as he thought he might run shrieking, Mulder spotted Agent Miller crossing the room. He breathed a sigh of relief. Saved! "Excuse me, Doctor, but I see a fellow agent looking for me, and it's probably important. We're working on a case together." "Oh, oh! Of course! Well, a pleasure speaking with you." They shook hands again, and Mulder tried not to sprint as he walked over to the curly haired agent. Agent Miller must have watched the exchange, because his eyes danced with laughter as Mulder caught up to him. "I'm glad you can find humor at my expense," Mulder said. "Heh, heh, I'm guessing my timing was perfect." "You guessed right. What's up?" "We got back the lab results from Quantico early on the second victim. Those weird scratches on the faces? Well, they're made from some sort of bird claw, if you can believe that." "What??" "Yeah, and skin samples were gathered to test for DNA traces, but the techs think it was probably a chicken that made those marks." "A chicken," Mulder said dubiously. He shook his head and gazed off to the space just beyond Kyle Miller's shoulder. "Well, although chickens are known to eat just about anything, I am unaware of any carnivorous breed of chickens that would actually attack a person," he said sarcastically. "You're right there. My Dad used to raise a few chickens in the back yard, and except for a few pecks at your hand when you take the eggs, they were very docile. But roosters, on the other hand, well they can get nasty. We always hand-raised our birds, and so, there was never a problem, but roosters on average tend to be very aggressive." "You're kidding?" "I'm just telling you what I know, Mulder." "No, I mean, did you really raise chickens in the back yard?" Miller openly smiled and with a laugh he answered, "Sure. Just a few." Then he glanced around at the podium. "Looks like you're up. Here's a copy of the findings. I gotta get back to the office and make a report. Call me if you find anything that might be useful." "Sure. Oh, how did you know where to find me?" Miller smiled sheepishly. "Vaughn. As soon as she found out that I invited you onto the team, she started asking around in the Bureau. There are some crazy rumors about you." Mulder frowned. "Anyway," Miller continued, "There's a lot of respected people here tonight. I figured that if you're trying to prove aliens exist, then this is a good event to attend." Miller turned to walk away, but looked back. "Oh, and Mulder? Thanks for you help. I really appreciate it." Mulder smiled, nodded, and then made his way to the stage. The room was halfway full, and Mulder recognized a few faces from the MUFON organization. He briefly wondered if any of them had known Duane Barry, and if they were ever witnesses to Barry's own abductions. He was here today to encourage abductees to seek out and explore their lost memories in any way possible. His whole lecture was based on the success stories of hypnotic trances. Who knows? If Barry was correct, and aliens took Scully, then maybe one of the people in this very room had seen her and simply did not remember. Maybe he could convince them to try and remember. Maybe.. He shook his head, pausing to sip some water. When he looked out into the crowds again, he noticed a few more people had trickled in to stand at the back. One guy—tall, thin, with spiky, wheaten hair and a bruised face—weaved his way along the wall to take the far corner. Mulder pegged him as a cop immediately and then wondered if Agent Miller had forgotten to give him something. That thought was banished when the young cop met his stare and quickly looked away in embarrassment. Poor guy probably thought he interrupted me. Mulder continued with his lecture, but kept one eye on the slim man slouched against the wall. Ray slouched against the university beige wall. The heavy, black stitches were taken out of his eyelid this morning. He wanted to call Stella and tell her the good news—he would not need plastic surgery, but she was still refusing to take his calls. Then Ray had debated on whether or not to stay with his decision and go out to a club tonight. He ate dinner in a small coffee joint, a block from the hotel. The waitress flirted with him the whole time. Nothin' like a boost to the old ego Okay, Ray, not bad. She ain't Claudia Schiffer, but she's still cute. Nice legs too. Long. He left her a big tip and then afterwards, back at the hotel, Ray obsessed over what to wear for the evening. He finally settled on a white T-shirt, jeans, and black boots. He slipped on his tawny overcoat. Then made his way down to North and Halstead. Yer still way too early, buddy. Most of the good places don't open 'til after eleven. He was only a few blocks from the Institute and so, he decided to check out the UFO convention after all. Where Ray thought he would find weirdos wearing wiggly antennae and Star Trek uniforms, he saw only ordinary people talking amongst themselves. The biggest talk of the whole show were the lectures taking place, and so, Ray made his way there. He stopped just outside the hall to chat with a perky blonde college girl. Then, when he went inside, he was sorely disappointed. Geez. This place is filled with PH.D.s! Ray felt completely out of place, and when he looked up at the speaker, the guy was looking right back at him. Oh, man, what? Am I wearin' a sign? I am an idiot? Ray felt himself turn red, and he looked away. When he looked back, the attention was no longer on Ray, and he realized that the speaker was much younger than Ray at first thought. Guy talks like my old history teacher. Big words with that classic boring...monotone. Yeah, that's it. Ray stayed to people watch, and slowly felt like he himself was being watched. The hair on the back of his neck tingled. His gun hand itched. Okay, Kowalski, stay cool, buddy. Look around. He searched the whole room, but everyone was watching the stage. The speaker was finishing up. Ray glanced up at him and met a pair of dark eyes focused right on him. Ray was pinned to the wall. The tall man stared at him, and yet, managed not to appear to look at anyone in particular. Ray turned his head and gulped. Is the guy lookin' at me or not? Maybe yer just all keyed up about goin' out tonight. Maybe it was a bad idea. Ray faced the stage again, but the speaker in the dark suit with the intense eyes was away from the podium, through the crowd towards an exit door. Ray thought about intercepting him. He even took a step forward, but then saw the man stopped by someone else—a doctor maybe. He was a short, portly man with glasses. Mister Focused suddenly looked rather dour, and Ray had the impulse to go save him from a clearly undesirable conversation. What're ya thinkin', Ray? The guy is some sort of genius, and he sure didn't come here to get picked up. Too bad, though. Big nose, but handsome and in good shape too. Get real, Ray, and get movin'. The club will be open in a few. If yer gonna go, then go. Ray turned on his heel and walked out, completely missing the wistful look on Mulder's face. After wistfully watching the blond cop walk out, Mulder quickly made his excuses to Dr. Burrfield once again and tried to follow. Dammit! Lost him! He tried to peer