Author/pseudonym: Tinnean
Fandom: La Femme Nikita
Pairing: Birkoff/Davenport
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: They belong to Fireworks and WB, who
treat them so shabbily they’d be much happier with me. No money being made;
this is what I did for love.
Status: New/Complete
Date: 5/01
Warnings: m/m
Notes: The idea for Walter having been Michael’s mentor comes from It Can’t Happen Here. // Denotes Birkoff’s thoughts.
Thanks to Silk who wanted something for a new list, and to
Gail for her help.
Remix
Part 1/1
Christopher, the head chef of Section One, sat alone at his
table in the commissary, sipping a cup of coffee. Not even Madeline knew of this
private stash. Like everyone else who worked for the most covert anti-terrorist
organization on the planet, she had to make due with the atrocious brew that
Christopher served up to the peasants.
Pensively, he touched the tip of his pencil to his tongue,
and then began scribbling a menu designed to tempt the most jaded of appetites.
Operations had seduction planned for this evening, and it was up to Christopher
to provide the food to assist in it.
A shadow fell across the paper, and he frowned and glared
at the individual who dared to disturb him. When he realized who it was, his
frown faded into a welcoming smile. “Davenport, mon vieux! Comment-ca va?”
The burly cold op shrugged and picked up his friend’s
mug, taking a sip from it. “Not well, Christophe.”
“Ah. Le petit is not amenable to your advances?”
“Fuck amenable. He doesn’t even know I’m alive!”
Two pairs of eyes followed the compact body of the head of
Comm as Birkoff joined Walter and smiled at something the older man said.
“Are you sure he sails our side of the lake, mon ami?”
Davenport scowled across the room.
Birkoff chose that moment to look up and intercepted the
hard glare. He paled and shoved his plate away from him. It seemed that every
time he glanced around, Davenport was there, watching him with those inscrutable
eyes. “Uh, I gotta go, Walter. Hillinger…” He left the rest of his excuse
hanging.
Walter nodded to indicate his understanding, but the Comm
op was gone.
A tight grin creased his craggy face. Walter knew well
enough what the youngest member of Comm was like. Lately, though, rumor had it
that someone high up in Section had taken Hillinger as his toy boy. Someone with
a penchant for discipline.
Walter remembered fondly what it felt like to wield a
paddle against a set of tight buttocks of someone who knew how to play the game.
He sighed and went back to regretting the state of his love life, or severe lack
thereof.
“Walter.”
“Hmm? Oh hi, Davenport. How’s it going, amigo?”
“It could be better. Tell me something. Have you ever
heard anything to indicate that Birkoff might prefer his lovers on the hairy
side?”
The senior munitions op looked thoughtful, then shook his
head. “Nope. As far as I know, he likes his women, on those rare occasions
when he has one, to be smooth-skinned.”
“That wasn’t what I meant, Walter! Does Birkoff like
men?”
The light went on and Walter’s jaw dropped. “You mean
as in liking men? Birkoff?” He began to sputter.
“Well…well…Jeez, Davenport, that’s a hell of a question to ask a
fella!”
Davenport tapped his foot impatiently. “But does he or
doesn’t he?”
“Birkoff’s gay?”
“That’s what I’m asking you!”
“Who’s gay?” Michael dropped down next to his former
mentor and took a sip of his own coffee, grimacing at the taste. “You’d
think Christophe would produce something drinkable after all these years.”
“Davenport says Birkoff’s gay!”
Michael began choking on the sip of coffee that he had just
taken. “*Birkoff*?”
“That was my reaction!” Walter nodded in satisfaction.
“Your reaction to what, Walter?”
“Hi, Sugar.” He smiled at the blonde operative who slid
into the seat next to his. ‘I just found out that Birkoff is gay!”
“Oh, c’mon, Walter. It never crossed your mind?”
“You mean you knew?”
“Doesn’t everyone?” She snagged Michael’s cup away
from him and took a sip from it, smiling at him over the rim. “Hey, where’s
Davenport going?”
