Slaves to Transgression Part I by Katail Hong Kong. God, I hate Hong Kong! Vindictive bastard. Alex Krycek hung up the phone, careful not to slam it and expose his anger. He turned to the old man sitting at the round, wooden table. The tired blue eyes watched him with practiced disinterest. "And so now you must go," Vassily said in Russian. Krycek answered with a neutral expression; "I'll stay here for now. The documents I need will arrive shortly." "Here?" The old man spread his hands in a gesture about the small rooms, "I have very little here to offer you." Krycek stalked over to the table wearing a grin and hovered. "Don't worry. You've done well. I stay here only out of necessity." And not for very long. He's willing to wait six months. Thank God. Time enough for me to recover and get some stregnth back. There's no possible way I could go to Hong Kong right now. I'm too tired, too weak. I don't even know how I managed to leave last time I was there. Starting tomorrow he would seek passage back to America. He had allies here in Russia, yes, but enemies too. Besides, most of his allies were like Vassily—opportunistic. Judging by the quality of the work recently completed, even though the assassin was retired, he was still very dangerous. And Alex was weak. His shoulder ached insufferably. The horrid plastic prosthetic chaffed on the healing skin. There had not been time to wait for a better model. Pain medication was easily obtainable, but that would slow him down and leave him even more open to attack. He clenched his hand behind him in frustration. So much to do, so little time. I need more surgery. I need a better arm. I need to learn how to work with it. Or rather, without it. The bitter laughter within him pained his chest and burned his eyes. "It's late," Vassily said as he stood. "An old man like myself needs his rest. There is a blanket in the closet. Please, help yourself." Krycek watched the assassin put his teacup in the sink and then turn back around. "Goodnight, Comrade Krycek." "Goodnight," Alex answered. Vassily sighed. Then he walked into his bedroom and shut the door. Krycek stood staring at the door for a moment. The plain brown surface held no answers. He could hear rustling as Vassily settled into his bed. The older assassin was not a danger — for tonight at least. Alex removed his jacket to a hook on the back of the front door. Then he sat on the narrow couch. Cradled in his arm were the contents of his jacket—his gun, an American passport, his KGB identification, and a small brass key. He shoved them under the couch cushion. They would be secure there until he woke—if he slept at all. He stripped down, then sat naked on the couch fingering the unfamiliar straps stretching tightly across his ribcage. They rubbed his skin raw in places, but the discomfort was nothing to the throbbing emptiness at his shoulder. Alex unbuckled the straps and the heavy molded arm fell to the cushions. The stump was barely healing, flushed dark red and sore. The stitches stuck out of his skin like a cactus. Alex winced and looked away. If he did not look, then it did not seem real. He could still feel his arm there, tingling, the fingers clenching. He touched the injured area lightly as he lay down on the worn couch. He hesitated to even close his eyes. Night sweats and tears aside, his screams (if they emerged) would surely wake the Vassily. Then his weaknesses would be further exposed. Better to wait and stare at the water-stained ceiling. Soon enough, exhaustion would lay claim. Hopefully he would be too tired to dream. I need time. I need a safer place. Tomorrow. I'll get the contacts I need and use the next six months to recover—anywhere they send me. Just not Hong Kong. That damned city can wait. Today is a good day. Great day! Ray smiled as he swaggered to his desk within the 31st precinct. Joe grinned up at him from the desk opposite his own. "We did good today, huh Ray?" "Oh yeah, real good. Cops—1. Bad guys—0. Mr. Darren Quick is goin' down. I couldn't think of a guy more deserving." Joe shook his head. "Gotta agree with you there, buddy." Ray rolled his chair back and threw himself down in it. Lieutenant Briggs approached from his office with a rare smile on his dark, worry-lined face. "Good work you guys. Glad to see you're back in the swing of things, Kowalski." Ray grinned. Pride. What a great feeling. The case they closed today had been grueling. Long hours at the station and on the street looking for a guy who molested young girls. Real sicko. But smart, crafty. And I got him. Me. Detective Stanley Ray Kowalski. "This will look very good on your review, Kowalski," Briggs said. One small, brown hand reached out to grasp Ray's shoulder. "Now fill out the paperwork so I can give you the collar." "Yes sir," Ray answered. The lieutenant walked back to his office. "Forget the report for tonight," Joe said. "Let's go get a beer. You deserve it." "Me? What about you, partner?" Ray flashed a bright full smile. He pulled the thick file from his desk and opened it for another look at the criminal he had arrested tonight. Slimy lowlife. "You deserve all the credit, Ray. Half the department had their noses in this case, and not one of us saw the connection between those girls. Plus, the way you handled him at the airport. Bam! You are the man, Ray. You are the man." Ray couldn't stop smiling. His face hurt from the unaccustomed expression. "So waddya say, one beer?" Ray looked up at his partner's eager face. He hated to disappoint him. Alcohol took down barriers, and Ray had spent a careful two years building them up like a fortress. "No thanks, Joe. You go on ahead with DeJesus and Richter. I wanna finish my report. See this baby through and make sure nobody screws up." Joe laughed. "Always working. Jesus, Ray. You're like a pit bull—never lettin' go." Ray just grinned. "Okay, okay. It's your call. You'll be missing out though." "Go on. Git outta here." Ray pulled forms from the file while surreptitiously watching his partner shrug into his winter jacket and don a wool hat. "Oh and Ray, better call Stella," Joe said, as he gestured towards the clock. Eight o'clock! Shit! Ray scrambled for the phone. Stella is gonna be pissed! He waited anxiously while the house phone rang, once, twice, three times and finally was answered. "Ray?" It was Stella, out of breath. "I'm sorry, Stella." "God damn it, Ray! Where the hell are you?" "I'm sorry Stella. I was closing a case." "Ray, do you realize how long I've been waiting?" Anger flared—he could not help it. "Hey, the bad guys don't take holidays, Stella. They don't take lunch breaks neither." "You promised me, Ray." Ray felt a twist in his gut. He knew he had promised to meet her, but with the rush and all that happened, he had forgotten. His head slumped into his hand, hair crunching under his grip. "Yeah. I'm sorry Stella," he said softly, "Real sorry. I didn't mean ta do this to ya." She sighed at the other end. She would forgive him—again. It was the least she could do now that she had left. Besides, his dedication to the job made her look good. People were talking. Just yesterday District Attorney Daniels came up to her desk with a report in hand and commended Ray on his loyalty to duty. Ray worked hard and long day after day. He had closed more cases in the past six months than in the past two years. She could not be angry with him for pulling himself together after all the problems he had endured. "So are we still having dinner together? We really need to talk. There are some details..." "Yeah, I know. Um, can we do it tomorrow? I'm sorry. I gotta finish these reports. We caught him tonight—that rapist in the paper." "That's wonderful, Ray. I'm glad, but you can't keep putting this off." "I know. I'm sorry, Stella. I...I..." "Oh, alright. Tomorrow then. I'm glad you're getting ... back on your feet." God, she's perfect. Always there fer me. "I love you, Stella." She was quiet for a moment and Ray instantly regretted his outburst. "I love you too, Ray, but our relationship doesn't work anymore and this avoidance you have is good example as to why." Ray tilted his head and his hand came up to shade his eyes. A headache was slowly forming. He rubbed his thumb into his temple to ease the throbbing. "Yeah," he replied softly, "I'm sorry. Tomorrow. Seven o'clock. Okay?" "Yes, Ray. That's okay. I'll pick you up at the station." "Yeah, yeah, good. Okay...then...I'll see you tomorrow." They said their good-byes and Ray hung up the phone. He stared at the receiver a moment. He had lied to her...again. There was actually very little paperwork to be done. He knew there was not, because he had stayed extra late all this week writing each detailed report. He just could not face her yet. He had not seen her since the divorce papers arrived at the house. He still was not sure if he was feeling angry or bereft or hurt or maybe even grateful that she was separated from him now. He only knew that when he saw her again, all of it would come to the surface at once, and Ray had a tendency to lash out when feeling vulnerable. So he turned to work. That had helped before in dealing with the hurt inside. Was it two years ago? Seems like last week. Terrance Banks. Ray shivered. The traumatic experience had left Ray in a state of shock. For months he woke every morning shaking in dismay and anxiety. At work, he constantly snapped at the other officers. Ray was ordered into therapy and he went grudgingly, but he resisted help at every turn. Everyone wanted him to talk about it, about the killer, and about what happened. But he could not. Ray did not want to relive the terror, the pain. Because deep down, he knew that his memories of Terrance Banks did not stop at three days spent inside an icy-cold cargo trailer. He had memories that reached back much further and had been buried for a very long time. Buried meant dead and Ray did not like to disturb the dead. He learned to control his temper at work, and soon enough, the counseling was no longer a requirement. So he would go home at night, frustrated and angry, afraid to go to sleep. And he and Stella would argue. Ray would yell. Stella would leave the house. Then Ray would drink himself into a fuzzy, comfortable stupor, and Stella would come home a few hours later to find him passed out. Then last August, Stella took the step to change their lives permanently. She sat in the kitchen reflexively gnawing on a pork chop. Mashed potatoes grew stiff and cold in a large bowl to her right and the peas keeping warm on the stovetop would soon be mush. This was Ray's favorite meal. Stella had driven home early to make it for him. She wanted to try. They needed to talk, to communicate—in any way possible. There were safe memories with a meal like this. Stella knew Ray needed to feel safe. She did not know why, but she recognized his fear and his denial of fear. If he did not open up to her soon, very soon, tonight, then...then... Stella sighed and dropped the scraped bone onto her plate. There she was making an effort, and Ray was not even home yet. She had called the station over an hour ago. Then she had called Joe. Joe was home. Ray was not. But she knew where he was, and when she heard the front door open and a clumsy shuffle across the living room, she knew Ray had finally left the bar. Stella bit her lip and quietly listened. How drunk was he? She was not afraid of him—Ray would never hurt her, but he might hurt himself. Unless he got some serious help, his self-destructive behavior would only get worse. Stella knew the signs. She knew he needed to face his fears head-on. She turned when he reached the kitchen doorway. He had not shaved this morning. His eyes were red-rimmed, but clear. "I'm glad you sobered up before driving home," she said. Ray turned his head from her. "I was worried about you, Ray. I called Joe." Ray's mouth twisted up on one side and he shook his head. Stella could practically read his thoughts. He hated it when she checked up on him. He really hated her calling Joe. Then he seemed to notice the table settings. "You made dinner, Stella? Ya didn't have ta do that," he said softly. His