over the heads of the crowd. He was sure the guy was checking him out. He even thought the stranger was even going to approach him. Well, now he's gone. The man had that edgy, wired, dangerous look. His eyes were haunted, but sharp. Yes, but at least he didn't look at all like him, like Alex. Mulder sighed. He gave up the search and left for his hotel room. He did not want to think about the case tonight, and he certainly did not want to dwell on his lost partner or past betrayals. He was too wound up to sleep. In fact, he realized that since he slept so well the night before, this night would probably be impossible to get any sleep at all. He remembered seeing a nightclub down the street from the University lecture hall. It was tempting, but he knew the atmosphere would remind him of Kristen, his most recent casualty. As he stepped into the shower, Mulder cast his mind back again on the lithe, blond cop from the lecture hall. I hope he is a cop and not a criminal. I don't need that. But why was he there? Miller didn't send him, or he would've talked to me. Mulder sighed. Maybe he was a hallucination. I'm imagining someone who could actually be good for me instead of the usual traitors and liars that I take to bed. Mulder's flawless memory provided him with a snapshot of the lanky, brooding, blonde figure. He was too far away to see what color were the eyes, but he thought blue was likely or light brown. A golden hawk-brown would fit those watchful eyes. The guy had scanned the room like any good cop would be doing. His casual clothes-scruffy and sexy at the same time—were so different than Krycek's badly tailored suits. A long, soft, tan overcoat rather than the F.B.I. standard trenchcoat. Mulder ran a hand slowly down his chest as he pictured the man again, but without the tight fitting jeans and white t-shirt. Okay, yes. That made a very nice picture. Mulder heard his own breath deepen, and he felt a warm flush wash over his body to combat the pulsing shower. The man was whipcord thin, but the arms folded across his chest were strong and muscular. Soft, golden hair glinted on the long, lean legs, and around the straight erect cock. Mulder moaned and licked his lips. He braced himself against the shower wall and reached down to lightly stroke the underside of his erection. He wondered what the stranger would taste like, but he could easily imagine the heat generated off the man. Maybe it was the punky hairstyle, but there seemed to be a sparking energy surrounding him. Even when he leaned against the wall, his hands had fidgeted with a pen, his coat, his belt...They were nice hands- elegant and strong. Mulder imagined those restless fingers swarming over his body. He turned around to lean against the shower wall and copied the fantasy caresses with his own left hand. He could see the blond stranger here in the shower with him, rubbing against him, kissing his face and neck, and moaning in Mulder's ear. Mulder stroked up his hard cock and ran his thumb over the swollen glans. He could hear his own breath echo off the tiled walls, and he whimpered as he bucked into his warm, wet hand. He spread his legs a bit to roll his balls and tilted his back with his eyes closed. Mulder pumped his shaft faster and undulated into the hot water. He felt his orgasm gathering and tried to keep the image of the blond in his mind. Heat surged through his body, and every muscle clenched as he spurted out over his working hand. Mulder relaxed against the cool, tile wall with a huge smile. For the first time in over a year, the man in his fantasy was not Alex Krycek. Maybe his life was not over. Two hours later, the noise in the dark nightclub was deafening. Mulder sat on a stool near the end of the bar. He had an excellent view of the front entrance, and whenever the line to the ladies room diminished a bit, then he could watch the dance floor as well. The crowd was an even mix of gay and straight. Eighty percent of the people were of college age, but the rest were a varied age, and Mulder blended in well with his black jeans and black t-shirt. The dance floor pulsed with some industrial Goth music that Mulder did not recognize. He drained his beer and watched as a pale, dark haired woman dressed in an antique wedding gown writhed in the middle of the swaying, grinding crowd. She made as interesting sight—all that white lace in the midst of black clad figures. "Hi. Can I buy you another beer?" Mulder whipped his head around to face a handsome, rugged man with thick brown hair and deep set brown eyes. The man wore a hesitant friendly smile and was waiting for Mulder's answer before he took a seat. The man introduced himself and started small talk. Mulder grimaced as he took another drink to soothe his throat. It was getting hot as more people poured in the door. Mulder could barely hear his new companion speak over the rising decibels, and suddenly he realized that he did not care to talk at all. He paused with his glass halfway to the bar. He glanced down at the wet ring on his cork coaster and then back up into the dark eyes. Then he leaned in to speak in the man's ear. "Listen, I didn't come here just to chitchat." Mulder backed away again. The stranger looked back at him measuringly. "Okay. I'm okay with that. You want to go somewhere?" he asked seriously. Mulder stared at the handsome face. "Yes," Mulder answered as he licked his lips in a nervous gesture. The man nodded, stood up, and said, "I have to go get my jacket from the far wall." Mulder looked to his left towards the wall hooks provided for those who arrived before the coat check opened. His new companion disappeared into the crowd. Mulder stood to slide on his own jacket. As he put one arm through, he suddenly spotted the blonde stranger from earlier making his way along the bar, away from the entrance on his right. Mulder froze, and just then, the wiry cop met his gaze. The air felt electrically charged. The music faded to a dull roar in his ears. Mulder cast a furtive glance over his shoulder. The guy he had just propositioned had his jacket in hand, and was wading back towards him. He flicked his eyes back to the blonde again and caught the man looking him over. The thin cop jerked back, and Mulder could see his embarrassment even in the dim light of the bar. Then the shy gaze grew distant as he looked behind Mulder. "Sorry that took so long...uh, you know that guy?" Mulder followed the man's eyes to the cop who stared back at them uneasily as he was jostled by fellow bar patrons. "Yeah, I do," Mulder answered, "He's a friend of mine." Mulder turned back to see how well his lie had been received, and the man looked at him dubiously. "I haven't seen him in a long time. I didn't expect to see him here," he explained further. His companion shifted on his feet. "Do you still want to leave?" he asked and then he suddenly held up his hand in a 'wait' gesture. "I don't want to get involved in an incident with any ex of yours. I'm not going to be offended if you want me to take off." Mulder relaxed and seized on the given explanation of an old boyfriend. "Yeah, I'm sorry, but that's probably for the best. He has a temper." "No problem. Maybe I'll see you around