"Gemini, Part 1"

By: Xof

La Femme Nikita Slash Fiction

Pairing: Michael/Birkoff

Rating: NC-17 (deliciously so...)

Status: New

Archive: Please do but only with the author's permission.

Feedback: xof@rose.net

Series/Sequels: The first of a series. Second part already in the works.

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters. They just forced me to use them for awhile. Nonprofitable but highly satisfying. This is not for minors.

Notes: Italized words are character thoughts. Feedback is welcomed, just keep in mind that this is my first attempt at slash fiction. I hope you enjoy my story. Oh, and spoilers for all episodes through mid-third season.

Summary: Section One sends Michael out with Birkoff on a mission that will change both their lives and their relationship. Massive heat ensues...

Warnings: First Time / AU


Gemini (Part One)



Madeline stood quietly at the side of Operations as they gazed at the activity below in Section One. All the operatives moved with separate yet compatible rhythms, each undertaking their orchestrated tasks with efficiency. Madeline noticed not for the first time how like a dance it all appeared when viewed with some distance . . . a deceptive serenity in the orderliness of a cold world. Section's world.

Operations broke the silence, "Do you think this will work?"

Madeline responded with the qualified care she always did. "The intel is valid and this may be our only chance to breach Ivanoff's network of operatives. We cannot afford to disregard the opportunity."

"Yes, but how do you think those two will respond given the assignment's criteria? This is unusual even for our operatives."

"I agree. At first, our people will be surprised . . . and reluctant. Michael will accept the circumstances as he always does. It will be up to him to guide them both through this mission. He will be their source of strength, not only by necessity - but also by his own sense of guardianship. As for the other . . . fear is the mother of invention. As is anticipation of discipline. The mindset will be to avoid abeyance due to past . . . indiscretions." Madeline paused for effect. "Besides, this may be just what they both need at the moment . . . a set of boundaries through which they can relieve anxiety and find a sense of release in the semblance of their assigned roles."

Operations stood looking at her with a slight smile that did not reach his eyes. "And if it effects their ability to function on future assignments? As you've pointed out before, Michael has developed an attachment to Nikita. How will this effect the overall flow of them as a team?"

"Nikita will be given down time. Any inquiry about their absence will be explained away as a mission requirement . . . additional information will be withheld. It would be best to kept the details of this mission quiet, except for those actively involved. The less that's volunteered the better."

Operations nodded his agreement. "Have Nikita's time begin immediately. We need to isolate the operatives so they can begin their . . . honeymoon shall we say?"

Madeline smiled with amusement. "Indoctrination . . . you mean. And as to whether they will adapt to each other and their circumstances . . . they may surprise even themselves."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Madeline entered Section Command quietly, but not unnoticed. Michael sensed her presence as she neared him. He straightened his stance in a subconscious manner of defensiveness. It was his almost imperceptible way of preparing himself for whatever possible news and commands Madeline or Operations gave him. As he stood over Birkoff's shoulder, he noticed how the younger man's shoulders slumped as he too notice her approach.

Michael's eyes lifted from Birkoff's computer to acknowledge Madeline's approach.

"Michael, are you almost through with tactical?"

"Yes. The mission was a success. One loss, but the target was destroyed." His voice was level, laced with the raspy calm of a man in control of his emotions if not his fate.

With a nod of her head Madeline asked, "Who?"

"Leeds. He was caught by sniper fire as he exited the barracks."

"And the intel proved . . ." She let the question hang in the air. Birkoff's spine stiffened noticeably. He looked as if he was waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Michael looked at the back of Birkoff's head. Raising his gaze to her's he said, "It proved most effective. All contingencies were covered."

"Yet one operative was lost." She stood waiting for Michael's response. It was an attempt to discover how protective he would be towards Section's resident genius.

The tension that radiated off Birkoff's body was an almost tangible thing. While he was waiting for Michael's response, Birkoff was trying desperately to appear calm and under control . . . a difficult task for someone who's imaging the sound of death's knell ringing in his head.

Michael gave Madeline one of his blank-faced looks. His response held an almost child-like tone . . . as if the answer was obvious, "The intel did indicate the likelihood of sniper fire in that section of the barracks. Leeds was caught bringing up the rear when he chose to return fire instead of retreating to cover." The operative was starting to wonder why Madeline was having this conversation now instead of after the debriefing of the mission team. Usually such an issue would be raised first in private between himself, Operations, and Madeline before being brought to anyone else's attention. She seemed to be playing off Birkoff's physical reactions to her questions and his answers. The question was why was such a mental tennis match necessary.

"Well . . . that proved a poor choice on Leeds' part. When you are done here, I need a moment with you. I'll expect you in my office at 1100 hours." She turned to leave. As she did, Birkoff released an audible sigh as his body began to relax. Madeline waited a moment and then turned back to them, "Both of you . . . that is."

Michael watched her leave then looked over at Birkoff. The young man looked anxious. "Eleven hundred hours it is," he said as he turned to leave as well.

Birkoff waited long enough for Michael to be out of hearing distance and then sighed, "Yeah, I'll be there with bell's on."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Birkoff walked slowly towards Madeline's office. It was only 10:40 but he figured the last thing he needed was to arrive late. There has been too many missteps on his part lately to make even the slightest mistake now. He'd been irresponsible the last few months. Birkoff forced himself to list those moments as he had many times before, always in an attempt not to relapse into ineptitude yet again. He'd tried to blackmail Operations (Walter's idea of course but he'd followed along like an over-eager puppy desperate for a treat). He'd mistakenly pulled an unauthorized weapon on Operations in his misguided effort to stay alive after being threatened by an operative he'd recommended be put in abeyance. And last. . . he'd been seduced by a terrorist posing as Nikita and thereby caused a major security breach.

Hell, he didn't know why he wasn't already in abeyance. Yes - he was an important part of Section One's team but with all these things happening in so short a time span . . . surely his special talents were beginning to pale in comparison to his mistakes. He knew he'd already been punished but losing down-time and weekends just seemed too small for Section's idea of checks and balances. Birkoff realized he was now in an almost constant state of paranoia. He checked every profile and every sim at least four and sometimes five times whereas before he'd been so confident in his work that anything over two attempts he'd considered overkill. He hardly spoke to anyone anymore, constantly afraid he'd say the wrong thing or express an opinion that would bring him the wrong type of attention. Except for work related topics, he'd also stopped talking to Walter. He felt isolated even from himself.

And now there was this meeting with Michael and Madeline. Birkoff was hoping that Michael's earlier comments had relieved any doubts as to his performance during the mission. She had seemed satisfied when she left, but then why was she calling a meeting before any of the team members had been debriefed? The only reason he could think of was that Madeline had something other than the current mission to discuss with them. The fact that this meeting was making him extremely nervous did not escape his notice either. Normally, he entered these sessions without a second's concern, certain that he'd be able to accomplish the tasks they set for him as he'd always done in the past.

And now his every step was weighed down with trepidation.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Michael had already reached Madeline's office by the time Birkoff arrived. Madeline calmly watched them both as they each entered, indicating that they should be seated. She couldn't help but think that this was going to prove one of the more interesting briefings she'd ever given.

Madeline kept her eyes on her terminal as she started the mission profile. She was privately monitoring changes in their body temperatures to gauge each man's response to her words. Her ability to anticipate their reactions to the mission's criteria would help her present the facts in such as way as to forestall negativity.

"We've been presented with an opportunity to infiltrate Red Cell through one of their outside sources. The operative's name is Sergei Ivanoff." She paused to look at Michael for acknowledgment of the name.

Michael spoke softly, "Ivanoff's name has been mentioned by several Red Cell operatives we've interrogated in recent years. He acts as a go-between for Red Cell and their allies in the East."

Madeline continued, "That is correct . . . but it now seems his interests with Red Cell are more complex . . . more intricate than we've supposed. He's always been able to maintain a level of anonymity which indicates he has a large power base upon which to hide.

"Besides acting as negotiator for Red Cell, Ivanoff helps fund terrorist activity in Northern Africa and the Sudan. He also funds research in biological warfare. He's motivation is money. He is staunchly a-political . . . the highest bidder wins. His connections in the terrorist world make him highly valuable to Section."

Madeline paused a second before rising to pour herself a cup of tea. The implication was definitely clear. Section One wanted Ivanoff alive and well. Errors made during his extraction would be dealt with a sharp hand. For Michael this would be a matter of some concern . . . for Birkoff it would almost certainly mean abeyance.

Birkoff looked over towards Michael with a hesitant motion, then looked down at the floor.

Michael asked, "Where is Ivanoff located?"

Madeline returned to her desk, giving them both a small smile. "Ironically, for someone who is a-political . . . he is in Switzerland."