guilt was so plain to see. "I wanted to, Ray. Why don't you have some?" Ray shook his head. "Nah, I'm not hungry. I'm gonna watch some t.v." He turned away. "No, wait, please, Ray. We need to talk." Ray stopped. "There's nothin' ta talk about." "Yes there is! Or are you too drunk to understand that?" Ray whirled around. "I'm not drunk!" "You sure smell like it!" Ray took a menacing step towards her, and Stella suddenly wondered if she was wrong. This conversation was not going as planned. Ray certainly could hurt her if he wanted to. Then he raised his hand as if to ward off his anger. "I am not going to talk about this," he said. He turned and stalked from the room. But Stella would not back down, she never did, that was not her way. She shoved her chair back and ran after him. "Ray. Ray. Ray!" "What?!" he snarled. "Why won't you talk to me?" And for moment, she thought he would give in. His face was drawn and sad. His eyes hid a pain she knew nothing about. "I need to know what's wrong with you, Ray. What is it that you can't even sleep anymore?" "I sleep," he snapped. "Well, maybe you do lately," she answered in reference to his absence from their bed more and more. Ray's mouth tightened and he looked up and away. Was he crying? Trying not to cry? "Please don't do this to us, Ray. To me. I need you. I need the man I married to come home at night and hold me and talk to me." Ray avoided her gaze. Instead he looked at his toe scuffing the floor. "That guy don't exist anymore, Stell. Sorry." "Well, then where is he?" she screamed. "I want him back!" "He ain't here! There's just me! I can't be that, that dream you got in yer head about who I am. Yeah, I've always been there fer you, I always protected you and cared fer you, but I got other things I gotta take care of right now. You gotta just wait fer me fer once!" "I have been waiting. I've waited for two years now for you to talk to me, to talk to anyone, and to get back to where we were!" "And where was that? Huh, Stella? Life was not exactly roses two years ago either." "No, but at least I wasn't living that life alone!" "Yer not alone." "It feels like it," she responded. Ray only stood and stared at her. God, he looks terrible. Then he spun around and stomped into the den. Stella followed and watched him pour a shot of whiskey from the bar set across the room. She stood, hands on hips. "You're going to drink some more? That will really solve it all, won't it?" "Fer tonight anyway," he answered. She looked at him hopelessly. "I can't take it anymore, Ray. Our marriage is being torn apart, and if I stay, I—" The rest of her sentence caught in her throat. Ray glanced up at her. That fear deep in his eyes was shaded over with worry. Then like a mask had come down, his eyes went blank. "Maybe you should leave then. Sometimes that's better." Stella felt the tears burn at the back of her throat. She had left a few times before—gone to her aunt's house for the night and returned in the morning. But not this time. Stella sniffed and wiped at her face. Then she turned and ran up the stairs. She was almost done packing when she felt him behind her. "Whattya doin'?" he asked. Stella wiped at her face again. Her nose was raw from the toilet tissue she had been using. "Packing." He stepped around and closer to her. His breath reeked of alcohol. "Yer just goin' to yer Aunt Sadie's, right? Whaddya need all this for?" "I'm leaving, Ray." "Yeah, I get that. Whaddya need all yer stuff for?" "No, Ray. I'm leaving you—for good this time." She stopped her folding and watched realization creep into Ray's face. He was breathing heavy and fast. His eyes widened in horror. "No," he whispered. Stella could not look anymore. She threw the last shirt into the suitcase and clicked it shut. "No, ya can't." His voice was ragged and hollow like curtains so worn and yellowed, they fell to pieces at the lightest touch. Stella turned her back on him. The bags were heavy. She felt his eyes on her as she descended the staircase to the front door. "Stella!" he called out. He ran down the stairs towards her. "Please don't leave. I love you. Please, please don't leave me. I'll stop drinking. I'll straighten out. Please." Her vision blurred with tears. She wanted to believe, but she had heard this before—several times. "No, Ray. I'm sorry." Then he fell to his knees. Stella gasped as he clutched her legs and buried his face in her knees. "Please," he begged hoarsely. Stella stood still in deliberation. "I love you, Stella. Yer everything to me. I can't do it without you. I'm nothing. I'm nothing without you." "You don't need me, Ray," she gasped. "Please, let go." His fingers tightened, then relaxed, and she stepped free of his embrace. As she turned to close the door, she saw him still kneeling, face down on the floor. "Do it, Ray. Get your life back together, and I'll come back." She closed the door, and Ray was left wondering how he could possibly do anything when all he cared about in the world had just walked out of his life. With nothing else left, Ray had thrown himself into his police work. He took his frustrations out on the crooks, and if he was a little rougher than necessary sometimes, then his partner Joe always covered for him. He stayed late investigating and researching. Sometimes he would stop on the way home for a few beers. Returning home, he would down a couple more beers and finally collapse into bed. In the morning, he still woke with a knot in his stomach and a head full of half-remembered dark dreams. Yer walkin' the edge, Ray, and ya know it. But that thought never stopped him before, and it did not tonight either as he gathered up the case file and prepared to head over to Frank's Place. Then he got the call. Weeks of light sleeping at Vassily's tiny flat had been enough for Alex. Any city with a decent contact would be a welcome sight. But Alex truly liked Chicago. Bitterly cold this time of year, but the architecture was beautiful and the city was large enough to hide even a one-armed man from the authorities. Alex looked out his window. He had a clear view of the Sears Tower as peeked up over the rest of the downtown buildings. The sky was gray and heavy with the promise of more snow, but his apartment was toasty-warm. The neighborhood was filled with newly renovated buildings. Alex was paying an exorbitant amount for rent, but he felt he deserved a little pampering. Luckily, his little brass key had been returned to him before he left Tunguska. With a quick stop in New York, he was able to access the safety deposit box and retrieve a temporary identity, a copy of his address book, and access to a bank account he kept just for such emergencies. County General Hospital had a well-provided facility for amputees. A few well-placed calls placed Alex as a regular outpatient with full insurance benefits. All the details for his six-month stay were settled. Nothing left to do now but wait and recover. And he prided himself on his patience, but he was bored. Maybe he would take a short-time job before the time came to go to Hong Kong. Professional hired guns are always in demand. God bless America. So he put the word on the street. His time would soon be eaten up if a job offer was made, but until then, a lot of empty nights stretched out before him—like tonight. Almost eight o'clock. Alex slumped down into his cushy, chocolate brown couch. He stared at the phone, willing it to ring. But he knew that even with his experience, a job would be slow coming. Potential employers were leery of his handicap, and he could not really blame them. I should just go out. Dance. Get drunk. Fuck. Maybe get fucked... I could track down Mulder His eyes flicked to the laptop in the alcove to his right. Mess with his head a little. Maybe give up a secret or two. Alex's mouth slowly curled into a thin smile. Confuse the bastard. Serve him right. He imagined Mulder's frustrated, creative insults sputtered across the phone lines. The agent would be furious. The passionate oaths delivered in the familiar, scathing monotone would be like music to Alex. Mulder deserves everything he gets. He could almost picture Mulder's body tensing in anger, so similar to when... No, no. Alex shook his head in negation. Those thoughts were dangerous. He tilted his head back and closed his eyes. Remember how he hits and doesn't hesitate. Mulder's hands curled into fists...just like when they had curled... around his cock. Alex opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling. God damn it. That bastard took away my arm, but all I can think about is how hot he makes me. That is pathetic. Alex sighed. I am weak. Jesus, Alex, get with it. Think about how pissy Mulder gets, how he'd react to you calling. His breaths, labored and short, as he crushes the phone...like when he crushed your body against the phone booths. God, that had felt great. Mulder's body shaking, frustrated. Then later, shivering in that Tunguska prison cell until I held him. Oh, that was heaven. Yes. Call him. Call him. His eyes opened and he looked down at his lap, at his hand caressing an erection through his jeans. He wouldn't want you anymore. "Fuck!" he jerked his hand away. The quick movement caught his eye in the large mirror across the room—eyes locking with their green reflection. He studied the lean, slouched body. The fake arm hung by his side in a natural-looking pose. He relaxed. If I don't move the arm, it looks real. "You still look damn good my friend," he said to the mirror. Maybe going out isn't such a bad idea. His fingertips trailed back over the prominent bulge at his crotch. His eyes narrowed at the pleasuring tingles the touch created. An ego boost is needed here, that's all. A guaranteed diversion. He thought about the last time he had visited Chicago. He was bored then too and thinking about Mulder. That led to an hour of enjoying another attribute Chicago had to offer. Alex reached into his jacket and pulled out a tiny address book. There was the phone number—a year and a half old, but Alex bet himself that not much had changed. He grinned. Even if things had changed, Alex so loved a good challenge. "Kowalski here." Ray set the case file back down on his desk. "Hey there, Detective. This is Officer Sands down in evidence lock-up." "Yeah?" Ray scrambled his thoughts to place a face with the young-sounding voice. "Did you just bring in a Darren Quick?" "Yeah. Hey, I filled out all the paperwork perfectly. There better not be a problem or I am gonna be seriously ticked off." Jesus, if this kid screwed up the evidence... "No, no. It's just that...I was putting his belongings away, and the briefcase, here, well, I dropped it and now I see some papers sticking out of the outside covering. They aren't on the log, so I..." "Don't touch nothin'!" "I-I didn't. I called right away." "Good. Perfect. I'll be right down." Ray slammed the phone down. A quick look around the squadroom showed him McNealy arguing on a phone across the room. The overweight detective was here early. Everyone was either gone for the day or in the briefing room. Ray scribbled a note to Joe and stuck it under his partner's phone. Then he hurried out the door and down the hall to the stairwell. Quick is nailed anyway, but, hey a little more evidence wouldn't hurt the case. The more stuff against the bastard, the better I feel. Ray ran down the stairs and pushed open the door to evidence lock-up. He spotted a young bulldog of a rookie at the counter. "You Sands?" "Yes, sir. Here's the briefcase," Sands said as he pushed the tagged leather case across the counter. "Hey! You gotta have me sign it out first! Weren't you taught anything?" The rookie blushed beet red right up to his blond crewcut. Then he slipped Ray a clipboard with a sign-off sheet attached. Ray snatched the paper from his hands and scribbled his name. "You always make everybody sign evidence out—even if they're just looking fer a second. You got that? You know what happens when ya don't? It's called 'evidence contamination.' The judge doesn't allow it in the trial and the perp is handed a Get Outta Jail Free card!" The young officer, thoroughly ashamed of his