again." Mulder nodded and smiled. He watched the dark haired man delve back onto the dance floor. Then he centered his attention to the blonde stranger once again. The man had watched the whole scene and was now slowly wading through the crowd towards Mulder. Mulder admired the grace and flow of the figure as it stalked towards him. He prayed to himself that he was not wrong about the man's occupation. If he isn't a cop, then it's official. I'm drawn to psychotics. Finally, the man sidled up to the bar next to Mulder and rested a hip on the stool while his left hand jittered over the bar nervously. His coat was thrown carelessly on the stool next to them. "You saw me watchin' ya earlier, huh?" The man faced the bar, but looked at Mulder from the corner of his eye. Mulder licked his bottom lip. "I noticed, yes. I thought you might come over and talk to me then." The blonde's thin shoulders shook in silent laughter. "I, uh, don't usually pick up guys at science lectures." "What is your interest in UFO's?" asked Mulder. "I don't have one, " he answered, " I was just waitin' fer the club ta open." "Oh." There was an awkward silence, and then the man seemed to make a decision and whipped around to face him fully. The flashing lights of the club painted his wild hair with red and blue. The strange lighting hid the bruises Mulder knew were there on the sharp cheekbones and hooded his eyes. He looked even more dangerous and exciting. Mulder felt his body reacting, and before he lost control, he asked the one question that would confirm or deny any involvement with the stranger. "What do you do for a living?" The man sort of half-laughed and smiled showing a set of straight, sharp, white teeth. "Geez, most people ask yer name first." Mulder's brows were drawn together. Is this guy avoiding my question? I really don't need another riddle today. "My name is Detective Ray Kowalski. I'm a cop. You got a problem wid that?" Ray asked and leaned in with a cocky smirk. Mulder visibly relaxed. Thank God! Glad to see my profiling abilities can be used for more than tracking killers! Mulder smiled. "I thought you might be. Call me Mulder." "Okay, Mulder. You got it," Ray looked out over the dance floor and back at Mulder again. "You wanna dance?" he asked. "I not very good, " Mulder started to answer, then his hand was grasped and he was pulled out of his seat into the sea of writhing bodies. Ray arrowed into the middle of the fray, then halted in a turn that wrapped his arm loosely around Mulder's waist. They were about the same height, and Mulder found himself looking into a pair of unsure, but intense eyes. They're blue. Hard to tell in this light what shade, but definitely blue. Then he realized that Ray was waiting for his active permission. So Mulder slid one hand up on Ray's arm and rested the other on an unfamiliar, denim clad hip. The music was even louder on the dance floor than by the bar. A powerful, seductive voice droned out from the speaker. Mulder was already subconsciously moving to the deep pulsing beat that shook the walls and seemed to be in tune with the pumping of the blood in his veins. He did not know why he had finally decided to go out tonight. He did not think he was looking for this man again, but now he had found him anyway. He certainly did not know what had compelled him to be so bold with the other stranger, and now he could not believe his actions, his motives, as he moved in closer to the detective and brushed his face through the soft, honey blonde, spikes of hair, but it felt so good! The guy puts off an incredible amount of heat! Mulder recalled his fantasy in the shower and threw it away. The reality was so much better. This guy was not like Alex at all. Mulder could feel the nervousness in the taunt body. One iron strong hand gently gripped his bicep, while the other arm wrapped around his waist firmly. He felt hot breath on his neck, and he pulled his head back to see that the detective had his eyes closed. What was his name again? He studied the face before him. Ray. That was it. Ray's cheeks were flushed. Mulder could see a glint of those bright white teeth behind the ruddy lips. Then realized he was not just looking, but kissing that warm, full mouth. Soft too—just as soft as it looked. A moan from Ray reverberated between them, and Mulder felt Ray's tongue questing for entrance. He immediately deepened the kiss and pulled at the detective's hip to press them together. He could feel Ray's arousal on his leg and knew that the cop must feel his as well. When was the last time I felt like this? With Alex, of course, but this isn't Alex. Alex was all gentle uncertain touches and supressed restraint. Alex was false innocence, but Ray is a straightforward rush. But isn't that what you fell in love with about Alex—his open-eyed trust and clumsy kisses? No, there was more to Alex. Something beneath the surface that attracted me. Do I see that same something here. Does this man who seems so different than Alex actually be very similar? Damn. Why do I have to analyse everything? Mulder suppressed the inner argument with himself and concentrated on the feel of the man in his arms. The kiss broke, and each man gasped for breath while they still moved to the music. No one had taken notice of them. Mulder doubted that half the people even saw them, because it was so dark. He extricated his hand from Ray's sweaty, tangle of hair and leaned in to shout into his ear. Ray nodded back, and Mulder led the way off the dance floor, towards the door. He spotted the dark stranger from earlier watch them leave and nodding as if to say he knew that Mulder would be leaving with his 'ex'. Once outside, the cold wind blasted over him, and he gulped in air to calm his racing heart. The icy wind felt great as hit it Ray in the face and cooled the sweat on his skin. Mulder's hand still gripped his own as they exited the club. Then when Mulder turned to face him, Ray started having second thoughts. Not that he did not want to go home with the guy, because, oh yeah, the distraction idea was definitely working, but Mister Lecture Guy, Mulder, seemed suddenly reluctant. Ray ducked his head and swallowed. He shoved his free hand into his pocket and looked up at the dark haired man. "You bailin' out on me?" he asked. The man shifted his feet. His eyes were wide with apprehension, and his mouth hung open. He stood and stared at Ray. Then he quickly stepped into Ray's space and caught him up in a bruising kiss. Geez! The guy is definitely yer all or nuthin' kind of dude. Ray returned the kiss with enthusiasm and slipped his arms into Mulder's open jacket. His knuckles brushed against something hard and heavy in an inside pocket, and curiously, he backed up his hand to get a better feel of the object. "Jesus!" Ray yelled as he sprang away and reached to pull his spare gun from his ankle holster. "Yer carrying a gun! What are ya carryin' a gun fer? Ya better tell me right now, before I kick ya in the head, or I might just shoot ya myself!" Mulder put up his hands and licked his swollen lips. Ray stared at him in wonderment. Oh, man, oh, geez, he looks good. Please don't let him be no freak. He felt too good to be some creep. Why