Best Long Story

These stories are great! Awe inspiring! What more is there to say?

Well, let's take a look at the themes presented within the stories; we have a humourous story of what could be described as the beginnings of love, a new beginning that came too late, a post-colonization story about making life worth living, a cold and comfort of the best kind, and a mysteriously compelling story of confusion and lust.

While some of the themes may not be exactly new, each plot is fresh and unique.

And the nominees are...

Dostoyevski's Tea by Jane Symmons

A sunny little kitchen. Itís Mulderís. Heís standing at the stove singing "Iím Cooking Brekfist For The One I Love" from a Fanny Brice musical. Sometimes I seriously worry about Mulder. I walk in, scratching my nipples and yawning as I usually do first thing in the morning and he says, "Hi baby, did you sleep well?" as if heís interested in the answer. I say, "Fine. Give me a kiss," and itís so good to have his arms fold round me...



He hated that moment when a happy dream was shattered and reality hit him over the head with a loaded sock...

...Why did he dream so often about Mulder? What a waste of prime time dream space. The man was unattainable, even if he ever got within kissing distance of him again. It was as if a song had started up between them during the time theyíd worked together and though by now the words no longer made any sense and most of the orchestra had gone home, the melody was still there, demanding to be played out to the end.

Many a Mile by Dr. Ruthless

Over forever more but I wanted it. Needed it and his body clenched on me as he strained back while his prick spat sticky liquid. My balls drew in, squeezed impossibly and sent me flying, whirling, incapable of thought as all my nerve endings sang together and I forgot everything in the fusion of love, desire and completion that made the moment perfect.

Arched together for a fleeting instant as the orgasm raced through me, stripping me of muscle tone and thought. I knew that I was the biggest fool in the universe and that there was no longer a choice. I had pissed away my choices, and now I could only give him this very last echo of my love.

Possession by Ladonna King

"Why?" God, that flat voice. He'd just about gone to hell now that Scully was gone. Alex had told them. They just hadn't listened. If the stupid bitch had just kept her fool head down...

He wanted to say, 'Because you look like death warmed over.' He wanted to say, 'Because if you sit here any longer, you'll fade away entirely,' or worse yet, 'Because I can't tell you, but you're the only thing I have left that isn't mine.'

'Because you're the only one that hates me for the right reason.'

Instead, he shrugged, "Why not?"

It got Mulder on his feet. Playing to the man's sense of fatalism... It galled Krycek to have to resort to such clumsy tactics. Used to be, he could infuriate Mulder into spending time with him, back when the colonists were first implementing their changes. Even though they had spent the hours circling each other like angry wolves, the conversation had at least been good. He didn't think Mulder was going to have much to say tonight.

Abruptly, Krycek didn't want to do this. He just wanted to call it off, make an excuse and leave. He didn't want to see Mulder this way, beaten down, giving up; he wanted the memory of a hell-bent seeker after truth, not this wasted shell. Every moment Mulder spent with him seemed to sap something out of the man. But when he took a breath to make his excuses, to make his escape, Mulder suddenly looked at him, really looked at him, and the pleading Krycek saw in those lifeless eyes turned his words to dust.

Quicksand by Imajiru and Rachel

//I don't care, I don't... oh, fuck,// he thought tiredly, massaging slow circles against Krycek's back. "Easy," he whispered, "take it easy. Relax." And it did seem as though the vomiting and the steam had helped to ease the congestion; Krycek was breathing more easily now, the coughing not as harsh as before. "It's all right, you're going to be all right," reaching up to stroke the silken hair that rested against his shoulder. "I'm here," realizing belatedly that *that* fact should be anything but comforting to the man slumped against him. Yet Krycek seemed to find it reassuring; the last bits of tension in him dissolved.

It felt like a dream: the steam filling the bathroom, obscuring everything; the warm solidity of the man huddled against him; the satiny smoothness of the hair beneath his fingertips. His cheek came to rest against Krycek's forehead, the blazing heat of the skin notable even in the humid air, and he thought he heard Krycek sigh.

How long had it been since there had been such a lack of enmity between them? Years -- and back then, the tenuous association between them had been built on lies. He'd never seen Krycek this vulnerable, so utterly devoid of defenses... and it was somehow comforting, the knowledge that this man was the *true* Alex Krycek, as honestly himself as circumstances might ever allow him to be.

In the dreamlike stillness, he could admit to himself: //I *do* care. I've always cared.// Confronted with the other man's vulnerability, the admission seemed far less damaging than it might have otherwise been. He could care about this man, as he couldn't when there was a gun to his head, or a lie being tossed at him *again*... he could care about this man, about his health and his welfare, could enjoy the feel of his body pressed close, of his pliant warmth...

Walking Shadow by Sylvia

Maybe *he* was the problem and not this board thing at all. Maybe they'd found themselves another nasty one - even if it *was* a classy nasty one for a change, which only meant it would be harder to get anyone else to lend me a hand - and now it was up to good old Alex to take care of the problem. And I guess I would, somehow I'd always managed to get out of these situations more or less in one piece, but it really sucked because it seemed they never gave me a chance to do anything I wanted to anymore, and now the best years of my life were gone and I was practically a toothless old geezer and my hair was ugly and my clothes were baggy and my stud was tossing me around and I'd killed someone and Christ I was really, really in a lot of shit here and I just wished - fuck, I didn't even know what I wished, except I wished this would all just go away and -

I squeezed my eyes shut and screamed at them as loud as I could, but it didn't help. They were playing deaf, the bastards. *You fuckers, I'm not doing this anymore! Clean up your own crap you damn assholes, this isn't what we agreed on, what did you do to me you bastards -*


I ignored him, rolling into a ball and trying to disappear and force one of the others to handle this. No such luck, of course. Why was I not surprised. It never had worked for me. Fuck them. It really sucks being this low down on the food chain.

And the winner is...