mistake, nodded and retreated into the back aisles to finish tagging evidence. Ray picked up the briefcase and turned it over in his hands. All of the previous contents had been emptied and tagged, so the case was fairly light. Running his fingers along the edges, he discovered a tear along the seam. When he lifted the fabric away, he could see several envelopes hidden underneath. "Hey," he yelled to Sands, "You got a ruler or something?" Sands hurried to the counter, nodding. He handed Ray a small metal letter opener that Ray used to slide four white envelopes and a multi-paged document out from their hiding place. Ray looked up at the young cop. "Stay right here, kid. I need you ta vouch that I didn't plant any of this stuff." Sands nodded as he watched Ray don plastic gloves. The document was in Chinese—not surprising since they had caught Darren Quick on his way back from Singapore. But there was a Chicago address typed into the right hand corner. Ray flipped out his notepad and wrote it down. Next he held the envelopes up to the light. Looks like negatives. Huh. He looked back up to the rookie standing by his side. "This guy liked little girls. Ya know what I mean? The pictures in here might be kinda upsetting. Okay?" Sands shifted on his feet and nodded. Poor kid. So new. "Listen, I'm just sayin' ya don't gotta look, but you just gotta watch me look, okay?" "I'll be okay, sir." Ray slit open the envelopes and held up the first set of negatives to the light. Damn! Just as I thought. Sick bastard. He squinted his eyes. Wait a second. These kids don't look like any of the known victims. And this one here has a boy in it. He opened another envelope. Somethin's funny. He shook his head, then looked at the negatives again. I got it. The pictures are posed, and the kids looked...cooperative. Christ. These kids are like eight years old. What kind of sick fuck... He shut his eyes to the memory that cropped up. He knew exactly what kind of man got off on young kids. He had first-hand experience. "Detective Kowalski? You okay?" Ray shook his head and grimaced at Sands. "Isn't Quick a white guy?" Sands asked. Ray nodded. "Well, sir, there's a black man in one of the shots." Ray quickly held up the plastic strip again. Now understanding hit. "They aren't Quick's souvenirs. They're his income," Ray mumbled. "What?" Ray shoved all the photos back together. "I want these tagged as evidence, but I'm gonna give you a new case number fer reference, okay? I'll call you with it when I get upstairs." Sands nodded and dumped the discovery into a blue plastic bin as Ray bolted out the door. Just as he reached his desk, his cell phone rang. Oh good, Joe. "Kowalski." "Well hello, detective. Remember me?" Ray stopped short at hearing the smooth controlled voice. "Who is this?" "My, my, such a rude greeting. You invited me to call next time I was in town, and well, I know it's been awhile, but I've been busy." Ray shifted his feet and jostled his head around. "Not ringing a bell? That's okay. We didn't talk much. The night club Sphericals—a year and a half ago in April." Ray pulled the phone away from his ear and stared at it. Some one-night stand is callin' me? I didn't give my...oh, wait. He stopped breathing and felt his heart rate jump. It was him—the dangerous one. He had taken away all the heartache, all thought, all the complications of Ray's life and replaced it with instinctual pleasure. Ray remembered him well. He moistened his lips and pulled the phone back. "Hey! I don't give my number ta just anybody. Rick, right?" There was a slight pause. "Yes, Rick. So would you still like to see me again?" Ray felt himself getting hard. This stranger had appeared right when the fighting had started with Stella. He had been with the guy for less than an hour, but he recalled the experience clearly. This man had taken control, and Ray had felt numb, separate from the pain in his heart. Tonight, Stella would not be home when he got there. In fact, she would not be there ever again. Do you really want ta lay awake all night again listening ta the house echo? "Are you still there, Ray?" "Yeah. I'm here and yeah, I wanna see you. When? Tonight?" "Tonight is perfect." Ray looked down and caught sight of the case file in his hands. "Oh, but wait. I can't meet til' later. That okay?" "We meet at The Blue Light on Halstead—eleven." "Yeah. Yeah. That's good." The Blue Light was well known and bound to be busy even on a Thursday night. Ray would be uncomfortable as it was to walk into the single scene again, and crowds equaled anonymity. "Oh and Ray?" "Hm?" "This isn't a date. I just want to fuck." Ray gripped the phone a little tighter and closed his eyes. What the fuck are you doing, buddy? You do not need this. But yeah, I do. Oh, I really, really do. "Yeah, that's cool," he answered quietly, "I'll see ya there." Then he quickly powered the phone off. He sat for a moment listening to his own heart pound in his ears, filling his cock with heat. What the hell am I doin'? Ray absently pocketed his phone. He sat in his chair and stared at the desk blotter, struggling to calm his harsh breaths. I cannot believe I am gonna do this! Yer life is fucked-up enough, isn't it? Yeah, but dat's the whole point. I need some downtime. I need somethin' ta relax me. A beer would do that. Yeah, well, I don't wanna be a fuckin' drunk. I'll end up collectin' cans wid Batty Betty down on 3rd street. But you're already a drunk, Ray. Shut up! Am not. I got it under control. And Stella? What about her? Ferget Stella! She's gone! Been gone fer four months now. Five. Five months, Ray. "Shut up!" Ray yelled. Then he glanced around guiltily. Luckily, the squadroom was empty. Stella's gone. There ain't no other girl fer me. That's dat. But a guy can only go fer so long wid his right hand fer company. For once, there was no answering argument. Ray snatched his jacket from the back of his chair and grabbed his keys from the desk. He closed his eyes as he shrugged into his jacket. Behind him, Detectives McNealy and Frick sauntered through the door, carrying coffee and arguing about the hockey game on last night. Ray shoved the Quick file under his arm and scurried past his fellow officers before they could even say hello. The pain was nothing. Inconsequential. But the wound was interesting to look at—a gaping smile on the inner side of his leg, just below the knee. Blood dripped down to pool under and around his foot. He gripped the plastic with his toes, and like lava, the blood welled up and over, draining into the gutters of his toenails. Art. But he could do so much better. He was not just an artist. He was a master. A genius. Dali, Munch, Van Gogh—they were his teachers, but he had far surpassed their accomplishments. And he didn't have to die to be appreciated. Immortalized. The world was ignorant of his greatness, but that would change in time. He had a plan. He needed more...tools, a steady supply of the most basic component of his craft. He needed money. And he needed practice so that his perfection would not dim. He smiled. He laughed. An artist needed only one patron to support his livelihood. He had that client, a wealthy one, who loved his work. Eleven-fifteen. Alex lowered his watch and glared at the dancers below him on the dance floor. He did not like to be kept waiting. There was a time when he would not have cared. He would have whiled away the hour on the dance floor himself. And although several men and women had offered to be a dancing partner, Alex remained standing on the balcony near the upper bar. He was afraid. The fake, plastic arm was hidden under his leather jacket and gloves, but delving into the writhing sea of bodies and moving to the heavy beat of music was a sure way of revealing the awkward appendage. Besides, his dance partner was certain to grab onto his arms, and then he would feel their involuntary jerk of reaction. That would just piss him off more, and he might be inclined to break something, probably said partner's neck. So he hid in the stifling semidarkness. The club was hot and crowded, and Alex grew more and more agitated. He cursed himself and his weaknesses. He glowered at anyone who approached. And he focused his anger on the easiest target. I can't believe this little fucker is late! Alex tried to keep in mind that he had no claim over the cop at all. He had not even seen the man in over a year, and Ray did not even know Alex's real name. But Alex knew Ray. He probably knew more about Ray than Ray's wife. Well, maybe I don't know his whole life history, but I do know what Ray is afraid of. Knowing a person's fear, that is the first step in controlling that person. And Alex needed control. He had lost so much. Not just the arm, that was just a physical handicap. It was seeing Mulder again, and he had to blame himself for that weakness. After getting trapped in the silo, nothing seemed more important than seeing Mulder, helping Mulder. He had hooked up with the militants in North Dakota and stayed with them while he hacked into private databases and retrieved snippets of confidential information on a project based in Tunguska, Russia. But Alex grew tired of his shortsighted companions and sending Mulder clues was not enough to quell the itch for action he felt in his bones. So he contrived to get the militants arrested and for Mulder to get the credit. And the chance to see Mulder, talk to him even...well, a prison would be nothing compared to the silent darkness of the silo. He could see now what a fool he had been. He just had not expected the rollercoaster of events that followed. He had not expected the painful joy at seeing his lover again. He had not expected his own desperation to take hold and make him spill forth facts to keep Mulder by his side as long as possible. He had reveled in Mulder's rough attention. Pushed, insulted, slapped, grabbed at, and handcuffed, Alex took what he felt he deserved and only asked for more by taunting the agent at every moment. Then Mulder had retaliated by handing him over to Skinner, and Alex had been afraid. Skinner was generally a good man, but he was awfully big and did not have tender memories of Alex to hold back his angry blows. Alex shook off his thoughts and focused on the club door. Eleven-fucking-twenty. Where the hell is this fucking, skinny-assed, cop? As the door opened to admit another patron, Alex could see the line outside waiting to be let in. He looked around. The club was full—well-beyond its legal occupancy. Alex had the best vantage point in the club, but of course he had planned it that way. Now he realized that Ray was probably on the outside line, waiting for someone to leave so that others could get in. Alright. I'll go outside and if he's not there, then I'm leaving. Alex waded through the crowd that readily parted, sensing his jagged animosity. He delighted in shoving aside anyone who was not quick enough or wise enough to move. Suddenly, he was at the door and the crisp cold air helped to clear his head and calm him down. The cop wasn't a sure thing anyway. He probably freaked, then ran home to screw his wife. The bouncer by the door lifted an eyebrow. "You comin' back in?" Alex shook his head. He stepped out, and a scrawny red-haired girl screeched as the bouncer let her inside. Two brawny Italian boys were motioned back to wait. Alex let the door swing shut behind him. If he isn't here, fine. Maybe I'll just go purchase some nice, nameless piece of ass. Who the fuck cares? But he was there. Ray Kowalski stood leaning up against the brick building. He stared at Alex as if the man was a giant cobra that had suddenly been dumped into his lap. The expression made Alex smile, and the two Italian boys to his left each took a wary step away from him. He saw a shudder pass over Ray's body, and his smile turned to a leer. Anticipation and anger combined to keep him semi-hard throughout his wait, but now his cock surged to life, eager to get reacquainted with the blond cop. Alex looked him over. Ray Kowalski looked like hell. Still skinny, his tall frame slouched in defeat. Dark circles lined his eyes. The blond hair, cropped just