do I gotta pick weirdos? "I'm a federal agent. I have my I.D." "Yeah? Okay, let's see it. Hey! But move real slow like." Mulder reached into the opposite pocket and pulled out what looked like a passport, but was actually the identification and badge for one Fox W. Mulder, F.B.I. "Yer a Fed?" Ray asked hesitantly. Mulder nodded. "Is this a set up?" Mulder looked around them. "For what? Picking up a guy in a bar? It isn't against the law." "Yeah, but a guy cop goin' home with another guy isn't all that well received by other cops." "I agree. Can I put my hands down now?" Ray blinked and lowered his gun. "Yeah. Sorry." Mulder put his badge away. "I'm really sorry. I thought maybe you were one of those guys that stalks cops, or somethin'" "In a bar like that?" Mulder parried and smiled reassuringly. "Hey, it's okay. I should have told you." Ray jerked his head to the side. "Naw, it's okay. I don't respond well to Feds. We probably never would have danced." "I thought you responded very well to me," Mulder deadpanned. Ray studied the serious demeanor in front of him. Was the guy makin' fun of him? Mulder must have seen his confusion, because then he said, "Are you still going to come with me?" Ray knelt to holster his gun again. "Which car?" he asked. "We can walk to my hotel from here. It's only a block, right on the waterfront." Ray nodded and rose to walk along side the agent. Ray had both hands shoved into his pockets. Okay, Ray, everything was goin' good until ya pulled yer gun on him. Whadda ya gonna do now? Ray could sense Mulder eyeing him warily. Who can blame the guy? His own passion had faded, and now he was shivering. They both were hunched against the wind that only got stronger the closer they stepped to the water. Ray was surprised that Mulder even bothered to ask him back to his hotel again. Ray scrambled to talk about anything. "So, uh, what are ya doin' in Chicago? I mean, yer not from here, are ya?" Mulder did not look at him as he answered. "No. I'm working on a case, but I don't want to talk about it." "Sure, sure, I understand. Fed's are always keepin' their secrets." Ray regretted the bitter words as soon as they left his mouth. . "I-I didn't mean that the way it sounded. I meant, the case is secret, and I'm a cop, and so-" "No. That's not it. It's just, well, the details are gruesome. Sad. I don't want to think about it." Oh, good goin', Ray! Get the guy depressed! Make him think about the one thing he probably is lookin' to forget about fer the one night! "Hey, I'm sorry. I got a big mouth. Always talking without the brain connected, ya know?" Suddenly, Mulder stopped and faced Ray. "Maybe this is a mistake," he said. Ray looked back at a face just as lonely and hurting as the one he saw in the mirror this morning. He knew he could not let go of this man. They each needed the other, and maybe the detailed reasons were different, and maybe they were not the best reasons to sleep with somebody, but he could not bear to be alone tonight again. He knew he would drink, maybe get into another fight. He did not want that. He just wanted to be held, and he wanted to feel good for a while. Looking into Mulder's sad, hazel eyes, made him think he was not the only one with those needs. Ray stepped forward and cupped Mulder's face in his hands. He leaned in with a light brush of his lips. He was not sure if it was the cold or his kiss that caused Mulder to tremble, but the man did not protest, and so, Ray pressed his lips softly against the lush, warm mouth again. He ran his hands gently, slowly through the thick, brown, locks of Mulder's hair. One hand skittered down and around to the back of Mulder's neck. The man's pulse beat strong and quick under Ray's thumb. He licked at Mulder's lower lip and then carefully caught it in his teeth. Mulder moaned in response, and Ray felt the noise travel straight through his mouth down to kindle the banked fire in his groin. "No mistake ever felt this good," he whispered. Mulder gripped his arms and pressed in even closer to claim his mouth again in a hungry kiss. Whoa! Ray suddenly could not feel the cold anymore. In fact, his coat seemed too hot. Ray could smell a spicy cologne and herbal shampoo. Mulder's lips tasted salty. He licked inside and could taste the beer Mulder was drinking earlier. Mulder clutched at him, and Ray could feel the man's arousal on his leg. Ray ground himself into Mulder and heard a low, deep groan that he thought came from Mulder, but he could not be sure. His mouth was released, and he sucked in a gasp of crisp, clean air while Mulder licked his jaw. He could hear the man's labored breath blowing hotly on his skin and then his ear. Mulder's tongue wetly swept up the curve of Ray's ear again, and Ray felt jolts of pleasure course along his body like quicksilver music. Oh yeah, oh yeah, oh yeah! Ray's thoughts were a jumbled mess. He was not sure if he was even expressing his approval aloud. Mulder was sucking and laving his ear with relish, and somehow the man's hands had found their way into Ray's coat and under the back of the soft, cotton t-shirt. "Oh, man," he whispered harshly. Mulder stopped and backed up just enough to look at Ray's face, but Ray could barely see him anyway. His left eye was tired and blurry, and both lids were heavy with desire. "We need to go inside," Mulder mumbled. Ray realized his own hands had done some wandering too and right now they were grasped around Mulder's tight ass, pressing their hips together. Ray wondered if he'd been humping the guy's leg and thought that maybe he had, but that it did not matter, because Mulder still wanted to invite him up to the hotel room. Ray nodded, not trusting his voice to work. Mulder spun away from him, but grabbed his hand and pulled him in tow. They practically raced the remaining block to the hotel. What kind of fleabag hotel is this? Ray looked around as he waited for Mulder to open the door. The creamy beige walls were chipped and peeling, and the tan threadbare carpeting was filthy. Ya think the feds would live it up nice. No one had questioned them on the way in. No nosy guests had poked out into the hallway. Well, at least a guy can do what he wants. He realized that Mulder had probably chosen the place for exactly that reason. Then Mulder pulled him into the room, slammed the door, and was plastered against him like a hungry blanket. One strong hand painfully gripped through Ray's hair while the soft, lush mouth devoured his tongue. Ray felt heat return to him in a tidalwave rush. He stripped off his coat, then Mulder's and then set about exploring the muscles in Mulder's bare back as he lifted the black t-shirt. Mulder mewed in disappointment as Ray broke the kiss to lift the shirt off the strong, lean body before him. He pushed Mulder back until his knees hit the bed and he fell backwards on to it. He tried to sit up, but Ray pressed him back down again and shook his head. Then Ray knelt to take off both their boots. Boots. Yeah, boots. They can get in the way. Gotta get them off before ya can take the pants off, Ray. Gotta take the pants off, before ya can really get down ta business. Yep. He took off their socks too and then he rubbed his