She noticed a slight easing of the tension, especially now that Birkoff was again looking directly at her instead of the floor. Time to drop the bomb. She keyed up the photograph of Ivanoff. He was a man in his late forties, with a roughed appearance. He had long black hair and a large athletic build.

"His personality runs towards extremes, filled with both contradictions and eccentricities. He has been likened to Caligula in both his paranoia and his proclivities. Ivanoff is a man who has built a world around himself and his safety. His stronghold resembles a medieval fortress, always heavily guarded. His staff acts as his surrogate family, all are highly trusted and whose loyalty have been repeatedly tested over the years. Testing seems to be one of his hobbies. Passing a test means gaining a rung on his ladder of total trust . . . the problem being that only he knows just how many tests (i.e. rungs) are needed to earn the prize.

"Ivanoff tests people's limits . . . both in business and pleasure. He feeds on the intensity of public displays and is most assuredly a voyeur. Testing his people's sexual limits gives him a greater insight into their overall characters. The man is reportedly bisexual with a predilection for Domination without the added need for S/M. He is experienced in many forms of sexual expression and lacks any sense of personal modesty. Although he is himself unattached, Ivanoff does respect monogamy in couples who have committed to each other. Apparently, he feels this shows personal loyalty winning over natural selection. Expressing strength of character in the sacrifice of one's basic sexual needs for one's partner." Madeline looked over to Michael and Birkoff, judging how they were responding to the profile thus far.

Michael knew that Madeline would not be going into such detail about Ivanoff's sexual preferences unless it was important to the mission's success. Still the necessity had him intrigued. "His lack of trust causes him to be denied a commitment he sees in other."

"Precisely, which is why he now lacks a committed partner himself."

Michael hazard to say, "Then the mission criteria is based on the need to find someone he'll be able to trust as such a partner?"

Madeline knew Michael was thinking this would be a long term deep cover assignment, not unlike his own 'marriage' to Elaina. "It was considered . . . yes, but a deep cover mission has since been ruled out as a viable option. Our intel indicates Ivanoff would not be receptive to such a match.

"Five years ago, he in fact found a partner he could commit to . . . his self-described soul mate. The young man's name was Armand Devon. Not much is known about his past. They met in Nice after Ivanoff liberated Armand from a now deceased former contact. Armand shared Ivanoff's love of D/s and was completely enamored with his 'savior.' They were together for three years until Armand was kidnaped and murdered by members of the Russian Mafia in retaliation for a deal that went bad.

"By all reports, Ivanoff was devastated by the loss. He has removed all traces of Armand from his home and refuses to discuss him. His control issues, mixed with the intensity of his continued grief make a deep cover mission unlikely to succeed."

Michael looked towards Birkoff, who seemed very intent on Madeline's next words. Michael then turned his gaze towards the profiler and asked, "So the alternative is . . ."

"Ivanoff has made inquires about expanding his interests into techno-terrorism. Specifically, he needs a hacker . . . someone with the ability to plan and execute counter intelligence raids."

Michael replied, "Sending an operative in will not invite his trust. A new recruit would only be viewed with suspicion . . . not trust."

Madeline smiled enigmatically. "That is why we will send in a couple - committed with a preference for D/s. One will act as the hacker and the other as the strategist." She rose from behind the desk, letting her words be absorbed by the two operatives as she walked over to a large view screen.

"This was Armand Devon."

The room suddenly fell into absolute silence as they looked at the image of the young man Ivanoff had loved. He was sitting on the grass in a forest setting. The sun shone against his naked chest and legs as he relaxed back against the figure of Sergei Ivanoff. The photo was obviously taken without them being aware of the camera's presence . . . still the clarity of their figures was crystal. Armand was leaning into Ivanoff's embrace, his tanned skin left uncovered except for a pair of black bicycle shorts . . . standing in sharp contrast to the fully clothed body of his lover. His long blonde hair fell in waves over his left shoulder, reaching down several inches past his collar bone. Armand's face was slightly turned into Ivanoff's chest without hiding his open mouthed smile. His eyes were half closed without shielding the pleasure he was feeling . . . almost as if he were being whispered to about intimate things. He looked all of only seventeen, despite being in his mid-twenties. His body glowed with the inner radiance of a man in love. The only problem was . . .

"oh god . . ."

Birkoff's whisper echoed despite the quiet hesitancy with which it was released. The only problem was that Armand Devon - despite the added years, the long hair, the tanned skin and the expressive smile - was an almost perfect double for Seymour Birkoff.

"Precisely." Madeline looked back towards them both. Michael was slowly closing his slightly opened mouth; one of the rarest expressions of surprise she'd seen on his face. Birkoff was looking as pale as it is humanly possible to be and still be alive. He was obviously stunned but more shown through his eyes than astonishment . . . it was fear. The emotion wasn't mixed with worry, that would come later she was sure as would nervousness and intimidation. Pure terror would be an apt description.

"How? I . . . it can't . . ." Birkoff quickly found he was incapable of speech.

Michael broke the studdered words with his own question. "Is Devon a relative?"

Madeline turned her body and crossed her arms as she completed Devon's story. "There is no indication from our intel that Armand Devon is a close relative of Birkoff's. It may be possible that they are distant relatives but Devon's background isn't fully documented. He was English, born probably twenty-seven years ago. The photo was taken three months before his disappearance, two years ago. What information we lack regarding his past does not prevent us from knowing there is not a close relation to Birkoff. His background and family heritage are fully mapped and recorded."

Birkoff couldn't take his eyes from the image. Seeing one's self and yet not seeing yourself in your own image was extremely disconcerting. He did manage to offer one word into the discussion.


Michael looked at the young man. Then nodded as he said, "The theory that every person on Earth has an identical twin. Identical in image or in spirit but not by blood."

"Yes . . . well. If you'll both look closely the differences are apparent. Devon's eyes were green, not brown. He was a natural blonde with long hair. His nose was longer. And he was almost six years Birkoff's senior and reportedly five inches taller. He also possessed a tatoo on the left side of his throat at the nape, an acknowledgment of his love for Ivanoff. But the most apparent difference comes from the intel itself. He had a very gregarious personality. Always smiling, flirting, and laughing at his own jokes. More of a fiery flame than an intellectual paragon."

"Intellectual paragon . . ." Birkoff spoke softly, his tone filled with confusion.

Madeline looked at him directly. "It is your best talent."

Once the surprise began to fade, Michael began to wonder exactly what other talents of Birkoff's Section was going to be utilizing besides his brain. "A couple?"

Birkoff's gaze quickly turned in the operative's direction then darted to Madeline. The dreadful pieces of the puzzle now starting to assemble.

Madeline switched image off and returned to her seat. "The mission will go as follows. You will both assume the appearance of a committed homosexual couple. Michael will be the strategist combined with Birkoff's technological expertise. You have been a couple for over one year, practicing Domination and Submission without the desire to inflict pain. Your commitment is strong and not swayed by temptation. The objective of this arrangement is to disorient Ivanoff through the physical similarities to Devon while simultaneously downplaying them. No attempt will be made to alter Birkoff's appearance."

"But, I'm not . . . I haven't ever . . ." Birkoff was feeling overwhelmed by the enormity of his situation. Not only were they sending him on an active assignment as an operative when he'd rarely even left Section for the last year or more. They were telling him he had to pretend to have a relationship with Michael while under the watchful eye of a voyeuristic terrorist. He felt sick.

With nervous energy coursing through his body, Birkoff sat up straight. He quickly glanced at Michael's face, looking directly into his eyes. Finding only neutrality in the operative's expression, he switched his widely opened eyes to Madeline. As the full impact of his situation began to make itself felt, he started to speak in a halted manner . . . almost as if with a stutter, "You, you mean you want me to . . . I'm not . . . not qualified . . . And with Michael . . . I . . . I . . ."

Privately, Madeline was slightly amused by Birkoff's reaction. He sounded as if he couldn't decide which actuality was the most unnerving . . . being in the field or being intimate with Michael. Both were events she was sure he'd never thought would touch his encapsulated life.

"Birkoff . . . let me make this as clear as possible for you. You will operate in the field as a team. You will impersonate a relationship between you both and to that end . . . you will have to become sexually involved for the course of this mission." She watched as Birkoff became very still. His mouth was slightly opened in astonishment and his gaze quickly fell to the floor.

Turning to Michael, she read the acceptance in his expression. He understood the necessity of the mission's parameters. Still . . . Madeline knew that further discussion would help ease him into his own role as Dom, as protector and as mate. "Michael, as you know from past assignments . . . the forced appearance of intimacy between two operatives can be awkward in the beginning and fatal if not convincing. Familiarity in sexual matters between heterosexuals lends itself to the illusion of love. To be frank, Birkoff . . . you have little to no experience with same sex relations, correct?"

