Title: It Can't Happen Here
Author/pseudonym: Silk and Tinnean
Fandom: La Femme Nikita
Pairing: Michael/Walter
Rating: NC-17
Status: New/Complete
E-mail address for feedback: silkn1@worldnet.att.net
or tinneantoo@aol.com
Series/sequel: No
Disclaimers: Owned by WB, USA, LFN Productions, and Fireworks
Entertainment. Operated by us. No operatives have been harmed in the making of
this fanfic. No money being made here. We can dream, though.
Notes: This story is AU. It takes place approximately twenty years ago in
Section's history. It presupposes that Walter was then the "Michael"
of his day, a Level 5 field op, and it starts on the day that Michael was recruited
into Section. In this story, Walter, not Jurgen, is Michael's trainer. The rest
follows from there. In other words, this is not canon.
Date: 7/00
Summary: What might have happened if Michael was Walter's material?
Warnings: AU. First Time. M/M consensual sex. This started out to be a
simple PWP, but along the way, it found a bit of a plot. Major angst.
*****
It Can't Happen Here
By ~Silk and Tinnean
Prologue
Michael strode into the Munitions area, glancing both ways before addressing
the senior operative there. Casting an almost forlorn look at the older man,
Michael placed his hands firmly on the counter in front of him.
"Walter?"
The head of Munitions turned slowly, his blue eyes losing their usual twinkle
upon registering Michael's presence. "What do you want, Michael?"
That could have come out weary...or sad...or any of a hundred different ways.
But today was an anniversary of sorts. Not a celebration. Just a marking of a
date well-known to both men.
Michael looked like his entire being ached to say something to cut the
seemingly impenetrable tension between himself and Walter, but his mouth closed
on air.
Walter sighed heavily, smoothing a hand back over his seriously thinning hair,
nearly dislodging the concealing colorful bandanna from its customary place.
"It's been too many years, Michael. Don't go there now."
A cold, shuttered look covered Michael's face. Displacing his anger to the most
convenient target, Michael snapped, "Like you wouldn't go there back
then?"
"That's right, Michael. Blame me." Walter tugged at the offending
bandanna, which had somehow been pushed askew.
"I do." The bleak look in Michael's eyes told a long story of pain,
both endured and inflicted, over the years.
A story that wasn't always painful....
...to begin with....
Part 1
There were voices. Everywhere. That was the first thing he noticed when he came
to. Echoes, too. Sound crashing into the thick white walls and reverberating
back into his ears. It was more than he could stand.
Then he heard it. The one voice that stood out from all the rest. It wasn't a
kind voice. It had color, texture, shape. It was like whiskey and tobacco
rolled into one. No, it wasn't a kind voice. But it soothed his pain when he
heard it.
"You planning on coming to anytime soon, boy?" the voice demanded.
"I feel sick," he confessed.
"I'll just bet you do," the voice agreed. "I sure hope you're
planning on staying awake for more than a minute this time. I got a lotta
ground to cover, and you're putting a crimp in the old schedule."
He struggled into a sitting position, vaguely aware that his hands were cuffed,
his feet bound. "Why am I tied up?"
"SOP."
At the boy's blank look, the owner of the voice said in an exasperated tone,
"Standard Operating Procedure."
"Why am I here?"
"Now ain't that the $64,000 question?" the voice asked rhetorically.
"Would you like the existential version or the gospel according to
Section?"
"What's Section?" the boy asked, frowning. He was quite a handsome
boy, actually. Young, of course. Most of the ones they took from the University
in Paris were. Students. Lots of unrest there. Demonstrations. Lots of excuses
for a covert anti-terrorist agency like Section to take advantage.
"You'll find out soon enough. First things first. What's the last thing
you remember?"
"I-I was in prison."
"For?"
"For conspiracy." At the older man's clearly impatient look, the boy
continued. "Planting a bomb."