hands up Mulder's thighs and contemplated the prominent bulge in front of his nose. Mulder was up on his elbows looking back at him, when Ray glanced up. The hazel eyes were wide and dilated, and the sinfully plush mouth hung open with panting breaths. Mulder's hair was mussed, his faced flushed, and a droplet of sweat ran down his temple. Ray thought he had never seen anything so erotic, and he had seen plenty of porno. He heaved up on his hands and leaned forward to lick the sweat off Mulder's brow. Then he leaned to the side and, with one hand, yanked open the button fly and reached in to grab the hot, pulsing erection. Mulder arched back onto the bed with a loud moan. Ray closed his eyes and concentrated on the feel of stiff cock in his hand. He stroked up twice and smoothed his thumb over the head, eliciting another groan from Mulder. He had forgotten the thrill of holding another man's dick. He stroked again, hard and fast, then he reached further into the pants to fondle the fuzzy sack. Mulder's legs were spread as far as the pants would allow, and he was moaning a continuous stream of incoherence. Ray rocked back onto his knees again and released his own aching cock from his confining jeans. He licked Mulder's stomach and slid onto his feet. Okay, Ray, don't go forgetin'. Gotta take the pants off to really get down ta business. He threw Mulder's jeans to the floor and drank in the writhing heaving form sprawled out before him like an all-you-can-eat buffet. His own dick jutted out like his uncle's duck hunting dog pointing the way to the kill. Go get 'em boy! Ray smiled. The smile hit Mulder like a supernova. He whined and reached for Ray's arm. This guy is incredible! He seemed shy and sweet, but his kisses were like branding irons, and those quick, slim hands were driving Mulder to a frenzy. That and a smile too! Now that they were in the light, Mulder could see a recent cut across the left eye, but it only served to give the pretty-boy cop a rogue-ish look. The moussed up blond hair looked sharp as glass but actually was soft and feathery. Ray was leaning over him again and rolling his balls. God! That felt good! But he wanted more. He wanted to feel the weight of the thin cop. He wanted a chance to feel the electricity he saw harnessed in Ray's eyes. Mulder hooked his arm around the muscular back and pulled Ray up against him, bringing their cocks into contact and pressing his lips to Ray's mouth again. Ray gasped an affirmative moan. Mulder bucked up, but was pinned down by a surprising strength in slim body above him. Mulder grasped handfuls of honey colored hair and deepened the kiss to a bruising intensity. He could not get enough of the sweet mouth and sharp teeth. He knew he would come soon if they kept like this- rolling, thrusting hips, and ravaging mouths. Mulder forced himself to slow the pace. He dropped his head back and held Ray off from following. "What? What is it? What's wrong?" Ray asked in a soft, husky voice. Mulder looked up into lust-hazed aquamarine eyes. He could see Ray's struggle to bring his mind and body back to an interworking plane of existence, and he felt relieved he was not the only one spinning out of control. "Nothing. I-" Mulder felt entranced by the lines and planes of Ray's face. The endorphins were making him lightheaded. He could feel Ray's body trembling against the urge to thrust, and his eyes widened at the man's restraint. Alex would never have held back. One sure fact was that Alex, however subservient during the day, liked to take control in bed. It almost seemed like his fumbling advances, previous to getting naked, were a practiced sham. My God, but I was a fool. But this man was honest in his approach, in his words, and with his actions. At the slightest hesitation, Ray was taking Mulder's feelings into consideration. He reached a finger up and traced along Ray's lips. They're so soft! But he kisses with the power of a class IV tornado. Ray licked the tip of his finger, and Mulder felt a shudder run through his body. "What do you want?" Ray whispered against his fingertips, "Tell me what ya want, cause I'm gonna want it too." Ray rolled he hips gently, and Mulder struggled to piece together his answer. "I want you to suck me," he said. Ray smiled and tilted his head to slowly suck in Mulder's index finger. Mulder licked his suddenly parched lips and watched as the thin cop released his finger with a scrape of his teeth, then scrambled down his body to swallow his dripping cock without hesitation. Ray's eyes were squinted in concentration. One hand joined his mouth to grasp the base of Mulder's erection, while the other hand gently squeezed and rolled the balls below Ray's chin. Each time Ray went down, Mulder could feel the tip of his cock brush against the back of Ray's throat. His fingers dug into the sheets, and his head rocked from side to side in time to his harsh breathing. Mulder did not think he could form words, but someone in his voice kept screaming, "Oh, God! Yes! Fuck! Oh, Jesus! Fuck, yes!" And it could not be Ray, because Ray was sucking on the head of his shaft, using his tongue to tease the point just under the glans. Ray's lips were moist with precum and spit. The pale, nimble fingers contrasted with the angry red of his cock as he thrust uncontrollably into the hot, steamy cavern of Ray's mouth. Mulder closed his eyes from the carnal vision and warned Ray as he felt his body clench and shake towards orgasm. "Ray, Ray, I'm, I'm c-" Ray backed off Mulder's cock and felt the first shot of hot jism wet his chin and cheek. He leaned to the side and pumped Mulder's shaft until the last drop pearled out and dribbled down the side. Mulder relaxed into unsteady shivering. Ray waited anxiously for Mulder's recovery. His own cock ached to be touched, but he had ignored it since settling in to give Mulder a blowjob. He would have come, if his hand had so much as brushed over his dick. Sucking Mulder down had turned Ray on much more than he would have thought. The slick, salty, heated flesh sliding over his tongue sparked a sensual overload that left Ray concentrating on deep breaths and fighting for control. Each inhale through his nose brought him Mulder's musky, spicy scent, and now Ray closed his eyes and tilted his head back away from Mulder's body. He breathed in to try and clear his head of the man's enticing smell, but the whole room smelled like sex, and it just made Ray harder. He moaned in frustration and then felt Mulder's hand wrap snugly around the base of his cock. Oh, thank you God! Ray arched. Mulder licked Rays' lip, and Ray collapsed onto his back with his legs hanging over the side of the bed. He felt Mulder's weight lift from beside him and the sure touch of long fingers under his knees. Mulder pulled him to the very edge of the bed, and he almost felt as if he would fall off, but if Mulder wanted things more comfy for himself, then Ray was not about to argue. His jeans and boxers were slipped off. His knees were gently pushed apart, and he could feel Mulder's hot breath on his balls. Oh, Geez! Ray twisted his hand into the blanket. He was so close, and he thought about telling Mulder not to suck him, because there would