****
The only person in Comm was some nonentity of a woman who
Davenport had never seen before. Birkoff was not there. Neither was Hillinger.
The woman looked up, and suddenly she was no longer someone
who could be regarded as inconsequential. “Yes?” she asked, her brown eyes
frigid.
“I’m looking for Birkoff.”
Quinn shrugged dismissively. “Not here.” She went back
to loading a profile on the PDAs for the team waiting in the ready room.
“No shit!” Davenport curled his lip at her and strode
out of Comm, determined to track down the smaller man. He’d try his quarters.
Birkoff had his rooms in the part of Section that housed
all its senior operatives. Davenport’s were just a corridor over from his. The
cold op took the lift that stopped at that level.
When he reached Birkoff’s door, he tapped gently.
The door opened. “Yes?” Behind his tinted glasses, the
head of Comm’s eyes widened, and he tried to slam the door shut.
Davenport grinned and pushed. He advanced. Birkoff
retreated. “You should have checked before you answered the door, Birkoff.”
The smaller man nervously licked his lips. “What do you
want, Davenport?”
The big operative was calmly peeling off the padded vest he
had on. He tossed it aside and went to work on his tee shirt, revealing his
muscular chest.
“I understand you like your lovers hairless.”
“Huh?” Birkoff couldn’t take his eyes off
Davenport’s smooth torso.
“Good thing I fill the bill.”
“Huh?” Birkoff seemed to be having trouble stringing
together enough words to comprise a complete sentence.
Davenport shoved his mission pants down off his lean hips
and stood before the other man, naked. His Native American heritage was visible
in the sparse amount of hair that covered his body and the copper tones of his
skin.
But what riveted Birkoff’s eyes was the proudly jutting
arousal that sprang from Davenport’s groin.
“I want you, pretty boy!” Davenport backed him into the
bedroom.
“Hey, wait a minute!” Birkoff exclaimed, offended.
“Don’t I have any say in this matter?”
“Not this time,” the burly op informed him. He laced
his fingers with Birkoff’s and drew the smaller man to him, placing
Birkoff’s hands on Davenport’s taut buttocks. “You’re a little
overdressed for this hoedown, Birkoff.”
//I’m going to step away from him, right now!// Birkoff
told himself. //I’m going to tell him why this really isn’t a good idea.//
But the lips above his were so tempting, and surely just
one taste would not be a bad thing.
The head of Comm freed a hand and wound it around the
bigger man’s neck, drawing his face down to his.
“Just…just one kiss, Davenport. Then you get dressed
and go!”
He felt the cold operative’s lips smiling against his
mouth. A warm, moist tongue traced the seam of his lips, and helplessly, he
parted them, expecting his mouth to get fucked.
Instead, Davenport slid his tongue in almost delicately,
testing the different textures of Birkoff’s mouth: the ridges of his teeth,
the roughness of his tongue, the smooth tissue of his inner cheek.
Tentatively the smaller man licked at the burly operative's
tongue as it explored his mouth, then began sucking on it, and Davenport moaned
into his mouth. From some distant place, Birkoff felt fingers undoing his
trousers. They slid down his legs, and he stood there trembling while blunt
fingers explored the crevice between his buttocks, finding the tight ring of
muscle that guarded his opening.
Davenport urged him high on his thigh, encouraging the Comm
op to ride him. “Are you going to surrender to me, pretty boy?”
Birkoff nodded breathlessly. “Umm, Davenport, I’m not
really sure how to do this.”
His hands already reaching to stroke Birkoff’s growing
arousal, Davenport froze. “You mean I’ll be the first?”
Birkoff nodded again.
“I’m going to be the first one to slide into your
delectable ass? To brush against your hot spot and set you on fire?”
Birkoff’s mouth had gone dry. He wanted that, but…
“Don’t hurt me, Davenport,” he pleaded.
“Pretty boy, I’m going to make this so good for you!”
He scooped up his mission pants and withdrew a tube of lubricant from his
pocket. “Lucky for you I came prepared, baby.”