a little longer than Alex's own, seemed almost dishwater brown. Alex was almost disappointed, but then the cop lifted his chin, and the smoky-blue defiance he saw there was more than reassuring. Detective Kowalski was down, but not beaten. Good. I'm not into fucking the dead. Ray must have sensed his approval, because now he was grinning, showing his sharp, white teeth beyond the cloud of breath exhaled into the frigid air. I do so like that little fuck-me smile. Alex grinned back at him and crooked his finger up to beckon. They had captured the attention of the entire line, and Alex loved to put on a show. He suddenly felt like himself again, whole, not nearly so damaged. He felt sexy, confident, and completely in control. Ray pushed off from the wall and glided toward him, white mist huffed into the air with every quickening breath. Alex reached out and combed his fingers into the short hair, cupping his palm around the back. Looks different, but still soft. Like feathers. Ray's welcoming grin turned into a securely, sly smirk. Alex clenched his fingers, jerking Ray's head back, and causing a sharp gasp to escape Ray's mouth. He pulled Ray's head back further until the long white throat was exposed, and Ray had to lean his head to the side to relieve the pressure. Alex could feel the line of people watching them. There was a girl further down the line who could not stop exclaiming—in wonderment or outrage—Alex was not sure. And he did not care. He stepped in closer to Ray's space. He wanted to reach with his other hand and touch the hard length trapped behind worn denim. His inability to do so only caused a slight pause. Then he stepped in closer and rubbed his thigh into the cop's crotch. Ray arched into him and moaned loud enough that the first three people in line heard him. Alex let his breath skate over the angular face, enshrouding them both in a warm fog. Then he whispered into Ray's ear, "Been a while? You're a little whore, Ray. I bet I could get you to beg for my cock in front of this whole line of people." Ray made a soft cry deep in his throat that only Alex could hear. Ray licked his lips and slowly brought his head forward as Alex allowed. And finally he could look directly into Alex's face, but before he could speak, Alex took his mouth in a hard, bruising kiss. Soft. Sweet. Eager. Mmmm. He was drinking before. Beer. Not drunk though. Good. Alex pulled away. "Take your keys out. You're driving." Then he stepped away further and waited for Ray to follow his orders. Ray fumbled for his car keys. Which pocket? Not that one. No. Nope. Here! Oh. No, that's no good. Oh! Here. He clutched the keys in his hand and looked up. Alex was silently laughing at him. And Ray was suddenly aware of the audience behind him. He turned his head, then quickly whipped back to face Alex again. OH CHRIST! They were all watchin' me, him, the two of us. I am...what was I thinking? What am I thinking? I'm a cop fer God's sake! What am I doin'? It's this guy Rick. He's makin' me act nuts! That's not even his real name. I don't know anything about him. And I'm gonna go somewhere let him do whatever? No way! He's probably got a rap sheet a mile long. He's a loaded gun. He's a rabid dog. He's...he's...and I'm...I'm... "Ray." Ray blinked. "Huh?" "Let's go. Now." The command was issued in a deep, husky voice. Laser green eyes held Ray mesmerized. He's so fuckin' sexy. He's right. I'm a whore. I'd strip for him right now, right here on the street. "Now, Ray." Ray nodded. Checking to be sure he was followed, Ray took off down the street at a brisk walk. What would Joe think of this, huh Ray? Forty minutes ago, he was sitting at the bar with his partner, sipping a beer, discussing the pornographic negatives. They agreed to look at the clues tomorrow and not mention their find to Quick until they had more information. Talk about the case led to talk about pornography in general. "And to be the guy in the film? Oh, yeah, I could go for that!" Joe exclaimed. "I mean, all those girls with their big tits. Who wouldn't?" Ray nodded absently and took another swig of beer. The few porno films he had seen were pretty boring. His thoughts were on leaving any minute to get to the club on time. He had caught up with Joe at the usual hangout. DeJesus and Richter were there too, gobbling down a huge plate of buffalo wings. They left at ten, and Ray remained to be certain Joe did not drive home drunk. Joe waxed on about the virtues of starring in various straight porn films. Then he went on to wonder how any self-respecting girl would put herself on film like that for everyone to see. "Money talks," Ray had answered. But you don't even need that, do you Ray? You'd spread yerself fer the world ta see, if 'Rick' wanted it, if he was the one doin' the touching. Ray's bold strides slowed as he neared his car. Why is that? What is so special about the guy behind me? Ray stopped by the passenger door and took a deep breath. His only warning was a hard caress up his spine before he was crushed against the car with a warm, muscular body. A hot whisper brushed into his ear. "Don't think, Detective." One iron-strong arm held him around the waist. A quick jab and a twist would break him free. Ray resisted the urge to to struggle as his cop insticts flared up. This was what ya wanted. Now he's givin' it to ya. Just relax. Then he sagged against his big, gray car. Ray concentrated on the feel of the heavy body leaning into him. Hot breath on his neck. A forceful hand groped his cock, massaging thorough the denim. Ray moaned and thrust back into the hard-on pressed against his ass. A grunt sounded in his ear and his balls were clutched—not too hard, just a warning. "Unlock the door, Ray." The gravelly voice sounded just as breathless as Ray felt. Then all the heat was gone as 'Rick' stepped away to give him room. Ray's hands shook as he fumbled with the key at the lock. He scratched the paint twice, then took a deep breath. Get a hold of yerself, Ray! Jeez! Two leather-encased hands came around his waist. One held his wrists steady, while the other guided the key to the lock. Ray had a moment to wonder at the unyielding feeling of the left hand before the lock clicked and the hands withdrew. "Get in the car, Ray. We don't have far to go." Ray was given a shove towards the front of the car, and then the tall, dark-haired 'Rick' slipped into the passenger seat. The drive was short as promised. And the entire time, Ray followed directions on autopilot. He felt like he was dreaming. I don't do this. I don't pick up guys fer one night stands. Sure ya do, Ray. Nothin' new. That's how ya met him in the first place. That was before, when Stella and I almost broke up, when she kicked me outta the house again. Now it's different. Yeah. Now she left. And she's not coming back, Ray. You don't even have a reason to feel guilty. Yeah, I don't...And that sucks. Ray parked and turned off the ignition. The motel's neon sign reflected backwards and upside down off the dashboard—a blue blur with the word 'vacancy' splashed in red. Ray shut his eyes, and he was suddenly aware of the silence in the car. He opened his eyes and found his companion staring back at him from the opposite seat. Ray could not read his expression in the dark, but he sensed anger and apprehension. "You havin' second thoughts?" Ray asked. "I want to make a rule, Ray. Do you like rules?" Hunh. Rule? "I usually break the rules," Ray answered. "What if I didn't let you break them?" Ray shivered. He did not know what to say to that, but he felt his heart speed up. He tapped his fingers on the wheel and tried to imagine how the very fit 'Rick' would be enforcing any rules. But he did not have enough information. He did not know enough about this man or his motives, and that in itself was part of the attraction. "What's the rule?" "Once we go into that motel room, there's no turning back. You can't change your mind and you can't leave until I say." Ray blinked. Okay. Didn't expect that, but I don't plan on checking out early on this date anyway. "Okay. I can go wid that rule." The dark head nodded and the man turned away to open the door. "Wait," Ray said, and 'Rick' froze, turning his face back again. "I gotta ask ya somethin' I got no right ta ask." Ray watched the long lashes narrow over hidden eyes. "I wanna know if this is it. If this is the last time I'm ever gonna see ya or if yer in town fer a while. I..." Dammit. What the fuck are you sayin' Kowalski? 'Rick' smiled back at him with a predatory grin. "Make me happy tonight, Ray and I'll be coming back again very soon." Ray stared dazedly across the car seat. He was not sure if that answer was reassuring or frightening. But he decided it excited him and that was good. Ray nodded and quickly exited the car, following his tall companion to door number 18, the room on the end. Alex stalked across the room and turned on his heel to lean against the far wall. He knew his swift movements and silence were making the cop nervous, but he himself was frightened, and he could not let that fear show. This would be the first time that he would bare his injury to a potential lover. Alex was prepared for shock, for revulsion even, but he knew rejection would cut him too deeply, and so, he had instated Rule #1. The demand had placed Alex in a position of power over the cop, and he had felt his confidence warming. Okay then. Stay in power. Be the one who makes all the rules. Alex nodded to himself. He let his eyes relax to look at Ray through his lashes. Then he pushed himself off of the wall and took his measure of Ray as he slowly walked forward. The lanky detective stood in front of the closed motel door. His fingers twitched, and he shifted from foot to foot with his chin lifted in uncertain defiance. "Come here, Ray." Alex lifted his hand towards Ray's shoulder, and the detective hesitantly stepped forward until the fingertips brushed his jacket. Alex could almost see the quick pulse in Ray's throat. "I've changed since the first time we met." Ray's eyes flicked up to his face then settled back somewhere on his left shoulder. Alex knew the gaze was unconsciously directed toward the false arm, but he still tensed up. "Yer hair is shorter, but ya haven't changed any that I can see," Ray answered. "You're afraid." "Yeah. Well, I should be. Listen, I know what kinda guy you are. I know yer no saint. And you know I'm a cop. That don't make fer a real good combo." "Then why did you agree to meet?" "Guess I like ta play wid fire," he said, and his eyes shifted back to Alex's face, to Alex's mouth. Then he shrugged. The movement cupped Alex's hand into his shoulder, and Alex rubbed at the cool, black leather. The straight-cut jacket was not suited to the winter weather outside. He could see that Ray's skin was flushed where the cold air had access to his neck and chest. Ray had a fragile-looking body—thin bones showing starkly through pale skin. But their previous encounter had been somewhat rough, and Alex knew Ray's body to be much stronger than it looked. Alex let his fingers graze over the jacket lapel and come to rest on the side of Ray's neck. His skin was hot and velvety soft. Alex felt the strong beat of blood through Ray's veins. He trailed his fingers slowly down, following the line of the open jacket. Ray's eyes were mere slits, and his mouth parted as his breath deepened. So open about his desire, even against his better judgement. Could it ever be this way for Fox and me? Alex flattened his hand and closed his eyes. This could be Fox beneath my hand right now. They're about the same height. His chest would be right there. But would he ever let me to touch him like this? And would he stay even after we're naked and he sees what I look like? Ray shifted under his hand, and Alex opened his eyes to see an impatient gleam shimmering in Ray's lowered eyes, reflected by a tightening in the small mouth. Time to show him. But he could not bare himself entirely and wait for Ray's judgement. That kind of weakness could not be tolerated. Alex stepped back and away. Ray looked up, apprehension and lust clearly battling in his expression. "Take