"More than planting a bomb. You made the bomb. It went off. It killed
people. That's not exactly just planting a bomb."
The boy winced. Lofty ideals were one thing. Killing real people in the real
world was quite another. He learned that the hard way.
"So...my friend..." The older man gave the boy a tight smile that
didn't reach his eyes. "You were sentenced to die. Got some good news and
some bad news. The good news is...you're out of prison. The bad news is...you
didn't make it."
"What do you mean?" the boy quavered.
"Simple. You're dead."
The boy looked down at his arms and legs, as if trying to figure out how that
could be possible.
"Jee-zus. You're a college student, for Christ's sake. You were smart
enough to build a bomb from scratch, a bomb that killed about a hundred people.
Not bad for a kid who seems to have as much brainpower as that glass of orange
juice over there," the older man said, indicating the as yet untouched
breakfast tray on the floor next to the boy.
Green eyes met blue. "You seem to know a lot about me. Who are you?"
"My name's Walter." He leaned closer, his eyes glowing brilliantly
against tanned skin. He was a striking man. Powerfully built. But unusual. His
hair was coal-black, and it hung straight to his shoulders. Loose. An
intriguing look, but not that common today. It was the early '80's, after all.
At least, not that common in a man his age. He was close to 40, if he was a
day. But those eyes. No lightweight, pastel blue. No cute as a cornflower blue.
They were intensely
blue. Like cobalt.
He studied the boy. Shoulder-length hair the color of the earth. Brown, not brown.
Red, not red. Yet somehow both and neither. A wonderful blending of the two
without being either one. Eyes that flickered between verdant green and
smoke-gray.
"What was the name of that group you were with again?"
"L'Heure Sanguine." There it was. He was a native speaker. French.
But his English was good. Barely a trace of an accent. But what there
was...interesting.
"Yeah." Walter lit a cigarette and blew the smoke into the young
man's face. The boy coughed and waved his cuffed hands in front of him, trying
to shift the smoke away.
"Here's the rundown, Chief. You're dead. No one gives a damn about your
sorry ass anymore. This place is called Section. No one gives a damn about your
sorry ass in here either. 'Cept me. You're mine."
The young man's eyes grew wide. "What does that mean?" For a moment,
he was truly frightened, thinking that he was going to become the paramour of
some rich but jaded eccentric.
"Exactly what it sounds like, Sunshine. I bark, you beg. I'm top dog, and
don't you ever forget that." Walter reached out and stroked the boy's face
with a roughened fingertip. "You're my bitch, sweetheart," he said
softly.
His nostrils flared as he moved even closer to the boy. "I say whether you
live...or die." He paused for effect. But the effect was ruined when the
boy, who couldn't be more than nineteen, stared coldly back at the older man.
"I'm already dead, old man."
Walter nodded slowly. He liked that. That spirit. Good. Despite everything he
had been through, the boy hadn't lost his spirit. Of course, Section would
greatly enjoy crushing the life out of this one.
His lips curled back, exposing sharp, white teeth. "Be careful. There are
worse things than dying in this place...."
The boy met his gaze evenly. "You'd better tell me, then. My imagination
isn't that good."
Walter whistled under his breath. This one was going to give them all a run for
their money. This...what was the kid's name?
Oh, yeah.
Michael Samuelle.
***
He was awakened at 4 am. It was difficult to sleep here. The room was
blindingly white. The walls were supposedly soundproofed. Yet he constantly
heard things he didn't want to hear. For a moment, he wondered if they were
importing frightening sounds, piping them into the room via some sort of
hi-tech PA system. Keeps the operatives on their toes. Yeah, losing control of
your life, or death, had that effect on you.
He opened his eyes slowly. That man was back. The middle-aged hippie. Gut
feeling. He always trusted his gut feeling.
Gut feeling said: He's no hippie. No wild look in *those* eyes. No clandestine
trips to the loo to smoke a joint. Bet he doesn't even know the words to
In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida.
