Title: We Only See What We Want To See
Author/Pseudonym: Tinnean
Fandom: La Femme Nikita/JAG crossover
Pairing: Michael Samuelle/Clark Palmer
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: If they belonged to me, I'd let them slip
the leash
more often! They're not mine, unfortunately. No money
is being
made here, even more unfortunately.
Series/Sequel: sequel to April in Paris
Summary: What happens when a Section One cold op and
a DSD agent
get involved, unknowingly.
Warnings: These events occur before Nikita was
recruited to
Section. m/m, language
Note: This one's for Gail, who was really patient
while I struggled
with the guys, and who helped a lot with Clark (he
was very
recalcitrant, and just wanted to shag Michael) and
for Silk, who
didn't mind too terribly that I made our Mikey a
bottom boy. And
just because.
We Only See What We Want to See
"I'm..." moan, pant, "not..." deep,
appreciative groan, "a hustler!"
Clark froze over the smaller man's back. "WHAT?"
"I don't...hustle ... for a living!"
"This is a hell of a time to tell me that, when I'm
balls deep in your ass!" Annoyed was not the word to describe what Clark
was, and he began to withdraw, albeit reluctantly.
"No!" Michael was shuddering, on the brink of a powerful orgasm.
"Please, don't stop!"
Clark held himself very still. He didn't pull out, but he
didn't continue his very pleasurable movements, either. "I could have hurt
you!" he hissed.
"That's the point!" Michael was struggling with
the effort to remain motionless. His cock was quivering, the need to come almost
overpowering. He clenched internal muscles in the hope Clark would postpone this
discussion until a later time and continue fucking him. "You could have
done anything you wanted, but you never once forced me, or hurt me!"
With a sharp slap to Michael's taut buttock, Clark gave up
the battle and began stroking into him once again. He grunted as he reached
around to take Michael's weeping erection firmly in his hand and started fisting
him. His breath whistled from between his lips and his hips thrust wildly, out
of control.
The warmth of Michael's semen spilling through his fingers
triggered his own climax, and Clark began pouring himself into the snug channel
of his partner.
The feel of that heat inside him left Michael trembling,
and wanting more.
It had been like that since he had felt the other man
watching him at a sidewalk cafe and had allowed him to proposition him.
****
Michael thought it would be an easy way to deal with the
suicide of a former lover, but it wasn't until Clark had him in the elevator of
his hotel and made him come from just a few kisses and hotly uttered phrases,
that the cold operative realized he might have initiated something that was much
more than he bargained for.
Once the door to Clark Palmer's hotel room closed behind
them, he had pounced on the smaller man. Too impatient to wait for Michael to
undress himself, the man who appeared to be an ordinary businessman, had seized
the front of his shirt and torn apart the material with casual disregard. The
buttons landed on the thick, plush carpet and were lost.
////
Some unsuspecting chambermaid would later discover them
when they were sucked up into her vacuum cleaner, causing it to break down, and
she would curse the inconsiderate occupants of the room for causing her such
trouble.
Clark would have curled his lips and ignored the whole
matter if he had known.
Michael would have given his patented blank stare and
shrugged with unconcern. Wasn't him, he wasn't even there!
////
Another swift movement and the ruined shirt and black
leather jacket were yanked back over Michael's shoulders, imprisoning his arms.
Skillful fingers settled on the metal fastening of his jeans. The hiss of the
zipper being lowered was startlingly loud in the room whose silence was broken
only by the harsh breathing of the younger man.
Forced backward until he hit the edge of the king-sized
bed, Michael fell helplessly onto it, his legs sprawled wide. The other man's
knowledgeable hands shaped the bulge that was straining the fabric of Michael's
jeans, tracing the hard outline before he reached in and freed him.
The smaller man's head dropped backward and he stared
sightlessly at the ceiling, Clark's name a litany on his lips. All his
concentration centered on his cock and the warm mouth that was devouring it.
An inquisitive tongue swept over the tip, teasing drops of
precome from it. Teeth gently scored its length. Michael shuddered and gripped
the bedspread under him, his hips rising to thrust himself deeper into that
skillful mouth. And then Clark eased a blunt finger past the ring of tight
muscle shielding Michael's opening, and sent the other man spiraling out of
control.
Clark reached up to cover the smaller man's mouth, muffling
his cries, and continued suckling him until Michael sagged bonelessly onto the
bed.
Clark Palmer licked his lips and straightened. *He* hadn't
come yet, and he had every intention of getting his money's worth out of the
intriguing young man in his bed. He stripped Michael's pants down until they
tangled with the work boots he wore, then flipped him over onto his stomach,
fondling the firm cheeks displayed before him.
His hands hard on the smaller man's hips, he positioned his
ass in the air, pausing only long enough to unzip his own slacks, freeing his
turgid arousal. Long fingers stroked the shadowed crevice between Michael's
buttocks, and he jerked at the unexpected touch. "Shhh," Clark soothed
as he pushed the jacket and shirt high up on his back. His warm lips caressed
the line of Michael''s spine, then he nipped at his waist, biting kisses that
stung.
Although he was under the impression that the young man in
his bed was a rent boy, Clark Palmer took his time preparing him to be fucked.
He had no use for rape.
Seduction, however, was another matter altogether.
And he set out to seduce the most exciting creature he had
come across in years.
Clark prepared him for the invasion to come by coating his
fingers with lubricant and easing first one finger, then two in past the snug
opening. He found the spot guaranteed to set off fireworks and Michael backed
onto those fingers, wanting a deeper, harder, fuller penetration.
Clark was determined to oblige. He worked the passage,
loosening muscles that for too long had been neglected by this type of exercise.
Michael was lost in a haze of lust. He moaned a protest
when the other man withdrew his fingers, and then moaned again as he felt the
condom-covered cock begin pressing into his ass.