your clothes off." And Alex was reassured at the strong note of command in his own voice. Ray licked his lips and slipped the jacket off. When he would have moved to lay it across the cheap dresser to the right, Alex gestured for him to stop. "Just let everything fall." Ray dropped the jacket, quickly followed by the rest of his clothing. Alex was pleased. It felt good to be in charge after months of being follower, the prisoner, the desperate survivor. And Ray was obviously excited by his authority. Alex reached out to brush his fingers along Ray's erect cock. Ray gasped and Alex took his hand away. "Now you can undress me," Alex said softly. Ray nodded and stepped closer to slip Alex's jacket back and away. He paused as the edge of the prosthetic arm was revealed beyond the sleeve of Alex's T-shirt. Alex observed the widening of his eyes and the catch of breath. But Ray continued taking the jacket away and then reached up to touch the hard plastic. He paused and looked to Alex for permission. "Can I look at it?" Ray asked. Alex's heart hammered in his chest and his throat was too dry to speak, so he nodded tersely. Ray turned his attention back to the molded arm, sliding his hand around the upper half and down to the complex joint forming an elbow. "Pretty hi-tech. Does it come off?" "Not tonight." Alex's hard stare narrowed further. He had to remind himself that Ray was not looking for weaknesses. Ray was not an enemy—at least, not as of now. Ray needed him just as much as... I need him. The realization surprised Alex, but he managed to control his reaction. Ray, oblivious to Alex's revelation, pursed his lips and tipped his head in a nod. "Okay, then. I can go wid that," he said and continued divesting Alex of his clothes. I need this Alex thought. I need this acceptance. I need this more-than-acceptance. He glanced down at Ray's still semi-hard cock. As his body was bared and Ray moved appreciative hands over his skin, Alex felt himself grow hard as well. Calling Ray Kowalski was one of the best ideas to emerge from his head in a long time. For just an hour or so I can forget about Mulder and the conspiracy and all that happened in Tunguska. Here is a guy that really wants me, just me. "Ya still got a body that would stop traffic, Rick," Ray whispered. But Alex drew back into himself at the compliment. Rick. He doesn't know who I really am, what I really am. It isn't me that Ray Kowalski wants. He just wants somebody to fuck his brains out and let him go back to his perfect little life with his perfect little wife and his shiny, metal badge. Alex felt anger growing in the pit of his stomach, and he encouraged it. He knew Ray would not protest to a little violence, and besides, he needed the outlet. You know what I'm thinking don't you? Can you feel how much I'm beginning to hate you, detective? Do you see it in my eyes? But Alex knew the cop had seen Alex's hand clenching hard, blood staining his fingertips. Ray pulled back a little and slowly looked up into Alex's face. Now you'll back away. Now you see what you're trapped in this room with, and you'll break Rule# 1 and run. You'll run as fast and as far as you can. But Ray leaned in, and as Alex stood frozen in shock, he tilted his head and lightly licked at the unresponsive lips. He pressed his advantage and licked harder, coaxing Alex's mouth open to run his tongue on the sharp, white teeth. Alex almost bit Ray's tongue off in response, but then he remembered this was what they were there for, he had invited Ray to touch him. And suddenly the hunger buried for so long, the want for human touch, and the reassurance that he was not alone in the dark surged forward taking over his mind and his body. Alex reached around and crushed the lean detective to him, returning the kiss with equal ardor. He grabbed Ray's ass with his good hand, massaging the tight muscle hard; he was surely leaving bruises. But Ray did not complain. He grunted in surprise and melted into Alex's open embrace, moaning his pleasure. One hand rested on Alex's shoulder, hesitant even now to try and hold Alex to him. The other was wedged between them, holding their cocks together while their bodies moved, creating delicious friction. Alex had the urge to come right there and maybe twist Ray's head around with a snap at the same time. Instead, he eased back on his grip and whispered into Ray's ear. "Get on the bed. Kneel down." Ray shivered and still gasping for breath, he did as he was told. Alex bent to retrieve a condom and lube from his jacket. He stared at Ray's ass as he prepared himself. The left cheek was red and already bruising from his rough treatment. Alex licked his lips and cautioned himself to stay in control as he stroked more lube onto his cock. Ray can take a lot, but I don't want to scare him too much, hurt him too badly. I'll need him again. Maybe I could find another; but then again, I took the risk of saving him a year ago, some would believe he's my responsibility now. Why the hell did I have save his ass in the first place? The answering thought was just a whisper. For Fox. Alex froze. Is that why? Did I do it for Fox? "You gonna jerk off and leave me over here by myself?" Alex snapped his attention to Ray peering back at him over his shoulder. Two steps and he was on the bed behind Ray. A moment to steady himself and he plunged two slick fingers into Ray's ass. "Uhn!" Ray shouted, and his body lunged forward, dropping his weight to his elbows. Alex followed the movement and twisted his fingers. "God dammit! Oh, God!" Ray's chest and face rubbed into the mattress, but his hips were still held high, an offering for Alex to give more. Alex continued moving his fingers, in and out, twisting and scissoring, randomly pressing into Ray's prostate, increasing his pleasure. Then he leaned down and licked his darkened fingerprints from earlier, tracing each red mark. Ray moaned continually, pushing back to encourage more. Alex bit hard into the firm flesh. Ray's scream was coarse and dark, filled with lust and pain, and Alex loved it. And just as he felt Ray start to pull away, he released his bite. Let him explain that to the little wifey. A few soothing licks and some concentrated effort from the fingers buried in the cop's ass, then Ray was relaxing again. Alex sat back to admire. Beautiful. And Ray is hard as a rock. "Are ya done layin' claims on me?" Ray gasped between moans. Alex withdrew his fingers. "Oh, shit! Come on, come on!" "Just leaving my calling card, Ray." "Yeah? Well, I don't need yer fuckin' card. I want yer dick! Give it ta me!" Alex grabbed Ray's undulating hips and shoved his cock in all the way. Ray choked on his scream, whimpering, then grunting with each rocking thrust as Alex slammed into him. Alex held nothing back. He just wanted to come. He was tired of playing with the ungrateful fuck beneath him. He felt the body shift beneath him, transferring weight to one hand. Alex grabbed at the blond hair, pulling back the cop's head, and he leaned his weight onto Ray's shoulder with his prosthetic arm. The leverage gained him more power to drive his cock harder, faster. There were loud groans beneath him, and his shaft was clutched into a tight fist of soft, milking velvet. Alex clenched his teeth, riding through the intensity. And as the body beneath collapsed, he followed it down. Taking his own weight onto both his arms, he continued thrusting without pause until his entire body tightened and stretched, his hips moving freely but his lungs frozen in time. Afterwards, Alex lay on his stomach, one arm thrown over Ray's back. The cop was silent, but Alex knew he was awake. "Are you married?" Alex asked even though he knew the answer. "Separated." That's new. A year ago they were happily together. "Does she know?" Alex asked, "About you and men?" Ray's voice was muffled. "No. Communication problems, I guess. S'pose it was a matter of time, me bein' a cop and all. Listen, I don't really wanna talk about this, okay?" Ray turned to face him, and Alex gathered his arm back before sitting up. "Relax, Ray. I think it would be better if we didn't talk about our lives anyway." Ray nodded. "The room is paid for. You can take your time leaving." "Just once around, huh?" Ray looked up at him with a smirk. Alex paused. Then he grinned. "You can shower with me," he replied as he gracefully slid to his feet. Ray took the offer, and a short time later, Alex left Ray sated and standing under the cooling spray of water. Alex dressed quickly, smiling to himself. As Ray entered the room, Alex opened the door to leave. "I'll call you soon, Ray—very soon. We'll meet here. Don't be late again." Then he was out the door, crossing the lighted parking lot, and into the dark night. Snow-filled clouds blocked the moon and at three a.m. there was no one around to see him anyway as Alex climbed into his car parked a block away. Three days later and Ray still felt like he was playing a game that came with no instructions—both in his professional life and in personal time. He was not worried about the Darren Quick case. Ray had already spoken to the prosecutor and handed over all of his reports. Quick's indictment was tomorrow, and the prosecutor had assured Ray that the evidence was indisputable—Quick would be serving a long jail sentence. The real puzzle were the negatives found in Quick's briefcase. Ray glanced up as his partner Joe, who took a seat next to him. "I don't get it. Not one of these kids is filed down here," Ray said in exasperation as he slammed yet another book filled with pictures and names shut. "Take it easy, partner. The Missing Persons Bureau only keeps physical files on kids reported missing here in Chicago. We gotta go check the computer to search the national list." "Yeah, great. We'll be here forever." "Hey, at least we know they got snatched within the last six months. That calendar hangin' up in the third shot was a lucky break." "Yeah, I know, I know. Listen, you get anything?" Joe smiled grimly. "I got it," he said and held up a bunch of folded document. Ray flashed a grin and nodded. Their only other clue was the Chicago address on the papers included in with the negatives. The papers themselves were a receipt for film in trade for some sort of service—yet unidentified. The address led them to a storage facility where Darren Quick had a container under his name, and Joe now held the search warrant. "Okay, then, let's get at 'er." Ray rose from his seat shrugged on his heavy winter jacket. The snow finally arrived last night and the temperature dropped even further, making his usual leather jacket completely useless. Joe followed him down the hall as Ray revised the case in his mind again. Darren Quick would not tell them anything; maybe he was afraid of his business partners. Ray suspected a mob family involvement. He put a call into the Organized Crime Division and spoke to Detective Perry. But while there were several mob-run, prostitution rings under investigation, there was not even a hint of child pornography anywhere. Perry told Ray that he would check it out anyway and get back to him. In the mean time, Ray would follow up the only leads he had. "The lab report came back on the film this morning," Ray told his partner as they tromped through the gray snow and salted ice covering the parking lot. "The film was made in Hong Kong and it's professional quality. It just looks amateur ta fool cops inta thinkin' that Darren Quick is just a guy with a sick hobby." Joe nodded. "Woulda worked too, maybe. I mean if we weren't nabbing Quick for kidnapping, I wouldn't have looked too long at those photos. They look like something he coulda bought off the street." "I'm driving." Ray dug his car keys out of his pocket. "Lab says they're sample clips. Quick smuggles in the samples, shows 'em to a buyer, then sets up the deal for whole reels of film to be delivered." "Yeah, but those kids aren't from Hong Kong. Who knows where they're from! We don't know for sure is Quick kidnapped more kids and had 'em shipped overseas. Even if he did, how did he do it?" Ray waited until Joe was in the car beside him before he answered. "Look, I