He blinked and smiled to himself. There were *words* to In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida?
Suddenly his eyes started to close, and he drifted towards sleep again. A
booted toe kicked him in the forehead. "Hey!"
"Hay is for horses, kid," the dude with the attitude snorted.
Michael mumbled something under his breath, and Walter abruptly kicked him
again. "Knock it off!"
"Knock it off? Did you say, knock it off? I ought to knock your fucking
head off for talking back to me, boy! Didn't you hear a single word I said
yesterday?"
Michael rubbed the place where Walter's boot had connected with his head.
"Yeah."
"Yeah, what?"
Michael raised wounded eyes to Walter, but the tragic glare was gone seconds
later, as if he'd imagined it. In its place, a blank stare.
"Do you understand the basic concept of a paramilitary organization,
Michael?"
Michael shook his head numbly.
"No? Well, why am I not surprised?" Walter's index finger poked
insistently and repeatedly into Michael's personal space. It was getting
on his nerves.
"Could you n-not do that, pl-please?" Michael asked softly, angered
that he was betraying any sort of feeling to these...thought police types.
"Awww, pussycat, did I hurt your feelings? Whatsamatter, college
boy?"
"I-I d-don't l-like b-being touched, that's all."
"That's all? That's a hell of a fucking lot, if you ask me." Walter
hunkered down on his haunches, his black leather mission pants fitting snugly
around his hips. Every single muscle was outlined. Including the very large
bump dead center between his legs.
Shit, his crotch was practically in his face. Michael resisted the urge to
spit, feeling as though he'd swallowed something vile.
"You're a pretty boy, y'know," Walter mused aloud. "Section just
*loves* pretty boys. Yeah...they'll eat you for breakfast."
Michael allowed his apathetic facade to drop, the magnificence of those vibrant
green eyes shining through in all their glory. "Shit." The kid was
more than just a pretty boy. There was real intellect in those eyes, not to
mention that fucking spirit that he refused to give up.
Hell, the kid was beautiful. Fucking A.
And that was just with his senses turned all the way down. Hell, he hadn't
lasted all these years in Section without a very strong sense of
self-preservation. Getting involved with someone who more than likely didn't
have much longer to live was hardly a good career move.
But then...Walter was a non-conformist before anything else. A dangerous trait
to allow free rein. Especially in a place like Section.
"I can protect you, son."
Michael's green eyes glinted fiercely. "From who?"
"From the people who run this place."
"And who'll protect me from you?"
*****
Part 2
Michael proffered his cuffed wrists to the intimidating man who stood before
him, waiting patiently to be freed. "If you plan on teaching me anything I
don't already know, perhaps it would be best if I ate something?"
Turning his head aside to hide a smile, Walter pulled the small key out of his
vest pocket and unfastened the cuffs. "Ya got grit, kid. I'll say that for
you. Now eat breakfast. I got big plans for the day!"
****
With a jolt, Michael sat up in bed. His skin felt clammy and long shudders
wracked his adolescent frame. That damned dream. That goddamned, fucking dream!
He could not get his first meeting with the Level 5 operative out of his head.
And so he dreamed it again and again. Only, the older man had never made a move
on him, not really. He had never even said anything remotely sexual.
Sitting on the edge of his bed, his elbows on his knees, he supported his head
in his hands. So why was Michael still dreaming of something that never
happened?
Walter had never slid a hand between his parted knees. He had never cupped
Michael's hardening flesh in his fingers. He had never run his thumbnail over
the bulge in the young recruit's jeans.
Michael shuddered.
But he wanted to feel the older operative's hands on him! He wanted Walter's
fingers pinching his nipples. He wanted his erection rubbing demandingly
against his own.
A fine would-be operative he was!
Well, he'd just bury those feelings deep inside himself. He'd work hard and
make Walter proud of him.
He'd become the best damned operative Section One had ever turned out.