not be time for Mulder to back off. Then his balls were encased in the scorching, wet, suction of Mulder's mouth. Ray cried out and descended into whimpers as Mulder licked his balls all over. Ray lifted his feet up onto the bed. Oh, yer body is gonna complain tomorrow! Yer not eighteen anymore, Ray! Mulder moaned. Ray bucked towards the sensation. Oh, yeah, oh, yeah! Mulder helped him keep his legs back and up, then Ray felt one long, rough, caressing lick from his asshole to his balls. Ray could hear his own resounding moans echo back at him from the hotel walls. Wow! I am so loud. Ray grabbed his legs back further. "More, more." He could hear himself pleading. Mulder dove in and shoved his tongue deep into Ray's body. He kissed and licked all around the puckered hole and finally slipped a hand over the head of Ray's cock while he plunged his tongue into Ray's ass over and over again. Ray screamed a hoarse shout that tore at his throat. Mulder brought his head up to watch semen spatter across his hand and onto Ray's tense abdomen. Ray felt as if every bone in his body had liquefied. He felt his feet slide off the bed and graze the carpet. I haven't felt this good in weeks. His mouth parted in a smile. Hope he's gonna be around a little while. Mmm. My teeth are numb. Love that! I hope I can speak! Oh, wait, maybe he don't wanna chit-chat. Ray sleepily opened his eyes and looked to the side were he could feel warmth from Mulder's body. The man had settled farther up against the headboard, and so, Ray crawled up next to him. Mulder watched him with hooded, dark eyes and a lazy smile. Ray cleared his throat and moistened his lips. "What's wrong?" Mulder asked. "Uh, nothin'. I-I just got a tendency to babble after sex, and I don't wanna, ya know, freak ya out, and so, I'm just tryin' to keep quiet, but it ain't easy, and I thought that maybe I would wait to see, ya know, see if you were the kinda guy that conks out after, or yer the cuddly type, or whatever. But- " "Whoa! Okay. Listen, Ray, I'm not the kind of guy that usually goes around picking up strangers to bring back to my hotel room, and I'm pretty sure you aren't either, seeing as you didn't even bother to take off the wedding band." Ooops! Ray wiggled over onto his stomach, covering his hand with his chest. "It's okay that you're married. I'm not looking for a relationship here either. I couldn't tell you 'what kind of guy I am', because I'm basically the kind of guy that stays home by himself." Mulder took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. Ray waited for the revelation he felt coming. Hey, well, ya knew this guy was lonely. That's why ya came along, right? 'Cause he was just like you? "If you want to babble, then go right ahead. I can use the conversation." Mulder looked over at him with sad, hazel, eyes. Oh, this guy has the puppy look down pat. What kind of creep would kick a puppy as nice as this one? "Okay, yeah, greatness. Um...how long you stayin' in Chicago? I mean, you said ya was workin' on a case. Are you a consultant, you know, just here for the weekend, or..?" "Yes and no. I am a consultant, I'm working closely with the integral team." "Team, huh? Then it's big time," Ray said, and then he noticed that Mulder did not seem to be paying attention. "Hey, enough about work. We both went out tonight to ferget for a little while, right?" Mulder focused back at him and gave a light smile. "Yes. Sorry. I tend to block out the here and now when I'm thinking on a case." "Hey, it's okay. Thanks fer understanding the whole ring thing." "Huh? Oh, you mean the wedding band." "Yeah, but I want ya to know I ain't sneakin' around on the sly. I'm ah..I think divorce is, is pretty certain." Suddenly Ray felt an overwhelming sense of loss and sadness. The feeling came often these days, but usually when Ray was well into his fifth beer. Tonight, there was no alcohol to soften the blow, and for a moment he could only lower his head and breathe slowly. He hoped he would not cry. He hated to cry He did not want to unload all his troubles onto the nice guy he had just met. He just wanted to enjoy the evening and remember what it was like to be happy. But then, he felt a soft touch in his hair. Mulder's warm hand lightly caressed the back of his neck and back. Oh God! Been a long time since somebody touched me like that! Ray tried to clear the lump in his throat, but he only succeeded in drawing in one shuddering breath before Mulder scooted down enclosing his body with two strong arms. "Sorry. I'm sorry," Ray croaked. "It's okay," Mulder whispered into his ear, "I understand." Mulder nuzzled his hair, and damn! if that did not make Ray feel better. Two tears slid down his face unseen by the man snuggled in behind him. He wriggled an arm free of Mulder's hug and wiped his face. "It's usually me who's crying at night," Mulder confessed. "You got somebody to hold ya like this?" Ray asked softly. "No. I used to, but then I found out he wasn't the person I thought he was." "Yeah. Okay." Ray shifted back against Mulder's chest and felt the man tighten his hold around him. It felt good. Ray felt secure and safe and warm. The room was quiet. Ray was okay with that. He did not even have the urge to babble. Mulder kept brushing his face into Ray's hair and eventually, sleep crept up on them both. Ray's last thought was that he hoped Mulder was up for another round in the morning. Bright lights flashed over the game board, and little red and blue plastic pieces scattered over the carpet as the door slammed open. He tried to move. He could not. A heavy weight pressed him down as he helplessly watched Samantha float out the window. "Mulder! I need your help!" He twisted his head around. There was Scully with blood marring the porcelain skin of her forehead. Her vibrant red hair was matted, as she lay prone on a steel table in the harsh light of the morgue. No, it was not a morgue; it was an operating room with glowing walls, walls of flame. The fire burned out of control, and suddenly he saw Kristen in its depths. She mournfully allowed the fire to eat away at her body, and Mulder stared in horor as her skin crisped, blackened, and flayed away to reveal bones tht cracked and splintered with a screeching pop and snap that sounded more and more like laughter. Suddenly, Mulder realized it was laughter! He turned and there was Alex. Laughing at him. Gloating over a pile of dead bodies at his feet. "No. No." Mulder backed away from the apparition and his feet stumbled over another body behind him. He fell onto the corpse, and as he rolled to push himself off, he saw Scully's milky, dead eyes looking back at him. He shook his head in tortured denial. Alex's boot nudged his dead partner's limp form. "You might as well give up, Mulder. No one can help you," Alex said as he looked down on him. Mulder looked up at his former lover with despair. "Why did you do it? Why did you betray me?" he pleaded. Alex knelt down and took his chin in hand. His stony expression softened, and Mulder looked into the loving, vulnerable, jade eyes he remembered from their nights in bed together. "I had no choice. I love you, Fox," he replied quietly. Tears blurred Mulder's vision, and