don't know how he did it, but I'm tellin' ya, those kids are American. I feel it. They even seem kinda familiar." Joe looked at him sideways. A worried frown crossed his face, and then he cleared his throat. "Ya know, Ray, may be you're working too hard on this case." Ray flicked a glance from the road to his partner as he pulled out into traffic. "DeJesus says you worked late again last night—that you were down in records until midnight." "What?" Ray laughed nervously. "You gonna get all motherly on me, Joe? You don't gotta worry about me. I'm okay. I'm cool." "I just know how you can get, Ray. You get to close, and you forget about what's important." "And savin' these little kids from gettin' whored out even before puberty ain't important?" Ray turned the next corner with a savage wrench of the wheel; Joe took it in stride. "I mean personally. You haven't called Stella in three days." "Hey! The Stella and me ain't none of yer business." "You used to call her a couple of times a day. Now I don't even hear her name outta your mouth-" Ray slammed on the brakes at a stop sign and turned to his partner. "I said, my wife ain't any of yer business! You got that?" He poked a finger at Joe's chest and glared. Joe looked silently away out the side window, and Ray started up the car again. "It's just..." Ray gripped the steering wheel harder. "You get too involved, partner. Like with the Banks ca-" "I am not gonna talk ta you about that case. And I'm gonna pretend right now, that ya didn't bring it up, cause we're doin' good here, Joe, but yer pissin' me off." Ray could feel Joe's eyes on him, but he refused to acknowledge the stare. He concentrated on the road and struggled to banish any thoughts of Terrance Banks from his head. The last thing he needed right now was to dwell on his own molestation experience. But the next immediate memory was just as unwanted—he had met Stella two nights ago and she gave him the divorce papers to sign. He still had them in the back seat of the car. He was not ready to let go just yet. He needed something to hold on to. He needed an anchor. He needed grounding. Suddenly he thought of 'Rick' and hoped the man would call soon. Weird, but it felt as if the dark stranger had the ability to help Ray out of the black pit he was drowning in, or maybe he had the last nail to Ray's depression-filled coffin. Ray had not had a drink since that night, but if he did not get a call letting him know he was wanted by somebody, anybody, then he thought ole Jack Daniels would be easing his suffering tonight. Maybe this time, Ray would not bother to sober up the next morning. Maybe not ever again. He was still a little confused about the whole date with Rick. Everything seemed straightforward. Even Rick's little Rule #1 was okay, once Ray realized the rule was because of the arm. Hey, so Rick don't like ta be rejected either. Who can blame him? Then they were in the motel room, and Ray's heart rate shot through the roof as the tall, muscular stranger stalked towards him. The sex was rough and tumble, and Ray felt completely at the man's mercy. He had received a few bruises that were faded now to a light yellow-green. The bite mark was still a bit sore too, but Ray liked being reminded every time he sat down. It was afterwards, the second time around that had Ray confused. The sex in the shower was so at odds with what they both were asking for and what they had just done. Ray had felt like a different man had gotten up from the bed with him and led him into the bathroom. He had made Ray watch from the corner of the tub as he washed first. Apparently the prosthetic arm could get wet, because Rick made no attempt at avoiding the water. He'd washed thoroughly and briskly, without regard to Ray's observance, as if Ray was not even there. That's when he got all weird. Rick had turned and taken Ray's hand and proceeded to wash Ray as well—gently, slowly, with careful attention. Ray felt like a prize-winning animal, a dog being groomed for the show. He relaxed, enjoying the warm water and soft caresses, so good, so nice. Then he licked my face and my ear, and damn! but that had felt sooo good. And oh yeah, I was good ta go again. Ray had expected to be turned to the wall and taken as roughly as the first time, but instead, Rick had dropped to his knees. He had licked and sucked and lazily brought Ray up to heights where he was looking down on them, wondering how the hell he could see his own face tipped up to the ceiling, but he could not hear the moans from his own mouth, and could you die from an orgasm? Gentle and caring and he didn't take anything fer himself. That just don't fit. But hey, I am not gonna complain. Just wish he'd call, dammit. "This is it," Joe said from beside him. "Pull over. It's container three-oh-nine." Ray parked the car. They spent the rest of the afternoon searching through Darren Quick's life-long collection of old office furniture, vinyl records, the occasional ab machine, some moldy clothes, and a mountain of papers—some crisp and new, but most so old and yellowed that the ink was no longer legible. At four o'clock, Ray shoved the last of the confiscated papers into the trunk of his car. "That's four boxes full," Ray said. Joe lumbered up behind him carrying another box. "Make that five. I found this one all the way in the back behind that big, oak desk. It was pretty wedged in there." Ray nodded and held the back door open. "Hey, wait," he said and held out his hand. There was a bit of color in the filed sea of faded white—a photograph. Ray reached into the box and plucked it out. "Oh, this is nice," he said sarcastically. Then he turned the photo around to Joe's curious eyes. Joe looked at him in astonishment. "Melanie Brock. That was the first girl Quick molested. Looks like a photo from her last birthday party. Ray, we can't use that photo in the case. Our warrant is only for evidence to do with the negatives." "Not her," Ray shifted so they could both look at the photo. "Her." And he pointed into the background where another child sat two seats over from Melanie. Another six-year old with curly, brown hair and big, blue eyes. Ray knew those eyes. They haunted him. They were the same eyes that stared out at him in sepia from the third strip of evidenced film. Alex hung up the phone. He did not give the cop much time to get here, but Ray seemed eager enough. Eager to please—that was how Alex wanted him. Today had been a rough time. A job finally came in. Some small-time low-life on the Lower East Side needed extra security for the upcoming weekend. The job was well beneath his skills, but he could not afford to be prejudiced. He had met the boss this afternoon. What an asshole. A weasel who got lucky—climbed the ladder further than he should've. His cocaine trade was small-time, but growing, and Alex could see the short, squat man would not be able to control his own business. Got to give him credit though. He knew I was a threat. Alex had smirked when he sensed fear in his employer's attitude. Then he had reassured the man. I won't be taking your business, asshole. I've got bigger fish to fry. At least, that was what he was thinking as he politely played the part of a bird with a broken wing—not a difficult role to play at all. In the end, the guy relaxed. He realized that he was getting a professional—very cheap. But convincing him of that fact was not easy, and Alex was tired now and antsy. He felt collared, hobbled. A knock interrupted his thoughts. "Come in," he growled. Ray cautiously opened the door to room #18 and resisted the urge to draw his gun. Rick was slumped up against the headboard; one long leg hanging over the side of the bed, the other with the knee pulled up. A black leather jacket lay folded on the floor. There was a faint smell of pine disinfectant in the stale air of the too warm room. The slitlike, forest green eyes watched Ray in silence as he took off his jacket and gloves, tossing them to the only chair where they landed with an overly loud swish of fabric. The click of the heater kicking on made him jump. Ray edged forward, feeling like he was entering the lion cage at the zoo and it was just about feeding time. A slow, easy smile curved Rick's mouth and his eyes glinted. Is he turned on? Is he pissed off? Is he laughin' at me again? The silence was so heavy Ray was having trouble breathing. He wet his lips and took a risky look away from Rick's face, searching for clues in the rest of his body. But Rick was suspiciously relaxed and poised at the same time, the tent of his erection disturbing the fluid line of body. He noticed a slight tensing as his eyes passed over the false arm. He's got nothin' ta be insecure about. Not really. Not with the rest of him bein' so damn sexy. Long legs. Flat stomach. Big, strong, deft hand. Ray took a deep breath as he remembered that hand on him, remembered the rough grip and possessive clutching that left bruises all over his body. If he'd had two hands I wouldn've survived. Ray giggled. Rick tensed up again. So Ray trailed his eyes down to the bulge in the lounging man's crotch and stepped closer. Ray slowly brought his hand forward. The hair on the back of arm stood up as he reached between the long legs. He held his breath, waiting for sharp claws to emerge and his flesh to be ripped from elbow to wrist, exposing bone. His fingers brushed lightly across the denim fly, and the dark lion arched slightly, spreading his bent leg away. Ray took another deep breath and stepped even closer, aware that his every move was watched with calculated patience. His hand flattened along the hot bulge and pressed. He could smell heat and sweat rising from the bed, taking him in, enveloping him in a space where his badge and gun meant nothing and his every desire was focused on a stranger that could make him scream. Screams of want and pleasure, hate and denial. Ray shuddered. "Strip." Rough and deep—the voice compelled Ray to lean in. He had not taken his eyes from the trapped cock beneath his fingers, and suddenly he did not want to obey. He wanted to unwrap and reveal the beautiful hard length, take it into his mouth, taste the salty, slick end. "No." Ray jerked his head back, so close to his goal he could taste the metal zipper. "Strip." Ray lifted his foggy eyes and saw anger hinted in the back of the gaze directed at him. He stumbled backwards, hastily toeing off his shoes, ripping off his shirt and throwing the clothes to the floor. His button-fly yanked open, he reached in the waistband to pull them down and realized he was hard, achingly hard, painfully hard, and he could not help but bring one hand around to the front and sweep his thumb down along the veined surface. A hiss escaped his lips as he scrunched his eyes shut and gritted his teeth. Oh God! I could come right now. I wanna. I wanna. "Oh God, I wanna come," Ray whimpered. Then a vice-like grip descended over his crotch and crushed his cock, sharp-edged fingers digging into his balls. Ray screamed and doubled over, falling to his knees. What the fuck?! Oh God, Oh jeez! It hurts! It fucking hurts! Ray clutched his hands to his groin gently. I can't believe he did that! I am gonna kick this bastard's ass! Who the FUCK does he think he is? Oh! And I'm still hard! Christ! I don't think I've been this hard in my entire life! Ray panted heavily until the pain subsided. His body slowly relaxed, resting his weight on his shoulders, and he turned his head to the side, ignoring the light burn across his cheek from the carpeting. That's his boot. Right in front of my face. Yer pretty vulnerable right now, Ray. Kinda looks familiar. Ray flashed back to lying on the unyielding metal floor, blood running down his sides, sharp pains in his back, the feel of cotton and fear in his mouth. The big black work boots and heavy silence making his eyes roll back and his throat clench. Ray felt panic approaching. I'm not there. I'm not there. I'm safe. Rick won't hurt me, well, not really hurt me, not like that, not exactly like that. How could he? Not with that voice. I gotta hear that voice. I gotta know I'm safe. I need ta hear it. I need ta