And he would never, *ever* let anyone know how he really felt.
*****
Part 3
A whiskey-and-smoke-flavored voice woke Michael from the light doze he finally
fell into around dawn. "You awake, Sunshine?"
Michael grimaced. There was a terrible taste in his mouth. He felt like he'd
been run over by a lorry. But that wasn't the worst of it. He hadn't slept in
days, thanks to that recurring dream of his. A dream he had no hope of
realizing.
They had left him in here. In The White Room. He always imagined it was
capitalized, like a proper place name should be. Whenever someone said it, he
could hear the capital letters in their voice. Not a white room. Or a room that
happened to be white. But The White Room.
Walter had not been back to see him until now. He assumed that the past 48
hours was supposed to be some sort of 'wait and see' period, where he weighed
what was left of his life and decided if he wanted to spend it in here. Or was
it Section that got the opportunity to decide if they wanted to
keep him or cut him loose?
Somehow he was sure that the word 'cut' was taken literally around here.
His preoccupation did not go unnoticed by Walter. "Must have been one hell
of a dream, amigo."
Michael stared at the older man in horror, certain that his secret had slipped
out, during his restless attempts to sleep. No longer concealed behind the
protective facade of the blank stare, Michael felt like one giant exposed nerve
ending. Leading directly to his groin.
Walter lay a big hand on Michael's shoulder, and Michael virtually froze in
place. "Don't!"
"Don't what?" Walter gave the young recruit a puzzled look. He
adjusted his bandanna in an effort to conceal his already-thinning hair. He was
vain about his looks, but there was a good reason for that. In Section, one was
only as good as his last mission, report, set of numbers. Part of Walter's
stock in trade was his roguish demeanor, his relatively intact 'package', his
still-hard-as-a-rock body.
"Don't touch me," Michael whispered, his face flaming as he abruptly
realized the sheet was no longer hiding the catastrophically huge erection he
had. Something came up, he whimpered to himself, the moment that Walter touched
me.
"Why not?" Walter snapped, jumping to the wrong conclusion. He
assumed wrongly that Michael had taken a dislike to him. Not that it mattered
one way or another. Here in Section, no one gave a good goddamn what your
personal opinion of anyone was. Personality? What was that?
It was a shame, though. He liked the look of the boy. He was not traditionally
handsome, Walter knew that, but there was something arresting about the look of
him. Added to that, there was a charisma, an energy that the boy gave off. It
was very...well, attractive, for lack of a better word.
Never mind that Walter was defiantly a man's man. If there was a pair of
panties within ten miles, he could be in and out in under an hour. Even if he
was forced to make polite conversation first. He was *that* smooth.
Frustrated by Michael's apparent inability to speak, Walter examined him a bit
more closely. His color was high, like he was feverish. Damn, he wasn't sick
when he came in. How--? And then there was his breathing, all hitches and
starts, like he was going to freaking hiccup himself to death. This was
definitely *not* the same kid. What happened?
"What happened to you, kid?" Walter asked, unable to mask the concern
in his normally effervescent blue eyes.
You, Michael answered silently, not trusting himself to speak. I want you to
touch me, so bad I can taste it. But nice boys don't play those kinds of games,
and certainly not with dirty old men.
'Did someone hurt you?" Walter had kept a close eye on what happened to
Michael during his absence, but he couldn't be sure that someone had *not*
tried to take advantage of him. He *was* worth having. Damn, he *was*.
"No," Michael whispered, averting his face.
"Are you sure?"
"Yeah."
All at once, Walter saw the way Michael cradled his crotch. Oh, shit, the kid had
an early morning woody. No wonder he was embarrassed.
His blue eyes softening, Walter said kindly, "You're not the first guy to
wake up with one of those, you know."
Michael turned wounded eyes on the older operative. "I had a dream,"
he whispered.
"Yeah, yeah, listen, I know all about those kinds of dreams. Hell, I
prolly invented 'em."
