He stood in front of the bathroom mirror. His hand was rubbing the sleeve of his shirt in small circular motions. He lifted the sleeve and stared at the multicolored design that adorned his arm.

"How sick is this?" He thought to himself.

His first tattoo had been a gift from his fellow mates on his uncle"s ship the first year he had worked on the Lake They had gotten him drunk and tattooed. The wobbly anchor on his shoulder in no way compared to this new addition.

Getting a tattoo that mirrored one on the arm of one of the people he worked with, was a little odd, admittedly. Getting one to imprint a small bit of that person on you was dangerous. Especially if that individual was unaware of the affect he had on you and he had been very careful about letting his obsession show. Until now. Just thinking of the tattoo made him hard.. His hand went to his trousers and he unzipped and withdrew his penis from his shorts Stroking his member while he visualized the tattoo made him groan. It was so emblematic of the energy that oozed out of every pore of Ray Kowalski Vecchio. He did not know why Ray had chosen that particular tattoo, but a better choice would have been hard to find. Ray was a battery powered by kinetic energy that practically had him shooting off sparks.

There was a fancy word, synergy that meant the whole was greater than the parts and that was how he viewed Ray. His nervous energy, reliance on instinct, and eclectic sense of style might not make him that remarkable, but taken together with his quirky smirk and cockiness, Ray was irresistible to him. He was pretty sure that Ray was fixated on his partner and he knew he couldn't compete with Super Mounty. Having Ray's tattoo on his arm allowed him to possess Ray in a way he was, maybe not comfortable with, but could live with. His hand intensified the pulling and he groaned in anticipation of the end. He knew that if he ever did possess Ray he would probably have to tie him down and

gag him also. Visions of a subdued and silent Ray took him even closer to the end and when he did finally come, he slumped against the sink and shuddered. Looking into his reflection, he studied the face that stared back at him. He searched his eyes to see if the confusion, pleasure and guilt radiated from them as it seemed to radiate from every fiber of his body.

Realizing the state he was in, Harding Welsh pulled himself together, washed his hands well, straightened his clothes, checked to make sure his zipper was closed. searched the mirror image once again for any sign of his recent activity. He knew he would have to be much more careful in the

future, even as he knew what little control he had was slipping away. Getting the tattoo was bad enough, but whacking off in the squad room bathroom was probably the dumbest thing he had ever done.