After another moment of staring at his shoes, Birkoff slowly shook his head in the affirmative.

Madeline continued, "That mixed with no practical knowledge of the facts of a D/s relationship are detrimental to the success of this mission. You both must work to build a compelling facade to convince Ivanoff of your commitment. You have three days before the initial contact is to be made. In that time, you will both be confined to Michael's residence. While this leaves you both little time to prepare, it will be sufficient time to establish the intimacy required. Final details will be provided to you before you leave for the meet."

She paused to look over the two men. Birkoff looked slightly shell-shocked and Michael looked . . . resigned. "That will be all." She watched as they slowly started stood to leave. When they neared the door she said, "Birkoff, kiss Michael."

He stopped and turned to her. "Here? I . . . "

"Birkoff. Just do it." Michael's voice was soft and patient. He remained still as Birkoff slowly looked up at his face, first in his eyes and then at his mouth. The young man moved towards him tentatively, reaching up to brush his lips against Michael's.

As his lips moved softly over Michael's, Birkoff released a small sigh. He was doing it . . . kissing a man. No, kissing Michael. Feeling the soft texture of his skin, the light rasp of his chin and seeing into the depths of his eyes. He'd always heard of people feeling as if their lives had flashed across their eyes . . . he felt it now, only it wasn't his life he witnessed. He closed his eyes tightly as the image of their kiss flooded his consciousness, reflecting as if in a hall of mirrors as it invaded his mind.

And then Michael kissed him back, gently with an easy glide that seemed to pay tribute to the hesitant innocence of Birkoff's kiss. The operative's touch brought warmth to their kiss . . . leaving a fiery trail as Michael ended the kiss with the barest sweep of his tongue across Birkoff's bottom lip.

Michael turned back to Madeline, "Will that be all?"

Madeline looked at Birkoff's flushed face, at how he was staring at Michael's profile with an expression of awe on his face. It was a good start. "Yes, that is all for now."

She watched as they turned to leave, noticing Birkoff seemed a little unsteady on his feet. Then an amazing thing happened. Michael placed his right hand on Birkoff's waist to help steady him up the stairs, quickly removing it there after.

For Madeline, the gesture was significant enough to take note, while for both Michael and Birkoff . . . it would come back to haunt them.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

If there was a realm of impossible situations beyond the twight-light zone, Birkoff was sure he was in it. Being guided through by his new "Dom" made it all the more bizarre. What was Section thinking? This set up went against so many mission parameters that . . .

He had to stop himself a moment. Birkoff wasn't trained for the field but Section had utilized the inexperienced before when it proved necessary. Section wasn't the most ideal place to get or find a sexual partner and yet they used the relationships that did develop for their own ends. He just couldn't figure out if this . . . . all of this was supposed to be equal parts punishment and/or second chance (or third or fourth).

Stop it.

From the moment he'd left Madeline's office, every action and every step seemed surreal. First, he and Michael had stopped by his apartment to pick up the few things he'd need for the three days of . . .

Oh Lord. And if having Michael in his apartment hadn't been strange enough, he was now standing awkwardly just inside Michael's loft.

Birkoff could remember being enticed by Nikita to give her Michael's address. He'd never thought he'd ever be here . . . especially not for this. He watched Michael move slowly across the room; putting up his coat, sitting to take off his shoes and then leaning back to look at him.


The young man decided to drop his bag by the door. He put his coat on the rack and then turned to face Michael.

Michael studied the nervous stance that Birkoff had taken across the room. His body was racked with the tension; his voice tinged with uncertainty. The young man looked all of seventeen, not unlike Armand Devon's youthful appearance. Michael decided to end the virtual silence they'd maintained since they'd left Section. "Birkoff, come here."

He approached slowly to stand at Michael's right next to the sofa. Michael deliberately looked at his face, then traveled down his body. It was the most overt appraisal he'd ever given Birkoff. His eyes traveled over Birkoff's face. Next down his neck to the hint of torso revealed by the V-necked grey sweater, over the flat chest and stomach . . . pausing at the slim waist and hips before gliding down the long legs. He would be soft, smooth and with the right amount of surrender . . . pliant to pleasure. Every emotion would echo through his eyes, face and the color of his pale skin. Madeline had been correct. They would have to actually be lovers for the believability to work. Dom/sub.

Michael slowly and deliberately spread his legs wide before saying, "There are rules to this game, Birkoff. You don't follow them, we will die." He waited for his words to register in Birkoff's eyes. Michael then reached over and placed his hand on Birkoff's waist, guiding him slowly until he stood between Michael's legs. "First, appearance is key. You are mine. To do with as I please, understood?"

Birkoff slowly nodded his head. His doe eyes widen as they focused on Michael's face.

"The correct response is 'Yes, Sir.'" Michael paused for his response.

"Yes, Sir," he whispered.

"Second, when I tell you to come to me, you will respond in one of two ways. If I am standing, you will move to stand at my back slightly to the right. If I am sitting, you will come to stand as you are now and then you will . . . " Michael pressed his hand downward on Birkoff's waist, indicating that his sub must kneel before him. "Your hands must remain clasped behind your back and eyes down."

Birkoff couldn't believe this was happening. He was on his knees before Michael being told to keep his eyes down, which in this position meant looking directly at Michael's fly.

Michael watched as the younger man's face began to flush. He raised his left hand up to Birkoff's cheek to lift the man's eyes to his. Michael's gaze glided over every accept of Birkoff's face. The soft skin, dark eyes and parted lips. He focused on that mouth . . . the lips were sweet and full. The operative traced his thumb over the bottom one, feeling as much as hearing the sharp gasp that escaped due to his touch. Moving his hand back down to Birkoff's neck, he studied the way Birkoff unconsciously licked his lips. Michael tightened his hold on his sub's waist and pulled his face to within an inch of his own.

It was the only warning Birkoff had as the man he knelt before suddenly entrapped him with a kiss. The kiss was breathtaking . . . literally. He felt completely swept up in the milieu of Michael's passionate embrace. It was the complete antithesis of their first kiss. Whereas that had been slow, gentle and sweet . . . this one was quick, hot and intended to enthrall.

Birkoff struggled to keep his hands behind his back. He wanted to touch Michael but all he could do was submit to the storm. He'd wondered if there was such fire locked inside the calmly reserved man . . . and now he felt its heat. And as he did, one word echoed through his mind building in intensity until it escaped from him in a moan as Michael drew back from the kiss, "Yours . . ."

Birkoff watched as the veil of neutrality slipped from Michael's face. He was suddenly in the arms of a man he'd never seen before . . . a man whose eyes were bright with desire, alight with gentleness while at the same time fierce with the sense of power that he now held over the younger man. Seeing these emotions run through Michael's lion eyes was confusing, but intensely arousing. Birkoff knew that he wanted this man. He wanted to be touched . . . to be claimed by him. It's just a mission. But no, it was turning out to be so much more.

Michael leaned in to whisper against Birkoff's ear, "Have you ever been touched by a man?"

Birkoff felt his arousal quicken. "No."

"How many women?"

"Two . . . and Nik . . . I mean, ah . . ."

Michael watched Birkoff as he stopped in embarrassment. "And the faux-Nikita?"

"Yes, sir."

Again Michael kissed Birkoff. This time it held the skill of a practiced seducer, drawing him in as Michael's tongue caressed his own. He felt Michael's hands slide around to stroke his back. They moved to release his hands, then down to feel his ass. He loved the way that felt. Having Michael virtually wrapped around him, playing him as smoothly as he could imagine him playing the cello that he'd seen across the room as he'd first entered.

Abruptly Michael drew back from him, removing his hands. "Stand up and turn around."

He did as commanded. Yes, a command from his Dom . . . his mate. Oh. When he was fully turned, he saw something that shocked him. On the far wall was a bank of mirrors, like in a dance studio. They stood five across and at lease seven feet high. The entire room was doubled in size by their reflection. But the interesting affect was lost on Birkoff as he stood there . . . looking at himself and Michael.

They looked ferial. Michael stood up against his back, motioning him forward to the mirrors. "It's one thing to experience the touch of another, but to see it happening is an additional pleasure." He ran his hands down Birkoff's arms, stopping to clasp the smaller hands in his own. "Take off your clothes."

Michael quickly placed his fingers against Birkoff's lips to forestall any obvious comments he wanted to make. "You are my lover, my sub and my partner. You enjoy being looked at by me. You enjoy pleasing me. When we are together, you see yourself through my eyes as I see myself through yours. Everything and everyone else watching is secondary." Michael took his hand from Birkoff's mouth, moving to caress his neck. "My eyes on you are all that matters. You must get used to being naked in my presence. Your blushes must turn from self-consciousness into the flush of familiarity . . . of need."