Not like this you didn't. You're starring in the technicolor gang bang in my
head, old man. You think you can deal with *that*?
"Umm...."
Walter rolled his eyes. "Oh, I get it. You're a bit shy, what with all the
surveillance and all. Hell, you won't even notice it after a while, and hey,
it's not as bad as having someone watching you pee."
"So...you wouldn't have a problem with me taking care of this?"
Michael asked hesitantly, an odd glint in his now bright-green eyes.
"Nah. What's an erection between friends?"
Michael's eyes widened. "Is that what we are, Walter? Friends?"
"Well, not yet, kid. But we could be."
His unexpectedly raised hopes dashed, Michael sighed.
Walter bent down and cupped the boy's chin in his hands. "You do anything
you have to, kid, to get yourself a little relief. Okay?"
So Michael kissed him.
On the mouth.
It didn't last very long, what with Walter hooting and hollering and jumping back,
like a snake had bitten him, but it was enough. Michael hid his face against
his hands, wishing there were a deep, dark hole he could throw himself into.
That was when he realized something else.
Walter was staring at him.
Walter knelt down again, one hand reaching out to cover Michael's massive
erection. Michael stiffened. It took all of his control to keep his libido from
raging wildly out of control.
"Is this for me, kid?"
*****
Part 4
Long lashes drifted down and concealed Michael's eyes, which had turned a
brilliant green. Although there was a sheet between his naked erection and
Walter's callused hand, he could feel it as if they were flesh to flesh.
Involuntarily, his hips thrust upward, driving his aroused cock against the
grip that held him.
It just *wasn't* enough! The thrust wasn't hard enough; the grip wasn't hard
enough. He needed...more. He needed to feel the older man buried deep inside
him, commanding him, dominating him, forcing him to come. He shivered.
"Walter!" The whispered moan shuddered past his parted lips. "I
want..."
The senior operative released the younger man and eased back on his haunches.
"I know what you want."
Michael turned his face away, ashamed.
He had experimented somewhat while he was at University, and had learned to
judge who it was safe to approach. He *never* made mistakes that way: it could
be too costly. France was still a Catholic country that frowned mightily on
homosexuality. He would have lost his scholarship and his freedom.
How could he have fucked up so badly this time? "I'm sorry!"
Strong fingers cupped his chin and forced his face toward the cold operative.
"It's okay, you just took me by surprise. There was nothing in your
dossier that indicated you sailed that side of the lake."
"Am I going to be canceled?" Michael managed to ask the question.
"Nah, Section doesn't work that way. They don't waste a single operative.
After you're finished with your scheduled training in blowing up buildings and
learning how to kill people 50 different ways, they'll want teach you how to
manipulate a person sexually."
"Quoi?" Now Michael was totally confused.
"You'll become a valentine op. I think you'd be very good at it. You've
got a good body. Take care of it. You've got beautiful eyes; you'll learn to
use them to your advantage. And your mouth..." Walter lost himself
contemplating Michael's mouth, the lush curve of his lower lip that just seemed
to beg to be taken between the older operative's teeth and suckled.
Although Walter had a reputation as a sex machine who tried his luck with all
the female operatives, buried deep in his shadowy past was a time he avoided
thinking about. A time when he had been stationed out in California and had met
someone...special.
****
It was during the time of the 'police action' in Viet Nam, just before he was
to be shipped out. Things had been so crazy.
There were protests. Oh, not as bad as UC Berkley, but the college students
still marched and made their voices heard.
And there was apathy. A lot of their parents just didn't care.
And there was the hedonistic enjoyment of anonymous bodies and chemicals and
music. They found refuge in sex and drugs and rock and roll.
Walter had needed to get away from it for a while. He drove up to San Francisco
on a three day pass. A tour of the locations of Dashielle Hammett's The Maltese
Falcon sounded good, and he shared a seat with a young man who was a low-level
white collar worker playing hooky for the day. They had laughed and commented
on the various places they saw, comfortable in the way strangers sometimes can
become.