know! I need- "Calm down, Ray." Ray relaxed instantly. He opened his eyes on the shiny, black, leather boots—not a speck of mud on them, laces loosened, eyelets winking in the dim overhead light. He felt the urge to lean forward and swipe his tongue across the surface. What kinda freaky thought is that? Ray held himself back. His hands inched back to his sides, and he lifted his chest off the floor. "I'll tell you when to come. And you'll wait for it." Ray swallowed. The boots moved away. He could hear Rick disrobing behind him. "You got that, Ray?" No. I don't think so... "Yes," Ray whispered. What?? What are you doin'? Get some backbone, Ray. The guy just practically ripped yer dick off! "That a new rule?" Ray asked. He was proud of the slight sarcasm he was able to conjure. "Rule one—I can't leave til you say so. Rule two—I can't come 'til you say so?" Rick knelt by his side, and the right hand softly pet him from neck to the base of his spine. "That would be a nice rule...if you want it. I'm good, Ray. I can make you wish you were dead, then I'll make you think you're in heaven. I can give you pleasure that will make the world outside this room seem like a dream." The dark, syrupy voice soaked into Ray's skin, lulling his nerves, striking a place within that wanted to be cared for, to be protected, to be owned. Slow lazy licks along his back and a warm gentle hand on his ass. Ray arched back and groaned. He felt the bitterness and sarcasm draining away. He felt the world slipping back into a hazy memory. Rick's hand was real and comforting and his mouth promised so much. "Can you give me control, Ray?" The soft, heady whisper tickled his ear. "Yeahh," Ray moaned, "You got it. Yer in control. Okay." "Take off your jeans and lay down on the bed." Ray nodded and complied. He tried not to think about his actions—blindly following this dangerous man's orders. It seemed as if he was not himself, but watching a scene taking place without him as he stretched out on the scratchy, cheap bedspread. Ray looked up at the ceiling, then down passed his throbbing erection to his tall, muscular lover standing between Ray's feet as they hung over the end of the bed. Lover. Yeah, I guess he is my lover, but love doesn't have anything ta do wid it. Maybe it's just sex, but I don't think so. Not after this time, anyway. We're givin' somethin' here to each other. Not sure what. Doesn't matter. His hands feel so good. His mouth, oh God, his mouth... "Yeah, oh, yeah," Ray panted. Alex lifted his head, licking salted lips, and Ray groaned in disappointment. He shifted onto his left side, trapping the false arm and reached to pet Ray's chest. He ignored Ray's pleading eyes and tiny whimpers. He knew that if he let Ray come now, he would be ready again soon enough, but Ray had given in, given permission, given up, and Alex was not one to let opportunity slip by. He leaned up on the semi-flexible arm and admired the writhing, flushed body beside him. Sleek body and moon-kissed golden skin—Ray, you are a beauty. Even thin like you are. It just enhances that wild, rangy look. Contained energy. A feral creature and all mine. Alex pulled his body to cover Ray. He could not hold back a light rocking with his hips. Ray moaned and thrust back. "So good, so good," Ray whispered as he rolled his head back and forth. "Lie still," Alex rasped into his ear. And Ray shook with the effort to hold back, sweat darkening and taming his wild hair. Stormy blue eyes focused on Alex's face. Lips, flushed bright red, begged to be kissed, to be bitten, to be fucked. "You were very intent on my cock before, Ray." Ray moaned. "Do you still want it? Do you want to suck my cock, Ray?" Ray panted harder. Alex could feel his trembling as he fought not to move. Sweat slicked their bodies together, and he could feel Ray's cock leaking, adding to the slippery contact. "I can feel how hard you are," Alex said with a push into Ray's hips. "You feel good Ray. Maybe I'll have you fuck me. Would you like that?" "Oh, God. Oh God!" Ray tossed his head wildly on the green-gold bedspread. "But I don't think you'll last very long. You're ready to come aren't you, Ray?" Ray panted and swallowed, gasping for breath. "No," he whimpered. Alex grinned. "No, what, Ray?" "I'm not gonna come. Not til you say." Alex smiled and leaned in close, his lips grazing Ray's ear. "Good boy, Ray. I like that. But tonight, I fuck you. Hands and knees. Face the headboard." Alex lifted himself off the bed. He fetched lube from the side while watching Ray struggle into position. He noticed the fading yellow bruises on Ray's ass, the print of his teeth still defined in darker purple and green. Alex bent over the bed and licked his marks. Ray gasped. Alex, amused with Ray's reaction, ran a soothing hand over the tight gluteals. "Breathe, Ray." "You gonna do that again?" Ray asked. "Bite you? Did you like that, Ray?" Silence greeted Alex's question. He could see the cop's inner struggle reflected in the flexing and bunching in the thin shoulders. "Yeah," was the whispered rely, "I liked it a whole lot." Alex gently draped his body over Ray's back. Oh, you are a treasure. Was it foresight that made me save you from that madman? You are a shiny gold coin. Alex sat up on his knees and massaged the tail of Ray's spine. "Spread your legs more." Alex was pleased with Ray's quick response. His thumb traced down the crack of Ray's ass and pressed the tip into his anus. "Mmm, yeah." Ray leaned back into the pressure. Alex licked around his immersed thumb. "More," Ray whimpered. Alex withdrew his hand, and thrust back in with two slicked plastic fingers. They were cold and hard, and Ray cried out, but pushed back even more. Alex retrieved his fingers and shoved in with his cock. Partially entered, he stopped when he felt Ray's body tense. "Are you going to come, Ray?" Alex heard him choking for breath. "N-no. N-not til you say." Alex closed his eyes, reveling in the tight warmth on his cock, and he pushed in further seeking the source of that heat. Finally, his thighs pressed flush with Ray's ass. The detective trembled beneath him, but his dick was heavy and iron-hard in Alex's hand. "Take hold of the headboard." Alex waited until he saw the slim pale hands grasp the wooden slats. "I'm going to fuck you so hard, Ray. You have such a tight, sweet, little ass, and it belongs to me now. I want you to remember that." "Yeah, okay, whatever. Just fuck me, move, now, plea—oh, yeah! Oh, GOD! YES!" Alex clenched his eyes. Shooting pleasure fired through his body, as he pumped hard, shaking the bed. His efforts echoed by hard slams of the bedpost against the wall. Ray moaned loudly and begged for release. Alex felt lightening building and churning in his head and in his balls. His teeth were numb, his hands tingled. He panted and thrust harder. "Now, Ray," he gritted between his teeth as his pumped Ray's cock faster. A howl broke the heavy air, and Alex felt a groan ripped from his chest as his dick was mercilessly milked of every last bit of energy he had left. This one was pretty. Better than the last two. He sighed. His patron was very demanding. It was the wrong time of year to search out worthy models, but this one—yes, this one was very nice indeed. He cradled the photograph in his palm and considered his choice. Blue eyes, curly blond hair. They would like this one, and he was almost The One. Such a lucky child—to be immortalized in his work. Forever beautiful, forever smiling. The fire warmed his hands even as the rest of his body shivered from the icy wind blowing in the open window. He ignored the shaking of his naked body. The demands of the flesh were unimportant. The art was what mattered. He thrilled in the creation. His guest hungered for the destruction. He ignored the throaty gurgle as the photo caught flame. His guest approved of his choice. He leaned back to allow it to breathe in the smoke rising up out of the small copper bowl. It had arrived shortly after Lui Chen had shown him the way, shown him the power that lay within himself, and how to access that power. Now he had difficulty remembering life before his guest had arrived. Now it stared at him over the heated bowl of curled edges and ashes. The plastic sheeting under his feet crackled as he shifted to pick up the finely honed blade. "Her name was Mary Skates." Ray nodded. "I'm sorry ta have ta ask you all these questions, Mrs. Brock. I know how hard it's been fer yer family." The tired woman swept a brown wisp of hair back over one ear. "Oh, we're managing. I'm just glad you caught the devil who did that to my baby. But if you're thinking he went after Mary too, then I'm afraid he didn't have the chance, Detective." Ray cocked his head quizzically. "Please come in and I'll explain." Ray followed the woman inside. He had dreaded returning to this house and facing Melanie Brock's mother. Months had gone by between Melanie's rape and Darren Quick's capture. Throughout the investigation, Ray had listened to Mrs. Brock's screaming demands and whimpering pleads to find and catch the elusive perpetrator. Her cries still echoed in his dreams and they probably would for some time. Her sparsely furnished living room gleamed in the sunlight, and Ray hesitated to sit on the cream-colored couch. He shrank into his beaten-up parka and cursed the dirty snow that clung to his boots and soiled the pale blue carpeting. Mrs. Brock laid her hand upon his arm. "Please relax, detective. You're certainly welcome in this house, and I'll answer your questions as well as possible." Ray nodded and smiled, hoping his expression did not look as forced as it felt. "The girl, Mary Skates?" "Yes. Mary and Melanie were in the same class at school. They weren't really friends, but we were throwing a large party for Melanie, and so, we invited the whole class. Mary's mother brought her, and we chatted a little. We don't talk all that much." "Do you still? Talk ta her, I mean." "No. No, that was the only time I ever met her. About a month after this photo was taken, Mary became very ill. I don't know the details. But I heard through the grapevine that the illness turned into pneumonia, and she died." Ray's heart sank further. Jeez. Not only do I gotta go see this Mrs. Skates and tell her about the negatives, but I gotta tell her that her dead daughter was sexually assaulted right before she died. God damn. "Detective? Detective Kowalski?" Mrs. Brock's hand tightened on his arm, and Ray realized his dismay must have shown through. "Yeah. I'm good. You got a number maybe I can reach Mary's mother at?" "Well, no, but I know someone who might. It's in my book. I'll go get it." Ray watched her walk from the room, but his mind was playing over the frames of each picture containing Mary Skates' face—each one more devastatingly twisted and wrong. Five in all—one by herself, one with another little girl who faced away, and three with her and an adult man who's face was never shown. One of the pictures even had the calendar that had helped them place the time of the photography. Ray frowned. Wait a second. That negative was made in September—at least, according to the calendar. But the birthday picture was taken last December. If Mary Skates dies around last January-February, then how'd she get photographed again six months later? He looked at the happy party photo again. It was definitely her. There was no doubt in his mind. Ray briskly shook his head and sat back into the couch cushions. Maybe she ain't dead. She can't be, well, at least she sure wasn't dead when those frames were shot. Ray absently chewed on his thumbnail as he contemplated the possibilities. Several more weeks of cold, biting, Chicago winds. That would make it two months of waking up and discovering that yes, his arm really was hacked off just as he dreamed every night since Mulder had skipped out and left him to be mutilated. Miserable. What a miserable fucking situation. Alex grimaced as he followed Mark's soft-spoken instructions and slowly felt the muscles in his back stretching to allow the movement. Mark was Alex's physical therapist at County Hospital. A big man of six feet five