Birkoff looked at Michael's reflection. He knew that Michael was right. Still, he'd never done this before. He'd never deliberately stripped off his clothes for a male lover. He tried to take a matter-of-fact attitude about it as he raised his hands to remove his shirt. Unfortunately, being blaise doesn't work when you're so nervous and aroused that you feel like you're going to pass out at any moment. He ended up opening the buttons on his grey shirt but failed to remove it successfully when he forgot to unbutton the sleeves. His determination faltered in the face of trying to take off the garment as it hugged his hips, trapped on his wrists. Birkoff stopped for a moment, feeling absolutely mortified.

Michael decided to help Birkoff finish the task. "Easy, luv." The 'luv' comment halted the younger man's struggle to free his hands. It's the mission . . . just the mission.

"Look at me." Michael waited until Birkoff complied. "Later I'm going to show you how to properly undress before your Dom. Ivanoff will have the rooms monitored for all activity. Both in private and in public, we will continue to play the game." He slowly moved down to remove Birkoff's shoes and socks, pausing afterwards to place a small kiss on the uncovered feet. While still crouched down, he ran his hands up the front of Birkoff's legs, over the black denim . . . stopping as his hands reached his sub's groin. As he started to caress the hardened flesh underneath, he looked up at Birkoff. "For me . . ."

Birkoff bit back a load groan as he felt Michael's hand playing over his groin. He managed to rasp out a quiet, "Yes, sir."

Michael looked up at him, taking in the quick breaths and the flushed skin. He began to caress the enticing swelling beneath his hand. Birkoff's eyes closed briefly, overwhelmed by the intensity of his own response to Michael's touch. Abruptly his "Dom" stopped the motion of his hand . . . pressing intently against the young man's erection to gain his full attention. As Birkoff's eyes snapped open in surprise, the operative rose from his crouched position.

He came to stand behind Birkoff, leaning into and against his back. The feel of Michael's body against his own . . . Birkoff was quickly becoming totally transfixed by him. He let out a small sound . . . a moan as he felt Michael's teeth nibble at his right ear, the tongue teasing along the curve before he spoke . . . their gazes locked together in the reflection of the mirror.

"One learns best by doing. The sooner you can relax around me, can share your body with me the safer we both will be from Ivanoff. Hesitation and embarrassment must be overcome through participation. As my sub, you can only be convincing through total submission to my desires." Michael's hands clasped Birkoff's hips pulling his body back, his ass against Michael's groin. The Dom began to sensuously roll his own hips against Birkoff, watching as his sub pressed back into his body . . . closing his eyes and opening his mouth.

"Open your eyes." Michael's words caressed his ear. Birkoff opened his eyes . . . and saw the picture of truth before him, even as it was shrouded by the facade of their roles. He wanted this, to surrender to Michael . . . to be taken by him. Even without the needs for the mission, he wanted to please this man.

Michael saw the storm in Birkoff's eyes as he wantonly began moving his hips in time with Michael's own. "Take off your clothes for me slowly." He stepped back to give the man room to disrobe, pausing briefly to glide his hand lightly over Birkoff's behind.

Birkoff lifted his hands to his sleeve buttons, undoing them one by one . . . his gaze never leaving Michael's face. He watched as the man who was to be his lover followed his every movement, tracking each motion like a hunter on the prowl. He's already caught me. He pulled off the shirt, letting it slowly glide down his back and onto the floor . . . revealing the smooth beauty of his pale skin touched with the flush of his arousal and the small tips of his nipples. Be brave, be brave . . . no, be procative. Birkoff lightly ran his fingers across his own chest, tracing his collarbone and moving down over the erect nibs. He gasped at his own touch . . . at the sparkle his actions caused to shine in Michael's eyes. He likes this. His touch traced downward until it stopped at his waistband. Birkoff licked his lips, pausing to shore up his raw nerves. Then he moved to open the belt and zipper to his pants. He folded back the fabric to reveal the light grey cotton of his shorts and then stopped altogether. With a quick breath, Birkoff slid both articles to the floor, stepping out of them quickly before he lost his courage.

Michael watched intently as Birkoff unconsciously lowered his arms to hug his own hips . . . not hiding his erection from view but as if they were struggling not to do so. He was so very beautiful standing there. His ivory skin glowing in sensual contrast to the darken colors all around him. The operative drew his gaze down over Birkoff's smooth back, his slim waist, hips and came to rest on the perfection of his behind. Small round mounds of youthful flesh that he wanted to run his hands over, his tongue to taste and his cock to . . . well, that would come.

Birkoff pressed back against the firm length of Michael's body. As his lover (oh god) returned his attention to the young man's face, Birkoff asked shyly, "What do I do . . . to please you?"

Michael gently moved his hands up the smooth expanse of Birkoff's back, coming to rest lightly on his shoulders. "You are beautiful, Birkoff. It is time for you to embrace the sensuality of your own body. I want you to pleasure yourself for me. Feel my eyes on you as you touch your skin. Perform for me."

Birkoff tried to ignore the anxiety that command caused him by bravely facing his own aroused image. He looked pale against Michael's dark clothing, but he was comforted by his Dom's own ivory features . . . testament to the time they both spent underground at Section. His face and troat were flushed a light rose. His mouth was slightly swollen having thus far been well kissed. He ran his fingers over his lips, his left hand traveling across his chest to grasp Michael's in a 'palmer's kiss.' He continued to hold his lover's hand as he moved his other down his chest, lightly caressing his nipples. Birkoff moaned softly as the nibs peaked in response to his touch. His right hand continued down across his waist to his right hip and back, feeling the warmth of Michael's body against his hand and ass. He pressed the back of his fingers against Michael's hardness before moving around to tease his own dark curls.

Michael was slightly surprised by his own response to Birkoff's slow tease, by the sudden release of hesitance in Birkoff and by his own desire to touch . . . to take the one he'd never known he would desire. He had to release the firm clasp on the younger man's hand just to keep his own need to interrupt his self-exploration at bay. The motion caused Birkoff to stop just as he was about to take himself in hand.

He looked questioningly at Michael. "Didn't I . . . "

"Shh . . . Birkoff." Michael moved in towards him, putting his hands around Birkoff's hips. "Lean into me. I will be your anchor." As they pressed together Michael continued, "Now touch your cock. Show me how you like to be taken."

As if from a distance, Birkoff saw himself take his cock in hand for Michael. The touch was familiar and yet . . . so strangely more enhanced. Everything was electric. His skin was hyper-sensitive to every stroke of his hand and every brush of Michael's body. His moans were echoing through the room. So close . . . "Please. Oh sir, please."

Michael fought to stay focused on Birkoff's responses instead of his own need for release. He watched with a sense of wonder that was foreign to him at the picture of Birkoff's pleasure. The heady sounds, the husky tone of his voice as he begged to be allowed to cum. Total surrender to the moment.

"Do it. Come for me."

Birkoff sped up the motion of his hand as the sweet sting of white lightening surged through his body. His sharp cry escaped as the warm wet heat erupted over his fingers. He whispered, "Michael. Oh god, Michael," as he lost the strength to stand on his shaking legs. Just before he slid to the floor Michael caught him up in his arms, holding him securely against his chest.

Michael gently guided the shaken young man over to the sofa, arranging it so they were sitting sideways with Birkoff pressed back against his chest. He caressed the bared skin of his sub's side coming to rest at his hip - mirroring his gesture earlier at Section. Watching Birkoff come apart had been both beautiful and moving. The latter was troublesome. Michael had expected that as part of his role he would need to treat Birkoff with a sense of ease, affection, possessiveness, command and care. He knew that this level of shared intimacy would forever change their dynamic. But the possibility that he might find a deeper connection . . . an emotional attachment for the man in his arms was at best disconcerting and at worst could prove deadly to them both. He tried to reason that the loss of Adam had left him with a need to protect, but . . .

Michael knew this was more than just another assignment for Section. It was a test for them both. Once again they were puppets on strings waiting to see if or when the tethers would break or be broken. Michael's thoughts cleared at the sound of his name.

"Michael." Birkoff knew he was whispering but it seemed the only tone acceptable in so fragile a moment. He moved his fingers over the legs that framed his own, stretched out in front of them. "What about you? I didn't . . ."

Michael interrupted, "You will . . . later. We need to talk first."

Birkoff waited for him to continue.

"I'm going to tell you some things you will need to know for the mission. I have in the past been involved in various aspects for D/s. It was during my first year as an active operative. Section knew I was bisexual and that Dominance was a role I'd be able to adapt to easily. The mission details aren't important. What you need to know is that is was not a fly-by-night assignment. I stayed in the scene long enough to become quite proficient."