The younger man suggested they have lunch. The afternoon wore on and Walter
suggested dinner.
Afterwards they went to a jazz club for a drink, which led to another. And
another. And another.
And they somehow wound up in a hotel room, in bed. Together.
Walter had never made love to another man before, but that's what it had been
for him. Not buggering. Not fucking. Not screwing. Making love.
He hadn't much of a clue as to how to go about it, but he had sucked his
companion's cock to a quivering erection, and then a bar of soap from the
shower helped ease his entry into the hot, snug passage of the younger man. Walter
had tangled his hands in the collar-length, ash brown hair, gently pulling his
head back to enable him to ravage his throat with stinging kisses. His cock had
teased its way past the tight ring of muscle that guarded his partner's virgin
opening and had set up an easy thrusting that took them both closer and closer
to fulfillment. The younger man had come first, his semen spattering his chest
and the bedspread beneath them. Walter followed with a hoarse groan.
The next morning had found them returning to the real world with a resounding
'thud'. The young man was horrified. His hazel eyes had widened with dismay and
he dove into the shower, scrubbing his skin until it was raw. He barely took
the time to throw on his rumpled suit, and then he was out the door, without a
word, without a backward glance.
Leaving Walter to try to make some sense of what he had done.
He had foolishly, impetuously, hopelessly fallen in love.
****
"What, kid?" Walter suddenly realized the young recruit had asked him
something. He had been so lost in the past he hadn't heard a word.
Licking lips that had gone dry, the younger man gazed helplessly at the
operative before him. "Who will train me for that?" he repeated.
Walter gave him a lopsided grin. "That's Section's call, Green Eyes."
But, oh, I would *love* to be the one!
Those eyes. They were what had sent him back to that wonderful, horrible period
in his life. Walter rose lithely to his feet and backed away from the younger
man.
Michael studied his hands, which were clenched tightly, the knuckles white.
Although he had been quite willing to die when he had first been brought to
Section, now he discovered that he very much wanted to live.
And he would do whatever Section deemed necessary to keep himself alive: kill,
manipulate. Have sex with whoever he was ordered to.
And maybe, just *maybe*, it would be Walter he was ordered to have sex with!
*****
Part 5
"No, no, no, Michael. You're doing it wrong."
Walter reached around the young operative, placing his hands over Michael's on
the gun. The intimacy of the gesture was not lost on either one of them.
Walter's movement brought their bodies into such proximity, it made both of them
ache. But the shooting range was hardly the place for a clandestine meeting. Of
any kind.
Walter took a step closer, ostensibly to further adjust Michael's grip on the
gun. But now his jean-clad body pressed even more firmly against Michael. His
cock chose that moment to take notice, deciding that Michael's firm young
buttocks were exactly what it wanted to explore.
Walter's hands never left Michael's, nor did he stop talking about how Michael
could improve his grip. But neither one of them was really listening to what
Walter was saying. Walter surreptitiously nudged his half-hardened length into
the crevice between Michael's buttocks.
He knew when Michael registered the feel of him. Walter felt Michael's whole
body tense at first, then relax, allowing Walter greater access. All around
them, guns were shooting, exploding, their noise almost deafening. But Michael
heard none of it. He was tuned into Walter's voice, purring deep and gravelly
into his ear.
When Walter's breath hissed across the top of his ear, Michael closed his eyes
and swayed. I could come from that alone. Control, control, he reminded
himself. I've always been able to control myself. Mind and body. But this...this
was something he could not control.
It was more than raging hormones racing throughout his body, seeking the only
outlet they could find. Michael trembled within the quasi-embrace they shared.
This filled him with a desperation that rivaled his initial desire to escape.
He was afraid. But not of dying. Of being in love. With a man who could easily
invoke the power of life or death over him. In a place where love was a four
letter word.