inches, Alex felt dwarfed not just by the few inches of difference, but that Mark had a shoulder-width like a linebacker for the forty-niners. They worked through each exercise several times until Alex's shoulder and chest ached in fatigue. Finally, exhausted and sweating, Alex was grateful when Mark called an end to their session. "Don't push yourself too hard, Alex. Your body needs time to heal and adjust. You can't expect perfection overnight." Alex's mouth turned up at the corner. "Perfection is unobtainable. I'll settle for unbeatable." Mark chuckled. "Well, you have an unbeatable spirit, my friend. Now, I have the whirlpool in the next room reserved for the next hour. I suggest you use it. Fifteen minutes, then you can go home." Alex nodded. "Thanks. I'll see you Thursday, then." "You got it," he answered. Alex grabbed his bag with his change of clothes and headed into the warm, moisture-laden room next door. The heavy door swung shut behind him with a soft thump, and the underlying noises of the busy hospital were suddenly silenced. Alex breathed in the smell of disinfectant, metal, and salt water. He ducked into the changing room and slipped on a black Speedo swimsuit. With a crooked smile, he fingered the smooth fabric. I couldn't resist. Swimming equals Mulder, and together they call up a favorite memory of mine. I wonder if Mulder would appreciate how I thought we would look so well matched swimming together—red and black. The vision made Alex smile, then he remembered how swimming was an awkward struggle for him. No backstroke for me, huh, Mulder? And whose fault is that? Who left me? That was such a wonderful night when I held you. Alex squeezed his eyes shut against the pain and anger and self-pity that threatened at every turn to overwhelm him like a ten-ton blanket. He staggered out of the dressing room and stepped down into the hot water of the sunken whirlpool. I have better things to think about for Christ sake! Alex sank into the comforting embrace of the water. He rested his head on the edge and let his body float, feeling tension seep slowly away. Mulder is in the past, now. I doubt I'll ever see him again. Time to forget. Detective Ray Kowalski, on the other hand, is definitely a treat to remember. Alex thought about the night before. Ray had arrived on time, but Alex had made him wait thirty minutes before finally showing up. And what obedience! Even if I did get a scathingly rude greeting. But that's just his fire. Their first burning kiss had seared Alex's mouth. Mmm..yes, the little fucker can kiss. Last night was incredible. Hot. Alex grinned. When he saw me take my gun out, I'd swear he almost came in his pants. I'll have to remember that. Skinny bitch thrives on danger. Works for me. I like having him scared—luminescent eyes of light blue like a summer sky, like diamonds. Yeah, sharp as diamonds when provoked too. Three weeks of willing cop flesh, and the sex just keeps getting better. Maybe I'll call him today. We'll meet tonight. So what if I've seen him almost every night this week? I need to take care of this soon. Alex patted his half-formed erection and stood up from the hot water. The cooler air made him shiver and he hurried to dry and dress. I hope he isn't out working that case. Not that he wouldn't spare some time, I'm sure, but...I'd like to take things slower tonight. Maybe introduce Ray to the pleasures of candle wax. Alex smiled and shrugged into his jacket. As soon as Alex stepped onto the street, he dialed Ray's phone number from memory. "Yeah?" Ray's familiar nasal bark greeting him. "Good afternoon to Chicago's finest," Alex answered. He could hear the smile in Ray's voice. "Finest what?" "You are one fine fuck, my pretty detective. And I want to see you tonight." "Yeah, okay," Ray said in a rush. His breath deepened over the phone line. "Are you alone, Ray?" Alex gazed into the store windows as he walked down the street. "No. I- I'll see ya tonight. I get off at five." "You'll 'get off' when I say you will." Ray gasped. "Okay," he squeaked. "The usual place?" "No." Alex looked across the street to his apartment building. "478 5th Street between Lake and Cross." Ray whistled. "Swanky area." "I'm worth it," Alex answered with a grin as he ended the connection. Ah, my doting patron comes to check on me. How sweet. He flicked his eyes across the room, but his guest had disappeared. The voices in the next room grew louder as the men approached. "He won't like it. He likes the young flesh. Innocence. It tastes sweeter." That was Lui Chen speaking. He liked Lui. The tiny old man brought food to him every day. Remembering to eat was difficult. Eating was unimportant. The artwork was all that mattered. "He may not like it, but he'll do it. What's the point of funding a project if I can't use to my advantage?" His patron had such a lovely, rich voice. He found it soothing. "You will make plenty money for so little effort, Nephew." Daniel Chen sighed. "Maybe, but I don't like complication. It was difficult enough to find a buyer. Now my carrier has been arrested. I've got to find another one. That isn't easy." The artist straightened his blades on the floor in front of him. They were all clean now. He was not sure if he had cleaned them. He did not remember doing so. They shined so prettily in the sunlight. "It smells in here," said his patron. He looked up as shadows fell across his knives. "Why is he naked?" His patron looked quite fine today—shiny black shoes, a dark blue suit, silk shirt. He smiled. Silk. Silky. Silky skin. His patron had silky, smooth-looking skin like almond buttercream. "He prefers it. I dress him, but he only takes everything off again. " Lui Chen's voice descended to a whisper. "It likes it that way, I think." His patron's eyes narrowed and glance over at the old man. His patron had such beautiful eyes—like a deep mountain lake in shadow. he would have been a breathtaking child. He would have been perfect, but too old now. His patron was looking at him again. "I have something for you," he said with his rich, lovely voice. The artist smiled and rocked forward. His patron handed him a photograph, a lovely, exciting present. He turned the picture over to look at it. The artist frowned. "I told you he would not like it!" "Quiet, Uncle." The artist dropped the photo. It was unimportant. Had no interest in subject without beauty, and this one was too old—far too old. He gathered his legs into a knot and rocked back and forth, back and forth. His patron sighed. "This man doesn't have any children. Will it only take children?" "Yes," Lui stated. "No," the artist said. Both men stared at him now. "I like a pretty subject. Young is better. My guest likes them younger, but pretty is good." His patron nodded. He seemed pleased. The artist smiled again. He liked to please his lovely patron. He heard snuffling from the shadows behind him. His guest was pleased too. The men did not seem to notice. "He has a sister. I've heard that she's a looker." The old man grunted. "It likes young better." "Too bad." The men turned away with barely another glance at him. "Why does it smell so badly in here?" his patron asked as a linen handkerchief was pulled from his jacket and held to his nose. "The beast grows stronger," the old man answered. Ray gulped in lungfuls of crisp winter air. He was grateful to Rick for opening the window—the room was stifling hot. Or maybe I'm just so jazzed up. Bet you could smoke ice cubes on me right now. Sweat trickled into his eye, and since his hands were still tied, he could only blink away the sting. Suddenly a cool wet cloth was pressed to his eyes. Oh, that's nice. His eyes were left covered as another wet cloth swept along his body in long, cooling strokes. Ray sighed in contentment. He's bein' so gentle. Feels good. Feels safe. Weird, 'cause he's...he's...I don't know what he is anymore. Don't know his name or anything else either. Three weeks. See him almost every day, but just tonight I find out where he lives. The second cloth was laid aside. Now Ray felt Rick's lightly callused fingers tracing his torso, playing with the gold hairs clustered at his belly button and trailing down to his spent cock. He's a freak. That's fer certain. Hours of torture—biting and cutting, licking and fucking me. I needed it though. Can't believe I finally found the Skates family. Who knew they'd be in Germany? Felt so bad talkin' ta them, bringin' up memories of their dead daughter, tellin' 'em she mighta been stalked by some creep. Hey, you had ta call. Got what ya needed, right? Yeah. Mary Skates is definitely dead. And there isn't a twin sister either. So now where do I go? Oh, and just ta make things real interesting, I got a positive I.D on one of the other kids in the film strips—Toby Geller. Died, May 5th, car accident, two months before filming. Oh, yeah, this is an open and shut case. Uh, Lieutenant Briggs, listen there's no crime here. This is a simple case of ghost porn. Yeah, right. "Ow! Jeez." "Stop thinking about work. It's insulting." Seconds later, Ray's leg where he'd been slapped was bathed with an attentive tongue. I feel like a favorite dog chew. I haven't seen 'em yet, but I know I got some nice, clear teeth marks on my ass again. Not ta mention the nicks and scratches from that wicked-lookin' hunting knife he's got. Guy thinks he's Rambo or somethin'. Freak. I don't mind though. I liked it. Fuck. I loved it. I love it now too. I feel like if I let him hurt me, then nobody else is allowed to. That's a little fucked-up, Ray. Yeah, I know. But I feel right now, with him here, nobody could get near me. And later, with his marks on me...they're like some supersonic signal goin' out, like those dog collars that make a sound that ya can't hear, but it keeps the fleas away. With these marks on me, his marks, nobody can...touch...me. But he hurts you, Ray. Ray squirmed as 'Rick' traced his fingers over the knife-inflicted injuries. He's bein' gentle now. Kinda sweet. Almost like...like... Like he's in love? Don't be such a loser, Ray. Yeah. I know. He ain't lookin' at me right now. He's- Ray jump as 'Rick's' sultry voice cut through his thoughts. "What are you thinking of?" "That there's always that part of you, that ya keep ta yerself." "And that is?" "Yer heart. Yer in love wid somebody else. That's okay. What we got ain't about love." "Pleasure," Alex purred. Ray could feel his warm breathe on his cheek. "Not that either. That's just a means ta the end. What we got, this relationship, it's about control. You know that." "Yeah, I do. Now shut up." The wet cloth was whisked from his eyes. Any protest was silenced with a deep kiss, and Ray was covered with Rick's warm body again. The straps to 'Rick's' prosthetic arm provided a shivering contrast to the smooth muscle beneath them. Ray savored the feel of the different textures on his sensitized skin. He moaned when Rick's plastic fingers brushed against his hip. Ray had not felt this uninhibited with a lover since... Since it all happened...again. Just was never the same wid Stella. So, jeez, I haven't felt like this since...Fox. Fox Mulder. F.B.I. X-Files. Unexplained phen...pheno...weird shit. That's it! I gotta call him. Get him in on this case. Yeah. That's what I gotta do. I'll- Ray's thoughts scattered as the dark honey voice that always made his cock leap, whispered brazen promises for the night ahead. saba27@optonline.net Slaves to Transgression II

Title: Slaves to Transgression I Author: Katail (saba27@optonline.net) Date: March 2001 Rating: NC-17 for language, violence, and m/m interaction Spoilers: X-Files—Tunguska, Due South- none Summary: Part of the Lost Souls series. Follows 'Temptation.' Alex Krycek steps into Ray Kowalski's life again while the detective tries to solve a horrific case. Note: You don't necessarily need to read the rest of the Lost Souls series to figure what's going on, but I would love it if you did. :) Beta done by Hiro—Thanks chickie! Disclaimer: Krycek and Mulder belong to CC and 1013. Ray and Stella belong to Alliance. All other characters are mine. back to top

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