Michael waited for Birkoff to digest this information, then began again. As he spoke Michael smoothed his free hand over Birkoff's head and down his neck. "A Dominant/submissive relationship can take numerous forms. The more extreme involve Sadomasochism but for our roles I don't find that to be necessary. Considering what we know about Ivanoff's relationship, I believe carrying on a pretense of loved based on pain would be a mistake. Love and surrender is the key. Your commitment to me is based on the surrender of self. But you are to be only submissive, not subservient. I am not a god to be worshiped and you should not appear to be a lamb being led to the slaughter. This is about love and partnership. Personally submissive but equal in business. Do not act as though one role over shadows the other."

Moving his hands slowly over Birkoff's chest, Michael lazily played with his nipples as he talked. "Training a sub is an intense and never-ending process. You already have the ability to seem unphased in most situations. Once the newness wears off and our complete intimacy is established, you'll be able to utilize that to our advantage. The best thing I can say is to expect the unexpected as always. Trust me in all that I ask. Obey me and look like you're in love. The rest will work itself out."

He stopped briefly, wanting to give Birkoff an opportunity to ask any questions he might have. Reaching down to take the man's hands in each of his own, Michael asked, "What are you thinking?"

Birkoff could help but smile. "That is the most I've ever heard you say in one sitting."

The quiet laughter that moved through Michael's chest and burst out against Birkoff's ear made the younger man's smile widen. "I . . . " He stopped as if he were afraid to speak.

"Tell me."

"I hadn't thought that I would like . . . it so much." His voice was a whisper again.

Michael squeezed his hand before asking, "Had you thought about men before?"

"Just . . . hmm, only one."

Michael could tell from the returning flush over Birkoff's face that the answer could be a dangerous one, but still he asked, "Who was the man you desired?"

After a pause the young man slowly turned around on the sofa until he was kneeling between Michael's outstretched legs. Looking into his face, Birkoff replied, "You." He self-consciously faced his clothed lover. He dared to look into Michael's eyes, feeling the rise of warmth caused by the intensity of his gaze.

Michael lightly traced the curve of Birkoff's lips. "How do I make you feel?"

He opened his lips to lick at Michael's fingers, trying to convey the need he felt. He nibbled a path down to place a kiss on the palm before whispering softly, "Conflicted. Wary. Aroused. And . . ."

"And?" Michael's hand moved down to grasp Birkoff behind the head . . . drawing him closer.

"Protected," Birkoff rasped before his mouth was captured by Michael's again. Once he was free to speak he asked, "May I touch you?"

Michael saw the shy eagerness in Birkoff's face. There was also hunger in his eyes that quickened Michael's own pulse. Surprisingly so . . . "Yes," he said with the clipped huskiness he'd always seemed to use for Nikita.

Birkoff slowly removed Michael's black shirt, revealing the smooth but firm expanse of the operative's chest. When he was bared to the waist, Birkoff stopped. He moved his hands across Michael's skin, savoring the warmth and friction of the caress. He played lightly over the nipples that hardened. His lover leaned back, arching slightly upwards to meet Birkoff's touch. Suddenly it was all too much. He moved down quickly . . . imprisoning Michael's nipple in his mouth causing the other man to sigh deeply. Birkoff felt Michael's hands on his head, guiding him as he moved from one nipple to the other. The taste . . . lord but how good Michael tasted. And then Michael whispered, "Bite them softly."

Birkoff heard Michael release a small hiss as he nipped at his Dom's chest. He moaned softly as Michael pressed his head downward. Birkoff glided his tongue over the ribs and across the taunt abdomen, pressing his face into Michael's stomach while his hands moved to the pants below. To cover his own hesitancy, Birkoff slowly placed teasing kisses above the length of the waistband before he opened the fastening.

Michael raised his hips, allowing Birkoff to remove the last articles of clothing from his overheated body. He was already aroused . . . the sensation of Birkoff's breath against his erection only added fire to his need. He watched with anticipation as Birkoff moved closer to his sex; feeling an irrational sense of pride that he was the first the young man would ever taste.

"Do it."

Birkoff felt a little trepidation at the command. It wasn't fear or disgust. He truly wanted to please Michael, to feel his cock in his mouth . . . but he felt insecure in his inexperience. He'd only received such an intimate possession a couple of times when he'd been so over-stimulated that it hadn't lasted long. Birkoff lifted his gaze to see Michael lying back in a beautiful sprawl, the operative's eyes half open as he wet his lips with a quick swipe of his tongue. "Teach me . . . please."

Michael took his sub's hand and guided it down to his hard cock. He felt as much as heard the moan that first touch caused Birkoff. He bit back a sound as his young lover eagerly began stroking him as their fingers twined together around his heated flesh. The rhythm was hurried, caused by Birkoff's growing enthusiasm and Michael's soft vocal appreciation. Michael's blood seemed to catch fire as he saw Birkoff wet his lips . . . lost in concentration. Those full moist lips were a wet dream come true. He suddenly halted his own pleasure by removing their joined hands. Birkoff's reluctance to stop touching Michael was obvious but he complied.

"What do you want, Birkoff?"

"You. Sir, please," he whispered.

"Taste me."

Birkoff's breath caught in his throat. It was the command he'd been expecting, but just the thought that he was going to . . . wanted to . . . and with Michael! As he moved down his Dom's body, the image of how he must look at this moment flashed across his mind . . . himself naked and aroused as he wantonly moved to do his Dom's bidding . . . kneeling over Michael's groin as he brushed his lips across the head and down the sides. He licked slowly along the contours of Michael's desire. His own breathing was quickened by the eroticism of his own actions. And the feel . . . the taste of his lover. It was like nothing he'd ever imagined. The feel of his tongue rasping over the tip and down the shaft. The taste of the hot moisture of Michael's pre-cum. The way his Dom moved to enter his mouth, the rise of his hips as his voice sounded in a small moan. Birkoff moved with the rhythm of Michael's thrusts, amazed at his own ability to take his lover's cock without feeling consumed or overwhelmed. If anything, Birkoff realized he felt a tremendous sense of pride at being able to pleasure Michael in this way.

The rhythm continued as Birkoff moved slowly up and down the length of Michael's cock, accompanied by his Dom's sensual thrusts and the chorus of his quiet moans. Birkoff felt the glide of Michael's hands as they moved over his scalp and along his neck.

"Good. Now put your hand around the base and concentrate on the head as you stroke me."

After a moment, Michael took Birkoff's free hand in his, guiding it down between his spread thighs . . . stopping as Birkoff took Michael's balls into his palm. "Roll them gently as you . . ." His voice broke off as he felt Birkoff begin to work his cock and balls while teasing the head with his tongue.

Birkoff altered his motions, loving the way Michael's breathing held that ragged tone when he slowed his tongue's teasing strokes and the quickened motion of Michael's hips when he moved to take him in further. He wanted the sensation of having this man take his mouth to imprint itself in his memory. Finally, Birkoff took him deeply as he paused to hum softly around his Dom's hardness. The added vibration was enough to push Michael to the edge and over. He arched up into the warmth and wetness of Birkoff's mouth . . . spilling his seed with a harsh sound that growled forth unconsciously from his throat.

Birkoff felt as if quick-fire raced through his body as he took in all of Michael's essence, feeling it move over his tongue and down his throat. He released him once the flesh softened in satisfaction, quietly cleaning his lover's skin with small licks that were almost feline in quality. Then he laid his head on Michael's thigh as he listened to the man's breathing begin to return to normal. wow

Michael took in the comfortable sprawl of Birkoff's body as the younger man rested on his stomach with his head against the operative's thigh. He looked beautiful. Michael had not thought Birkoff would show such skill so quickly but the young man's enthusiasm to experience and please had completely over-shown any hesitancy he'd initially felt.

Quietly he said, "Come here." His voice held a tone of request rather than of command. Birkoff slowly rose from his languid position to strattle Michael's lap, facing him. Michael's eyes moved over his face, seeing the compliance in Birkoff's expression and the slightly swollen blush of his lips. He raised his hand to cup the young man's face, running his thumb over the swell of the bottom lip only to have Birkoff open and take it into his mouth.

As he suckled Michael's thumb, Birkoff moved to press his renewed erection against Michael's abdomen. The excitement of Michael's response to his touch had aroused him to an almost fevered pitch. He looked into the storm of Michael's eyes as he continued to rock against him.

"You're close again."

Hearing Michael's soft comment made Birkoff gasp, "Yes sir. Oh . . . please."