he turned his head to wipe them on Alex's palm. His touch was gentle and warm, and Mulder ached for more. He opened his eyes and saw to his horror that the wetness under his cheek was not tears, but blood. Bright red and smelling of iron, it covered Alex's hand and dripped off the fingers onto the body between them. But the body was not Scully. It was a thin young boy with blond hair. Barbed wire wrapped around his crossed arms and cruelly cut into the pasty, white skin. The blood dripping from Alex's fingers ran in rivulets over and off the small chest. Then Mulder saw the chest move as a breath was drawn. Alex whispered into his ear. "Not dead yet, Fox. But soon, very soon." "We have to save hi-" Mulder stopped in shock when he saw the smile on Alex's face—an evil grin that showed Alex's perfect, white teeth as they sharpened into tiny, mocking daggers. Mulder could only stare as a transformed Alex leaned in. "You can't even save yourself, lover." "No, no, no." Mulder shook his head, pulling away until he landed on his hands behind him. Then the boy sat up and turned to stare at him with accusatory dead eyes, and suddenly, it was Samantha looking at him. Alex grasped her thin, little shoulders from behind, and Mulder watched the wire push deeper into her skin. "Samantha!" "You can't help her either, lover. You gave her to me, and now she dies!" Alex opened his mouth wide to once again, reveal razor sharp teeth, and he pulled back Samantha's head so that her fragile neck was bared. Mulder opened his mouth to scream, but heard someone else yelling instead. He opened his eyes onto a white ceiling, but the shouting continued. Confusion warred with fear until he turned his head, and saw someone tangled in the sheets beside him. Ray. He's still here. Honey-colored strands of hair poked out of the roll of blankets. Ray whimpered and the blankets shivered. Mulder tentatively placed a hand on what he thought was a shoulder, and the whimpering stopped. The lump rolled over, and wide, pale blue eyes looked back at him. "Are you alright?" Mulder asked. "Yeah," Ray answered in a scratchy voice. "Sorry. I, uh, it was just a dream." Mulder nodded. "I get nightmares all the time. You want to talk about it?" "Nah, it's dumb. I been havin' the same dream since I was a kid. Bright lights, and I'm sorta naked on a metal table. There's more too, but I can't ever remember the rest." "Really? Sounds something like an abduction dream. Is that why you were at the seminar last night?" "Huh? No, I mean, well, kinda. I read somethin' about it, and I thought I'd check it out. I mean, I didn't have nuttin' else planned, but I don't believe in that stuff." Mulder's interest was piqued. A non-believer with classic abduction dreams? "Have you ever gone under hypnosis?" "What?? No. What kinda crazy idea is that?" Ray looked at him as if he had three heads. Mulder sighed. He knew that look well. "Never mind," he said defeatedly, "I just thought I'd help." "Hey, no, it's okay," Ray said as he struggled to get out of the tangled sheets. "That stuff just creeps me out." "Do you have the dream often?" Mulder asked as he tugged at the sheets in an attempt to help Ray. "Nah, well, recently yeah, but not usually. That make sense?" "Hm-hm," Mulder answered in distraction as he continued to untangle the twisted sheets from Ray's body. The conversation was pulling his mental strings, but same highly neglected physical strings were starting to sing as more and more of Ray's lean form was exposed. The sleepy-eyed cop was flushed, and his hair was damp with sweat. Mulder's hands ran over the hot skin, and he leaned in to capture the sweet, nutty scent that Ray exuded. "Yeah, I don't think yer listenin'. Not that I'm complaining or anything." Mulder burrowed his nose into the man's armpit. "Hey! That is digusting!" Ray exclaimed with laughter. Mulder raised his head. "Sorry," he murmured, and then, he dove into Ray's neck and licked along the underside of his jaw and back behind the ear. "Ohhh, yeah," Ray moaned, and he twisted his head to expose as much of his neck as possible to Mulder's continued assault. His arms and legs spread out in total abandon, and he arched into Mulder's touch. Mulder was heady with the feeling of power from Ray's complete submission. Alex would never, ever relax so bonelessly, so carelessly. Ray is content just to let me take control! And he's probably always like this—throwing himself completely into the moment. He's probably a great cop—the kind that jumps in front of bullets. "Hey, you still wid me?" Ray smiled up at him. Mulder focused down on the sleepy blue eyes. "What do you think?" he asked as he rocked his hard cock into Rays' hip. Ray licked his lips in response, and Mulder felt his shaft taken into a firm grasp. He heard himself gasp. They were both breathing heavily. Ray's voice was low and husky as he said, "I think I'd like to feel you inside me this time." Mulder's cock leaped in Ray's hand, and Ray's smile shined through his eyes. But Mulder could not answer right away. His head turned into Ray's shoulder. He was thinking that Alex was the only one he had ever fucked and even then, only twice. He was not sure if he could do that for Ray. His uncertainty was apparent, and Ray quickly added, "If ya don't wanna, then, hey, it's okay. Been a long time for me anyway." Mulder nodded. "It's just..I..I don't want to insult you by thinking about someone else." "Yeah, I get it. You might end up callin' the wrong name out. Hey, it'd be okay. Chances are, you might end up hearing my wife's name, right?" Mulder lifted his face up nose to nose with Ray and lost himself in the humorous, pale blue eyes. He had not noticed before, but Ray's lashes were brown with blond ends giving the appearance of being short, but they were long, very long. No wonder his eyes seemed rather dreamy. Dreamy? Oh boy, wouldn't Scully just love to hear me use that word! "Well at least yer smilin'," Ray teased. Mulder focused in on Ray again. He had to stop drifting off! He could feel that Ray was still semi-erect. He shook off any remaining thoughts of ex-lovers and lost partners and closed the distance between them to capture Ray's mouth in a soft, wet, searching kiss. Yeah, okay, that's more like it Ray thought as Mulder licked and sucked at his mouth. I was gettin' a little worried. The guy kinda freaked there fer a minute! So if he wants ta fuck me, then he's gonna hafta ta just go fer it. I'm not askin' twice. Besides, it ain't like this right here isn't great either. "Ohh! Yeah," Ray whispered as Mulder dove in to lave the sensitive spot just under his ear. Ray drowned in tingling sensations and the pleasure of Mulder's weight on him. He twisted and rubbed up against the long, swimmer's body while he pulled the man closer and threaded his finger's into soft, chestnut hair. He loved the feel of Mulder's silky, hot skin stretched over the flexing muscles of his back. They were both panting, and Ray moaned as Mulder rocked against him, pressing their cocks together in the slick, sweaty trap of their bodies. Mulder's breath was hot in his ear, as he huskily whispered, "Do you still want me, detective?" Ray bit down on his lip as he felt