His weight balanced on his shoulders, the spread of his
legs restrained by the jeans that were caught around his ankles, Michael bit
helplessly into the duvet, trying to muffle the groan he couldn't prevent at the
sting of that entry. And then the hard male flesh was sliding past that point
and starting a rhythm that was forcing him to respond.
The cool zipper of Clark's trousers was warmed by the heat
of passion, and the feel of the rough cloth against his naked buttocks
contrasted so sharply that his arousal became almost painful. He was on the
verge of coming again.
And then the other man had Michael's cock securely in his
hand and was squeezing him just hard enough to break his concentration.
Michael shuddered and held himself still.
"That's my good boy!" the man buried deep inside
him whispered as his tongue swiped over his ear. "You won't spoil our fun
by coming too soon, now will you?"
Michael shook his head, his long, dark hair brushing
against Clark's mouth.
"*Very* good! As long as you behave yourself, I'm
going to let you come again. But if you disobey me, I will be very angry, and I
will have to discipline you!"
The dark tone drove Michael toward the edge even while the
punishing grip pulled him back. His breath whined past his parted lips.
"Please!"
"'Please' what, my pretty boy?"
"Let me come! And come with me, inside me!"
"Is that what you want?"
Michael was unable to answer him. He was thrusting back
hard enough to impale himself fully on Clark's rigid cock, increasing the pace
in spite of Clark's determination to keep it leisurely. Burying his face in the
bedspread, he muted his cries as he began to pour himself over Clark's fingers,
over his own chest.
The frenzied clasp of those inner muscles pulled Clark
after him, and Michael felt the heat of the other man's semen in his snug
channel.
Trembling from the strain of his arms behind his back and
man's weight on him, Michael collapsed, taking Clark down to the bed with him.
Having his lover dressed while he was half naked excited him, and nerve endings
that should have been sated were pleading for more. He groaned, and heard
Clark's chuckle in his ear.
"What is it, p'tite?"
The smaller man rubbed his groin against the damp spot on
the bed. "I want you again!"
Clark was pleased. The young man in his bed said he wanted *him* again, not merely the sex act. Gently, he eased his now flaccid length out of the smaller man beneath him and rolled him over.
He helped Michael to sit up, then carefully pulled his arms
free of his jacket and shirt. Michael flopped backwards, momentarily spent, as
Clark untied his boots and stripped his pants off as well.
But when the other man began methodically removing his own
clothes and placing them neatly on a chair, Michael found he had enough energy
to prop himself up on his elbow and watch, his eyes now green with latent fire.
Clark swung his tie suggestively and smiled at the smaller
man. "Do you want to play a game?"
Michael's lips parted and his tongue flicked out to wet
them. "Cher homme, a votre service!"
****
Time was running short. The two weeks Clark Palmer had been
given were almost at an end. He looked down at the young man lying in his bed,
looking like a young David. Somehow lust had mutated into liking.
And now he had the nerve to tell him he wasn't a hustler!
Clark's face began to tighten in anger. He had been played for a fool!
Before he could explode in fury, the annoying chirrup of a
cell phone sounded. As he reached for the phone in his briefcase, Michael rolled
out of bed and scooped up his black leather jacket.
"This one is mine, Clark," he smiled as he
flipped open the phone and spoke rapidly into it.
"No, actually, it's mine!" Clark too spoke into
his phone. His time in Europe was over.
Clark Palmer found a chair behind him, then sat heavily. He
waited until the other phone call was completed. "Who are you?"
"Michael Samuelle. I didn't lie about that. Just about
what I did for a living."
"So, you're not a whore?"
Those mutable gray-green eyes became etched in sadness.
"Aren't we all, to some degree or another?"
Abruptly Clark read all the signs he had previously
ignored, having seen only what he wanted to see: an attractive young man who
could be purchased for the hour or the day.
Or two weeks.
"You're an agent?"
"An operative," Michael corrected gently.
"And you're not as young as I thought, are you?"
"Does it matter?" He could see by the look on the
other man's face that it did. Michael sighed. "I am almost thirty."
Clark Palmer swore. The 'young man' was his own age! And
then he laughed. "I guess I really made a fool of myself."
"You're an American, and a businessman, Clark. How
could you suspect anything but what I appeared to be?"
"Because *I'm* a fucking agent, too!"
"What?" Michael could not believe it. If
Operations ever discovered he had been this careless, he would cancel his level
5 operative without hesitation.
Clark was shaking his head. "We knew. Somehow, deep
inside, we knew it was safe. Hell, I've never been comfortable with a civilian
away from work. That should have told me right there. Maybe that's what made it
so easy for me to take you at your word."
Michael looked thoughtful. "Yes, that makes sense. It
is too dangerous for us to have a relationship on the outside, so we created an
outside that was safe for us both."
The DSD agent sputtered with bitter laughter. "Of
course! We're fucking geniuses, the two of us!"
The Section One operative was startled for a moment, and
then smiled, an expression so rare that not many could remember ever having seen
it.
"So it would seem, mon ami." He got to his feet
and began pulling on his clothes. "I must go. There is a crisis and I am
required to see to it."
"And I as well."
They dressed in silence. Then Michael turned to the man who
had helped him overcome his grief at the loss of his friend. "We won't be
able to do this again, you realize that, don't you?"
"Of course. I'm American, I'm not stupid!" He
stretched out his hand. "It's been an experience, Michael Samuelle."
Michael's fingers closed around the other man's hand, and
his grip tightened briefly. "It has indeed, Clark Palmer."
Gray green eyes gazed into hazel ones, a hint of regret far
in their depths.
They could have been friends. Another time, another
country.
Another life.
Michael turned and closed the door behind him.
~End~