Michael pulled his sub to him, capturing his mouth fiercely. His hands moved to Birkoff's hips, increasing the friction necessary for Birkoff to lose himself in passion once again. Michael murmured into their shared kisses, "I want you to come against me. Give in to how this feels." With those words, Michael reached down to softly massage his slick thumb against Birkoff's anus. The young man gasped sharply, his body surging upwards and back . . . caught between the dual stimuli.

Breaking from their kiss, Birkoff roughly whispered Michael's name as he came. "Michael . . . uhh ahh. Oh Michael."

Michael held Birkoff close as the warmth of the climax touched his skin. The slender body was wracked with tremors as Birkoff tried to catalogue his volatile emotions. Just a mission . . . He felt so overwhelmed. This wasn't supposed to feel like this. So good. He'd just experienced a level of intimacy that seemed to have stripped him of all his shields. He'd never felt more open, more naked in his entire life. And for someone who works in Section, that was an unusual level of emotional vulnerability. We haven't even . . . He hasn't taken . . . His body continued to shake as he tried to accept the intensity of his own desire to be taken by Michael. He wanted to be possessed by this man. Lord.

Michael eased them both up until Birkoff was sitting in his lap. He softly kissed him, seeing the way the man's emotions warred against his mind. "Shh. Birkoff, let's go and clean up." He waited a moment for them both to regain their legs and then led Birkoff to the bathroom. After indicating that Birkoff should sit up on the counter by the lavatory, Michael ran a warm damp cloth over them both. The operative then moved over to the large black tub to draw a bath. Placing a light scented oil in the water, he stepped into its cradle of heat.

He watched as Michael eased back into the warm water, as his head leaned back against the tile and as his soft satisfied sigh filled the silence. His Dom . . . his lover opened his eyes and met his gaze. Michael raised his hand, offering to share the bath. The gesture was a small one but in that moment and in this place . . . it spoke to Birkoff's own sense of yearning. The desire to touch had yet to pass and he felt dangerously close to the revelation that it may never fade.

He slowly settled opposite Michael in the large tub, unconsciously drawing his knees up to rest his chin upon as he tried to gather his thoughts. He returned to the moment as Michael called his name.


The young man slowly shook his head. "No . . . not Birkoff. What's my cover name? I . . . need to be called by that."


Birkoff encircled his raised knees closely as he sought to explain. "It would make all this . . . easier. I need distance."

Michael nodded in understanding. "I'll check the profile after we eat."

They settled back into silence for several minutes. Birkoff began to relax, giving up his anxiety in favor of the slick glide of warm water against his skin. He was lulled into sleep briefly until he was roused by Michael leaving the tub.

"Stay for awhile. I'll fix dinner."

Once alone, Birkoff stretched out before slowly holding his breath as he submerged his torso and head. Lying suspended in this calm seemed to add to Birkoff's bemused mindset. Here he was in the intimate surroundings of a lover's home . . . a lover who was not really his lover but was . . . A male lover . . . a Dom . . . Michael. None of this was real and yet it felt so very REAL. Hell . . . I don't even know what I'm thinking. He knew the facts of the mission. He knew why they had to be here like this, but Birkoff also knew that these last few hours had meant so much more than devotion to duty for him. This was the most alive he'd ever felt and it had been in Michael's arms.

"I'm losing it," he whispered as he rose to leave the tub. Quickly drying his skin, Birkoff halted as he started to wrap the towel around his waist. It was his habit to wear one until he got dressed. He'd never really thought about the gesture. Birkoff had been in Section long enough to know there was almost never any real privacy. Constant monitoring was a fact and hardly inducement to run around sans clothing for large stretches of time. But now . . . he dropped the towel next to Michael's on the hamper. Michael had said he need to be used to being nude. The very nature of the mission prohibited any sense of modesty.

Squaring his shoulders, Birkoff went to join Michael . . . hoping the flush of his skin would only be attributed to the bath.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Michael sensed Birkoff's gaze touch his skin as the young man moved to reenter the room. Having his body admired by a lover was not a new experience for Michael, even if he didn't admit how the expression of wonder in Birkoff's eyes touched . . . something in him. Section taught its operatives physical awareness, how to manipulate one's own body to become many different people and how to utilize that awareness as a weapon in the right circumstances. Still it had proved intoxicating to observe Birkoff as he experienced pleasure from his touch: an intellectual becoming enraptured by physical sensation rather than corporeal thought. He had been beautiful . . . and still was.

Michael had chosen not to dress and was glad to see Birkoff hadn't either. The comfort level needed strengthening. As he placed their meal on the dinner island Michael softly addressed Birkoff, "David."

At Birkoff's questioning gaze, he continued. "Your name is David. David Fiennes."

Birkoff nodded. "And you are?"

"Michael DePaul."

At Birkoff's slight half-grin, Michael moved slowly around the counter. "Why the amusement?"

Birkoff opened his mouth to answer but stopped when he felt Michael press against his body from behind. He had to struggle to recapture his original thought. "Always Michael. A non-descript name. Lets you blend in . . . even when you stand out."

Michael slid the palms of his hands sensuously down Birkoff's back, over the swell of his behind and around to encircle his waist. "Also the name of an angel."

Birkoff whispered, "Which you are not."

"True. Now turn around."

As Birkoff turned to face him, Michael quickly swept the young man up by the waist to sit on the counter . . . moving the legs apart so that he was standing between Birkoff's thighs. Looking into Birkoff's wide eyes he said, "David is the mask you will wear. Michael is the veil I see life through."

Birkoff trembled at Michael's soft words. They were the most revealing and the clearest description of Michael that he'd ever heard. A man always covered by a veil . . . different textures, thicknesses and colors. As Michael leaned in to nuzzle Birkoff's neck, the young man gasped. "What color is the veil now?"

Michael actually released a small chuckle at the question. He chose to answer with a whisper in Birkoff's ear. "Dusty rose." His words were followed by a small nip at Birkoff's collarbone.

Birkoff closed his eyes. "Well, I guess I should be grateful you didn't say chartreuse."

Michael moved up to the full lips of his lover's mouth. Lightly tracing their curves with his tongue, he stopped to whisper. "So sweet . . ." before he captured his mouth in a passionate kiss.

His young lover responded with equal passion, bringing his hands up to run them through Michael's hair. Soft. The embrace continued to build in intensity. Birkoff forgot about the awkwardness of their situation, the hesitancy his inexperience caused him and the danger of high emotions . . . forgot everything but the feel of being in this man's arms. And then Michael pulled back. Birkoff tried to stop the groan of disappointment but still it escaped. Before he could ask why, Michael placed a finger against his lips to shush him.

"Shhh. You must follow your Dom's wishes, David. Your own desires are secondary. They must be controlled." He gently licked Birkoff's bottom lip before continuing. "We aren't really going to take it to that extreme, especially this first time. This will be a only the facade of such a scene. I'm not going to do more than the situation demands. The appearance of subjugation should be enough to complete the mission. I'm not going to put us in a situation where it becomes obvious that we haven't been training your responses. Your ability to act completely focused on my wants and desires is very important." He moved to raise Birkoff's legs so that they were clasped around his back. "So it is your Dom's desire to feed his sub." He picked up small slices of cheese and held them out for Birkoff to eat.

"You mean by hand?"

Michael's answer was a slight nod. As Birkoff began to eat, Michael slowly ungulated his hips to fit snug against his sub's groin. At Birkoff's small groan, Michael smiled. "Every quick response has its own reward."

Birkoff tried to retain some sense of focus as Michael continued to feed him, but it proved almost impossible as the man continued to gently trust against him as he swallowed. The motion had instantly aroused him. He could feel Michael's arousal as it pressed against his own. Birkoff closed his eyes as he tried to fight against the image of Michael's tease . . . only to find that dampening one sense added to the intensity of the sensations Michael was producing. Finally he spoke. "Sir, please."

Michael pressed fully against Birkoff's body and felt the tight grasp of the hands on his shoulders as he was held in the vice of Birkoff's encircling legs. Placing his hands on Birkoff's hips he said, "Open your eyes." Once Birkoff obeyed he continued, "Tell me what you want most."

Birkoff leaned into kiss Michael, speaking softly against his lips. "You. Inside me."

The operative traced the line of Birkoff's jaw with his lips. He whispered, "That can be arranged. You on my bed. Me over you, inside of you. Taking you." He felt Birkoff's body tremble with his words. His lover unclasped his legs and moved to fully embrace Michael in his arms.

"Yes sir, please."

Michael eased Birkoff off the counter, retaining the body contact as his sub slid to stand on the floor. Michael then took Birkoff's hand and guided him to his bed.

The bed was large with black sheets and many pillows. Birkoff couldn't help finding humor in the fact that even Michael's sheets were black. But the import of their coming actions erased his smile, bringing a fiery light to his eyes.