fire lance through his belly in response. He groaned and spread his legs to cradle Mulder on his pelvis. Ray threw his head back at the exquisite pressure on his groin. The room faded. He felt a wet tongue on his nipple and a sharp, satisfying pain as it was nipped. Mulder's weight was lifted, and Ray thrust uncontrollably to try and regain contact. His dick throbbed, and when he looked down between them, he could see the shiny, wet head was a deep red. God! I wanna come. He thought that maybe his moans had turned into whimpering. When was the last time he was this turned on? Had it ever been like this with Stella? He knew she'd never heard him beg, but here he was, with a stranger, saying, "Please...please...oh, God, please..." Mulder's hand stroked lightly down his erection. "Ah, God!" Ray yelled, and then, his balls were enclosed and pulled down on. Ray screamed out as heaven was hauled out of his reach. "Fuck! Ah, God!" Then, Mulder left the bed, and Ray whipped his head up in bewilderment. Where the fuck is he goin'? But the agent was right back and urging Ray to hold his own legs back. Oh! Lube. Okay. Greatness. Then he laughed to himself. Good goin' there, Kowalski. Pop the guy in the head fer givin' ya just what ya asked for! Ray gasped as a cold, slippery fingertip touch his ass. "Sorry," Mulder said softly. Ray smiled into the serious gray-green eyes above him. He licked his lips as he felt that part of his body awaken to the gentle massage. The warmed, slick finger entered, and Ray had a sudden vision of his first time with Tony Sanchez. Ray was so nervous then, but Tony was patient and smiled reassuringly the whole time. He remembered how great it'd been to be taken and filled, and he subconsciously relaxed into Mulder's preparations. The agent leaned down, and Ray moaned into his kisses as he felt Mulder slowly enter him. There was some discomfort that could be called pain, but there was plenty of the pleasure he remembered too. Once he was all the way in, Mulder paused, holding himself scant inches away from Ray with his arms as he nibbled along the exposed, white, throat. Oh, yeah, this is nice, great, greatness, but hey, no need to wait fer me! Let's go! Ray thought as he thrust up, and felt Mulder smile against his neck. The agent started a slow, even rhythm that exasperated the impatient Ray. "Come, on, Mulder...Fox" Mulder froze. His flushed face came back into Ray's view, and his darkened eyes were wide as saucers. "Don't stop," Ray whispered. What? Why did he stop? That's his name, ain't it? "Please don't stop, Fox" he begged. The hazel eyes closed, Mulder took a deep breath and then pulled almost all the way out before he plunged in again, quick and hard. He steadily increased the pace as Ray urged him on. "Yeah, oh, yeah, Fox, come on, harder! Harder!" Sweat dripped from Mulder's brow onto Ray's face, into his mouth. The bed lurched, and he could hear the headboard hitting the wall, felt the vibration in the wood so close to his head. Ray grunted with each thrust as Mulder unerringly hit that perfect spot each time and sent shocks of lightening into his brain. Zap! Zap! Zap! Zap! Oh, God, I'm gettin' fuckin' electrocuted! Oh, and it feels so fuckin' good! The shocks came quicker, and suddenly, a hand wrapped around the head of his dick and stroked down. "Aah! Oh, yeah! Fox! F-f..." He could not speak as his head slammed back and his body arched. He clenched tightly onto the delicious cock inside him, and he could feel Mulder's shudders matching his own. He was too far out onto another planet to understand the words Mulder was screaming in his ear, but as he came back down, breathing heavily with sweat running into the cut on his eye, he heard one last whisper. "Alex." Mulder barely shifted his weight from Ray's body before he fell into a deep sleep. Ray rolled him to the side and gazed at the man's peaceful expression. Guess I'm not the only one who thought that was better'n hittin' a homerun. Alex, huh? Well, ya did warn me. Ray glanced at the digital clock on the nightstand. 6:20am. Time ta get goin'. Ray struggled to his feet and winced at the discomfort in his ass. Worth it, though. He took a quick shower and decided to leave his direct line at the station for Mulder in a note. He might call, he might not, but ya ain't got nuthin' ta lose, Kowalski. He tucked the note under the clock, slipped his coat on, and quietly left. Mulder heard the door close. He blinked at the sun peeking through the thin curtains. Jesus! I am so fucked up! I knew I would think of Alex. I knew I might call out his name, but Jesus! I fucking screamed it! Mulder wiped a hand up over his face and sighed. Poor guy probably thinks I'm some ungrateful bastard. Well, face it, I am a bastard! It wasn't just once, but a whole stream of Alex! Oh, Fuck! I love you, Alex! Alex! Real good. Real nice. He rolled over into the pillow still damp from Ray's sweat-soaked hair. God he smelled great! he thought as he rubbed his nose into the fabric. Then he saw the note. Mulder snatched up the slip of paper, read it, and smiled. Ray wanted to see him again. He really hoped Mulder wanted to meet him again. Ray could see the water glinting between the buildings off to his right. He turned and headed for the pier. I haven't seen a sunrise in a real, long time. Good omen. I think, anyway. The wind was still cold as it tried to rip his coat open. My hair is gonna turn to icicles out here! Maybe, ya shoulda thought a that, huh Kowalski! Ray shivered and regretfully turned away from the water, but then something white drifting half under the pier caught his eye. He twisted back around and walked over to the edge. Oh, Geez! Oh, no. "Fuck." Submerged in the water was the body of a naked, young child. Dirty-blond hair billowed around the head like a cloud. The body should have sunk to the bottom, but it was wrapped in some sort of wire that had caught onto the rough ropes looped around one of the docking posts. He knew right away that this was another victim of the Little Boy Blue serial killer. The story was all over the papers, and he guessed it would be front page again today. Ray dug out his cell phone, called it in and sat down to wait for the forensics team. saba27@optonline.net Part 2

Date: June 2000 Spoilers: X-Files- Season Two, Due South- none Rating: NC-17 for language, violence, and m/m interaction Summary: Agent Mulder meets Officer Kowalski while working on a case. Notes: I found out that Callum Kieth Rennie was originally offered the part of Alex Krycek before Nick Lea, and I wondered, would the chemistry between the two characters be the same? I think not, but how about if Mulder met Ray Kowalski, who is portrayed by Callum Kieth Rennie? Of course, these little thoughts have spawned a monster that is quickly turning into series. Please let me know if you like it. I thrive on encouragment. Special Thanks to Hiro for providing fabulous beta. saba27@optonline.net Disclaimer: Mulder, Krycek, Scully, Skinner, and Kristen belong to 1013 and Fox. Ray K. and Stella belong to Alliance. All other characters are mine. back to top

[Stories by Author] [Stories by Title] [Mailing List] [Krycek/Skinner] [Links] [Submissions] [Home]