Birkoff froze. “You thought I would be that easy? I think
I’m insulted!”
Davenport’s lips parted in a sweet smile. “Let’s just
say I hoped I’d get lucky. Now lay down on the bed.”
The head of Comm did as he was instructed, shivering a
little. He had suspected this aspect of his nature, but had been reluctant to
explore it. The cold operative’s hands were spreading his thighs, stroking the
soft skin of his balls and the sensitive area just behind them.
Something cool touched his hole, and he tensed. “Relax,
baby. I promise I won’t hurt you!”
Davenport leaned forward to scatter kisses over Birkoff’s
back, then began working the lube into the virgin opening. He ran his nails over
the muscles of his lover’s back, distracting the smaller man from the initial
discomfort.
The burly op had never had a virgin before, but he
remembered his own first time, and the care his older lover had showered on him.
Carefully he withdrew his finger, squirted more lubricant into his hand, and
inserted two fingers. This time he found Birkoff’s gland, and the Comm
operative moaned and thrust back.
“That’s it, baby. Enjoy what I’m doing to you!”
Davenport ripped open the condom packet with his teeth and rolled in on with one
hand, while he continued stretching his lover.
“Davenport, will you tell me before you put it in?”
“You’ll be the first to know, pretty boy!” Davenport
pressed a kiss to the sweet curve of Birkoff’s ass, and then bit it gently.
The smaller man jumped and moved his hips restlessly.
The big operative got Birkoff’s knees up under him and
positioned his cock at the puckered opening. “Rest your head on your arms, and
don’t forget to breathe, baby. We’re gonna rock and roll!”
The broad head pressed steadily against Birkoff’s hole,
and then the muscle gave way before it. Davenport reached around him and took
his weeping erection in his hands, rubbing the drops of pre come that oozed from
it along the sides, while Birkoff tried to decide if he liked the feel of the
big man’s cock in his ass.
It hadn’t looked as if Davenport had a baseball bat
between his legs, but that was what it felt like.
And then the big op found the angle he was searching for
and stroked across Birkoff’s prostate. And Birkoff yelped.
Davenport stopped, the effort causing sweat to roll down
off his high cheekbones.
“Davenport! What are you doing?”
“Baby, I’m not doing anything! I don’t want to hurt
you!”
“Well, piss on that! Don’t you dare stop just when
it’s starting to get interesting! Start fucking me!”
Davenport grinned and began thrusting harder. Birkoff
matched his rhythm, and soon they were both approaching critical mass.
“Davenport!”
“Soon, baby!”
“Davenport! I can’t wait!” Birkoff’s balls
tightened, and he felt as if the top of his head was about to explode. And then
he was pouring himself into the hands that were holding him safe.
With one last, hard thrust, Davenport began to come, and
Birkoff shuddered at the heat that was filling him.
Davenport collapsed on the smaller man, and they both went
down to the mattress. He licked the comm operative’s shoulder.
“Davenport?”
“Hmm?”
“One question.”
“Hmm?”
“When can we do this again?”
****
Birkoff and Davenport walked into the commissary and looked
at the selections that Christopher was offering for dinner. Davenport held the
tray, and Birkoff placed their choices on it.
Michael and Nikita were sitting with Walter, who waved the
two operatives over to join them.
“All right, Sugar.” Walter’s voice was sterner than
they had ever heard it.
“What’s up, Walter?” Birkoff asked, sitting gingerly.
“You okay, amigo? You look like you picked up a limp
somewhere.”
The smile Birkoff gave his old friend was dazzling. “Not
a problem, Walter.”
“Um, Birkoff, Davenport, I owe you both an apology,”
Nikita said, unable to meet their eyes.
“How come?”
“Um, I was just teasing, and I hope I didn’t cause any problems between the two of you.” She slanted a glance at Walter, as if to ask how she was doing. He nodded and she continued. “You see, Davenport, Birkoff isn’t gay.”
~End~