"Take it easy, Sunshine," Walter whispered. "You're gonna be
okay."
I don't think so, Walter. I don't think I'm ever going to be okay again.
Walter abruptly released Michael's hands. "You try it now," he said
in a semblance of his normal voice.
Michael's tongue flicked out to moisten his lips, and Walter stepped away from
the younger man, knowing it was wrong to pursue this. "Do it," he
commanded, referring to firing the gun.
Michael's startled green eyes met Walter's. The gun discharged, seemingly of
its own volition, and to Michael's amazement, he actually hit the target.
That wasn't all.
Walter's voice, gruff and authoritarian, provoked Michael into a response he
might never have made otherwise. At the moment he fired his gun, he came, hard,
in his pants.
Michael slowly lowered the gun, wondering how he would ever get through the
next few minutes. Walter never took his eyes off his trainee as he reached out
for the gun. Michael lay the weapon across Walter's palm, mesmerized by the
look in Walter's eyes.
Walter's fingers involuntarily closed around the metal, not even registering
the white hot burn inflicted. The pain would do him good. A muscle twitched in
Walter's tanned face, the only sign that he was not as calm as he looked.
Was that for me, too, kid? Shit, Green Eyes, it can't happen here. You're a
bright boy. You know why.
When Michael suddenly broke the silence, it took both of them by surprise.
"I need to get cleaned up," he said, abruptly aware that he didn't
need to explain.
"Yeah, sure, Sunshine." Walter dismissed Michael, automatically
advising him to report back in the afternoon for further instruction.
He felt Michael's gaze on him, like it was a physical thing. The young
operative passed Walter, his shoulder lightly grazing Walter's. Walter's big
hand clamped down on that shoulder. "Michael...."
Michael's nostrils flared, as if he could somehow scent the older man's
arousal. "Yes?"
The fact that he left off the 'sir' hit Walter immediately. Ordinarily, he
would have taken a trainee to task for a lapse like that. But he found the
words frozen in his mouth. He wanted it to be personal. Hell, he wanted it to
be damned personal. As personal as it could get.
But an affair would only make things worse. Michael was Walter's material.
Walter had no right to indulge in a little abuse of power trip. He wasn't like
that.
He didn't want to command Michael to have sex with him. He wanted Michael to
come to him, willingly, risking what little life he had left to be with him.
Make love with him. God, that was it.
Michael continued to look expectantly in Walter's direction, and all at once,
Walter realized that he had never voiced another word.
"Michael...." he repeated.
Michael regarded him impassively, his blank stare now firmly fixed in place. Christ,
Walter thought, he had considerable aplomb for someone who just came in his
pants.
"It can't happen here."
Michael gave Walter an enigmatic half-smile. In one of the most incautious
gestures Walter had ever seen, Michael reached over and grasped Walter's
erection tightly in his hand, feeling his heat even through the fabric of his
jeans.
"Are you talking to me...or to yourself?"
*****
Part 6
For one unbelievable, heart-stopping moment, Walter's hand covered Michael's as
it grasped the older operative's straining erection and he pressed it hard
against his quivering flesh.
Michael found himself aroused and sweating in spite of the fact that he had
just climaxed moments ago. He hadn't had such an uncontrolled response since
his early adolescence.
His words hung between them on the suddenly silent air. "Are you talking
to me...or to yourself?"
"Do you want to see us both dead, Sunshine?" Walter hissed, suddenly
returning to the reality of where they were. He flung the younger man's hand
away and spun on his heel, his face set in cold lines.
Asshole, asshole, asshole!
But he didn't know if he was castigating the trainee he felt such lust for, or
himself.
Michael looked too much like the first man Walter had ... cared about.
A disconcerting thought came to him. Did Michael really look like Walter's lost
love? Or just Walter's memory of him? Suddenly, Walter could no longer
trust his judgment.