Michael make Birkoff sit on the bed as he stood before him. The young man leaned into Michael's abdomen, nuzzling the firm muscles. Michael could feel the brush of Birkoff's eyelashes against his skin, both a whisper and a tease. He ran his hand over Birkoff's head, easing him back slightly so that he was reclined back on his elbows. Michael said, "Open your legs."

Birkoff obeyed after a moment's hesitation. His body carried the flush of being so openly on display for his lover. He could almost feel the touch of Michael's heated gaze.

"Lay properly on the bed and raise your arms above your head. Grip the bars."

Birkoff did as Michael commanded. He came to rest on his back with his legs slightly opened. His hardened cock rested up against the curve of his pelvis, aching to be touched. His took hold of the bars and waited for Michael to continue.

Michael slowly circled the bed, moving to the nightstand. He pulled out a long silk scarf. As he strattled Birkoff's hips, Michael ran the cloth over his sub's skin. He watched as Birkoff cried out and surged up into the glide of the silk over his nipples. Michael moved forward to clasp Birkoff's wrists together and then tied them to the iron bars above their heads.

Birkoff gently tested the restraining knots as he looked askance of Michael.

Michael kissed him while enjoying the shy pass of the young man's tongue against his own, the smooth quality of Birkoff's skin as he ran his fingers down the underside of Birkoff's arms and the way Birkoff arched up against the slightest contact with his body. "Bondage usually plays a large role in the D/s, David." He saw Birkoff's eyes widen slightly at the name. "David is as nondescript as Michael, yes?"

Birkoff whispered, "Yes, sir."

"Your hands are tied in order to allow you to better focus on sensations. I am in control of both our pleasure. By being restrained you are freed of the responsibility to pleasure me, except through your responses to my touch. I take and you accept. The pleasure you give me is my due. The pleasure I allow you is a gift or reward." Michael slowly caressed Birkoff's chest with his tongue, tracing the line of the collarbone before moving to the nipples. He remembered how Birkoff had played with them earlier. Birkoff was so sensitive that he cried out as Michael took the nibs between his lips . . . teasing each in turn with a lick or a gentle nibble. Michael listened as Birkoff's cries grew a little more desperate before he pulled back. "I could make you come just by torturing your nipples."

Birkoff gasped a reply as Michael pulled slightly at his aroused nibs. "Yes. Yes sir, but . . ."

"Shh." Michael flicked his tongue over Birkoff's skin. "We'll try that later."

Birkoff moaned as he felt the liquid fire of Michael's tongue traveling down his stomach. The licks were quickly followed by teasing bites. The gentle scrape of Michael's teeth against his skin caused Birkoff to jerk his wrists against their restraints. The silk scarf remained tied. Birkoff felt the rasp of Michael's stubble against the smooth skin of his hip and then just the barest glide over the heated tip of his sex. Birkoff cried out, "Please. Oh please do it." His mind was so hyped up on arousal that he didn't even know what he was pleading for: Michael's mouth on his cock or Michael's cock in his ass.

Michael tightened his grip on Birkoff's hips, holding him close as he lowered his mouth. He inhaled Birkoff's scent, the mixture of Michael's own bath oil and the musk of the man beneath him. He slowly traced the contours of Birkoff's sex with his lips, followed by his tongue. Michael felt the fire build inside his own body as he tasted Birkoff's silken hardness, heard the gasping cry as he took it into his mouth and felt the unconscious thrust of Birkoff's hips to meet the movements of Michael's head.

Birkoff looked down at Michael as he teased him, alternating between working the tip and taking him fully inside. "To much . . . Sir, I'm ... I want ... Michael, please."

Michael eased back, slowly teasing the tip as he moved one hand to caress the warm sac beneath. He moved up Birkoff's body and placed a kiss at the base of his throat as he murmured, "Relax for me, D. This is going to feel like nothing you've ever known." He watched as Birkoff tried to calm his own breathing. "Don't come. Not until I tell you too." With these words, M leaned over and opened the nightstand. He pulled out a tube of lubricant and a condom.

Birkoff moaned loudly when he saw M place these items next to him on the bed. "Michael, I didn't think . . . ohh."

Michael whispered in his ear, "Didn't think what?" The words accompanied by the full press of Michael's body over Birkoff's own. The operative thrust his hard-on against his lover, hinting at the coming possession while creating a dual friction that caused them both to groan.

Birkoff closed his eyes, pressing up against Michael's body before responding. "I didn't think I'd . . . want this so much."

"This or me?" Michael asked, knowing it was a dangerous question for both of them. He knew his own desires had surprised him this day. Birkoff was proving to be addictive and Michael was getting too close to having this feel real. Real was dangerous.

Birkoff's eyes flew open at the question. Throwing caution to the wind, he answered truthfully. "This and you. Oh, god. This with you."

Michael kissed him fiercely in answer.

Rising up from his position over Birkoff, Michael met the young man's gaze. Holding his complete attention, he moved Birkoff's thighs further apart and knelt between them. In this moment before lost innocence his hands ran up the length of Birkoff's legs as he took in how beautiful he was. He lay there so wanton . . . his skin flushed with excitement and the glow of perspiration . . . displayed like a feast before a starving man. Before a man who had not tasted this feeling of possession of another man in years.

Birkoff watched with an unworldly feeling . . . almost as if from a distance, as Michael opened the lube and moved to prepare his body. He felt the smooth circling of the fingers as they moved in towards his tight center. He felt the first moment when one finger entered his body and the stretch as it moved into his ass. Slowly working the entrance, the finger was joined by another. Birkoff felt the fullness and the slight burn that eased with the smooth thrusting motion of Michael's hand. He's finger fucking me. Oh shit . . . so good. Several minutes past as those fingers moved within him and then Michael angled just so . . . "Ohh . . . Michael!!!" Birkoff jerked as Michael brushed his fingers over the prostate.

Having caught Birkoff off guard, Michael moved to enter him with three fingers. He continued to brush over the gland and thrust into the tightness that seemed to open itself up to the intense pleasure of the motion. Michael saw Birkoff's darkened cock as it rested against his heaving pelvis, saw it leak pre-cum and knew it was time.

Michael removed his fingers and placed the condom over his sex. Once he'd added lube, Michael lifted Birkoff's body so that it straddled his thighs. He kissed Birkoff, saying with a kind whisper, "Get ready."

Birkoff moved to stop Michael's words with his mouth, kissing the man desperately as if to say 'Yes, now. Please now.' As Birkoff's tongue moved into Michael's opened mouth, he felt the man enter his body. In one long persistent glide Michael moved into his ass, stopping only when he was fully seated within Birkoff's body. Birkoff's fierce cry echoed around the room as he tore his mouth back from Michael's. He felt the burn of entry and a fullness like he's never believed possible. But it was a pleasure. He finally had Michael, could feel him inside himself and it was good. So good.

Birkoff opened his eyes to see his lover. Michael was still, letting Birkoff get used to his possession. His body was held tautly as he waited. His eyes never left Birkoff's face, gazing so intently at his young lover's response. His control radiated with barely shackled glow of fire in his eyes.

The operative saw the enrapt expression crossing Birkoff's face. He knew the moment Birkoff wanted him to move within him, could feel the need as an almost tangible thing.

And then Birkoff said, "Michael . . . now," with such yearning that his voice cracked with emotion.

With that permission, Michael moved out and took possession again. Birkoff released small sounds as he felt the angle change. Michael varied the rhythm between long slow thrusts that made Birkoff arch his back and small circular motion that angled his cock to brush over Birkoff's prostrate. Birkoff lost all sense of time . . . all sense of even himself in their coupling. All he knew was sensation, pleasure and the sense of two becoming one. Just when he thought he couldn't possibly climb any higher Michael took his cock in hand and said, "Come for me." Hearing Michael's raspy words and feeling himself being stroked as his body was taken proved the final push over the cliff into a sea of sensation. He couldn't see, couldn't hear . . . all he could do was feel. Feel the damp flood of his own desire against his stomach. Feel the quickened thrusts as his ass clenched around Michael, causing the man to groan as he jerked in climax. And then to know nothing more.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Birkoff regained awareness drowsily to find Michael washing him with a warm damp cloth. He felt only a slight tingling which spoke to the fact that some time had passed since he'd been released from his ties. He studied the other man as the hands moved over his skin. Each movement was gentle with a distracted grace, as if his thoughts were focused inward. I wonder is he's thinking of Nikita. When Michael's eyes did meet his gaze, Birkoff knew himself to be lost. Lost in time and in Michael. Dangerous. He knew this day was not real. Their time together was part of the job. But these emotions were . . . Stop.

Michael laid down beside him. Birkoff rolled to his side so that he could face him. He didn't break the silence. It seemed too tenuous to touch. He'd said too much and given all. Birkoff felt completely exposed to the night. His thoughts and his body no longer his own. And he waited for the man next to him to speak, not caring what the words would be . . . only that Michael talk to him. Words to fill the void.

"Are you all right?" Michael asked finally in a hushed tone.

Birkoff opened his mouth to answer but no words escaped. Instead, he lowered his eyes and nodded. When he finally felt he could speak Birkoff said, "Thank you."

Michael took a moment to respond. Then he softly said, "For what?"

After a long while during which Birkoff never met Michael's eyes, he spoke. "For making this not feel like . . . like a chore or a task you'd been reluctantly assigned."

At the younger man's whisper, Michael reached out to touch him. Bringing Birkoff firmly into his arms, Michael embraced him fully. He whispered, "Touching you could never be a chore. Now sleep." With a gentle kiss he continued, "We have much to cover tomorrow."

Birkoff found it amusing that they both were speaking in whispered tones, almost as if this . . . . consummation was being held in secret. Secrets . . . from Madeline. Like hell. All of a sudden Birkoff felt a wave of anxiety flood his system. He clasped Michael's waist tightly, hearing a gasp that sounded more like a giggle as it escaped his own mouth and reverberated off of Michael's chest. He couldn't tell whether he was just giddy or about to start crying. Okay, this is mortifying. Birkoff tried to cover with a forced laugh. "Now I know what all the fuss over you was about."

Michael had caught the small frantic sound before Birkoff spoke. He stroked his fingers down his lover's back to ease the slight shaking that seemed to be getting stronger in Birkoff. "What do you mean, David?'

Birkoff hid his face in Michael's chest as he explained. "No. Birkoff, please . . . just for now." He hoped it wasn't embarrassingly obvious that he wanted to be the one in Michael's arms. He craved the tenderness and attention being bestowed. "I've been your monitor for years, Michael. I've listened to you have sex on several missions. I . . . I always wondered how it would feel to be touched by you."

Michael trailed one hand down to caress Birkoff's hip. "Now you know." The soft touch was meant to sooth and comfort, the gesture an echo from before. His young lover began to drift towards sleep. Michael could feel the tension ease out of Birkoff's body from his touch. "Sleep, Birkoff."

Birkoff murmured, "Hmm . . . yes, sir." And then he slept.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The next couple of days were extremely involved. Birkoff passed through each lesson in an almost constant state of awe and disbelief that he'd been assigned this role. He learned more than he'd ever thought he'd ever need about the D/s relationship. Michael didn't actually try to take him through the full paces of being a sub. He just outlined the levels of submission and training being a sub required. He did make Birkoff practice disrobing both himself and his Dom. He learned that subtlety of movement was very enticing. Undressing may be a means to an end, but it could hold as much seductive power as the most arousing touch.

Birkoff spent half the time in full attentive Section mode and the other in an erotic haze of pleasure. With continued exposure, he quickly lost his inhibitions in Michael's presence. He learned more about his own sexual responses as he mapped Michael's own pleasure spots. They spent hours just watching, tasting and touching each other. Birkoff began to see that he'd always used sex as a tool, something he did to relieve the frustration. He was his job. It had always surrounded his life, like Section itself. But this with Michael . . . even though he knew it was also part of the job, he wanted to be oh so briefly swept away.

Just thinking of how Michael took him the second time, made Birkoff's cock harden. It had been later the second day. Upon waking they had each showered separately then ate a huge breakfast. They'd reviewed the mission parameters and discussed their strategy. Taking a break, Birkoff went to freshen up in the bathroom. He'd remained unclothed after their stripping lesson, as had Michael. H couldn't get over how odd it was to be discussing the mission while being nude.

As he leaned over the sink to splash water over his face, Birkoff heard Michael enter the room. He started to rise but stopped when Michael said, "No. Stay just like that." The words were followed by the sensation of have Michael run his tongue up his spine from the small of his back to his neck. He bit his lip but still the loud moan escaped and sounded against the bathroom tiles. Birkoff gripped the counter tightly as Michael whispered in his ear, "David, raise your eyes. I want you to watch us." The command was clear. David was quick to obey.

As they stared at their reflection, Birkoff moved back to feel the full press of Michael's body against his own. He wanted to please his Dom. "Yes, sir."

His eyes followed the movement of Michael's hands. They trailed lazily over his shoulders, moving to take the hips firmly in hand. Rocking easily against Birkoff's behind, Michael moved his cock to slide against the warm crevice. Meeting Birkoff's gaze as he asked, "Are you sore?"

Birkoff whispered, "Not really. I can still feel that we …" Each word was reduced in tone until Birkoff's words ended all together.

Michael lifted him into a standing position and then embraced him from behind, speaking softly as he trailed his fingers over Birkoff's torso. "That we shared your body. That for a moment I was a part of you and that you gave yourself to me. Is that what you mean?"

"Yes, sir."

Michael's fingers teasingly played with Birkoff's nipples. He watched as Birkoff's responded quickly to his touch. When next he spoke, Michael's voice held the controlled tone of command. "Stay perfectly straight. Watch our reflection and do not close your eyes to anything you experience."

With these words, Michael brought his mouth into contact with Birkoff's throat. He gently nipped at the skin along the young man's spine, licking each mark soothingly as he made his way down Birkoff's body. Kneeling behind his lover, Michael bit playfully into Birkoff's cheek. His own blood quickly caught fire as he listened to the man before him gasp and moan at such a touch. Wanting to add to the intensity of their coming union, Michael moved his mouth inward. He traced the inner curve with his tongue, hearing the catch in Birkoff's voice as he released a small sound of surprise. Taking the final step, Michael gently circled the opening before moving in to take Birkoff with his mouth.

Birkoff jerked unconsciously at the intimate invasion. It felt so good, so forbidden. He kept crying out Michael's name, knowing that he was quickly about to loose control over his own desire. "Michael. Oh Michael, please. I'm going to come if you keep …"

With one last taste, Michael rose behind him. He moved to pull out a condom and the lube. Capturing Birkoff's heated gaze with his own, Michael began preparing him for his own possession. Once Birkoff's body eased in acceptance, the operative leaned him forward so that his arms were braced against the counter. Birkoff could see the glass cloud as he cried out when Michael entered his body. The young man was mesmerized by both the physical and visual stimulation. Later when he tried to recall the image of this moment, he could only envision them in flashes. They appeared almost like still photos shown in rapid succession against the dark surfaces of his mind. The pleasure was so heated. It alternated between fast and slow. Birkoff couldn't think, only feel as Michael took him continually to a higher plateau. And then as Michael moved almost harshly into his heat, he felt the spasm move through both his own body and that behind him. Michael pressed his face into Birkoff's neck as they shook together with pleasure.

The next few moments passed without words. Michael eased from Birkoff's body slowly. After drawing a warm bath, Michael then lifted his exhausted lover up and placed him in the tub. Washing the traces of their passion from both his own and Birkoff's skin, Michael moved them both into the bedroom after they were done. He drew Birkoff against himself. They remained thus for a time before dinnertime approached.

Once they parted from the bed, the planning continued and the night passed quickly.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Birkoff awoke to the sound of the cello. It's sad melody carried softly across the loft. At first he thought the music was being played from a stereo, but as his mind met with full alertness Birkoff realized the resonance he heard had to be from someone playing in the next room. Michael? He slipped from the bed and followed the haunting strains. His lover sat on a wooden chair, head mussed and bowed as he played. The song was so delicate in its grief that Birkoff hesitated to enter the room.

As he moved to stand behind Michael, he saw the stilled image of Michael's son on the television screen. Little Adam looked into the camera with all the sweetness and charm of a four year old boy. His warm dark eyes filled the screen with laughing happiness. This was the son that Michael had so recently lost.

Michael's voice startled Birkoff out of his musing. "I still play it for him."

Birkoff realized that the music had ended. Michael turned his head to say, "Come here," before he attempted to approach him. As they'd practiced, he moved to kneel between Michael's legs with his hands behind his back and his head down. With a quiet, "Yes, sir," he waited for Michael's next response.

Michael turned the television off, watching as the image of his son disappeared from his eyes. He asked Birkoff, "What are you thinking?"

Birkoff hesitated before answering truthfully. "That you have a beautiful son. That I'm sorry for what Section has done to you both." He waited a moment before adding, "And that I didn't know you could play the cello so well."

Michael moved to lift the young man's face to his. Gently kissing Birkoff's mouth, he said, "He enjoyed what skill I had. It was something outside of Section that I could give just to him." After a moment, he straightened and rose. "Come. We must leave to meet Madeline."

Birkoff sighed. The day was at hand. And with that thought he moved to prepare for their return to Section.

To Be Continued...

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