The cold operative slammed into his quarters and secured his door. Locks meant
squat in Section, but at least they offered some sense of security, albeit only
a false one.
Ripping off his clothes and letting them lie wherever they fell, he strode into
his bathroom and turned on the shower with a vicious twist. Looking down at
himself, he saw his cock jutting impudently up against his firm abdomen. Trying
to resist the temptation to close his eyes and take it in his hand, imagining
that Michael's fingers were stroking it, Walter stepped under the cold spray.
But the temperature of the water didn't matter. His hard-on refused to subside,
imperatively demanding attention instead. With a groan, Walter surrendered and
slid his fingers down his groin to grasp the hot flesh that taunted him.
Already a bead of his essence had pearled on the tip of his cock, and he rubbed
it over the reddened head with his thumb, teasing the slit. The fingers of his
other hand stroked the twin jewels that swung heavily between his legs.
Impatiently he sought the tingling that began at the base of his spine and
presaged the beginning of an orgasm.
Try as he might, the feeling eluded him.
And then a hot, willing mouth engulfed his turgid flesh, teeth scored its
length and a tongue lapped at it. Now the tingling started. His hips rocked
forward, driving his cock deep into the mouth that suckled him.
With a hoarse shout he began to come, spurting his essence...
Over his hand, over the wall of the shower, over his abdomen.
Reluctantly he opened his eyes, finding himself alone, as he had known all
along he truly was.
But not for long! He was the master of his fate, inasmuch Section let him be.
He would take the first female operative he came across and fuck her blind. The
women of Section had made it more than plain that they found him very
appealing, in a dark, dangerous way.
He would not be a slave to his cock, which apparently wanted the recruit who
had been given to him. Walter would screw that notion right out of it!
Roughly drying himself off, the cold op could feel waves of depression washing
over him.
Who was he kidding? He did not want a woman. He wanted the youth he was
training!
****
Michael had retreated to the quarters set aside for the new recruits.
Fortunately, at that time of day there was no one there. He gathered up clean
clothing and headed for the shower.
Stripping off the sticky trousers that were a constant reminder of how he had
lost control, he silently cursed himself for driving away his mentor, when he
had been so close to getting what he wanted from him.
"You just had to go and touch him, didn't you? Fool! You're such a
fool!"
But he had seen how aroused his climax had made the older man, and he couldn't
resist touching him. Walter had been very hard, his heat scorching Michael's
hand through the fabric of his jeans.
Dismayed, Michael looked down now and saw that his cock had once again grown
painfully erect. He groaned softly and turned on the shower.
Efficiently he scrubbed himself clean. But he couldn't prevent himself from
lightly tugging the length of his arousal, and then squeezing it tighter, until
his grip became almost painful. His other hand slick from the soap, he caressed
his balls, and then rubbed the sensitive flesh behind them.
The tiny puckered opening lured him to dip past the tight ring of tissue,
pressing his finger further and further in. A second finger joined the first,
and he struggled to synchronize the movements of both hands, but the feelings
built upon each other. Soft moans spilled from his mouth as water cascaded down
upon him. His fingers probed deeper, stroked harder, but orgasm eluded
him.
And then he imagined Walter doing this to him, sliding his hard cock deep into
his ass, positioning Michael's hips so the cold operative could fuck him
wildly, madly, passionately, angling for maximum depth and pleasure!
Michael came all over his hand and chest, and slumped to the floor of the
shower stall, exhausted by the emotional turmoil as well as having come twice
in less than an hour.
"Yo, Michael! Leave some hot water for the rest of us!" one of the
recruits he shared these quarters with called as he banged on the bathroom
door.
Michael staggered out of the shower and dried himself off. He was surprised to
find himself hungry. A glance at his wristwatch as he slid it on revealed that
it was almost dinnertime.
Walter would definitely be down in the commissary. He was nothing it not a
creature of habit, and he ate at the same time every day.
His recruit determined to join him. Proximity had to count for something! From
now on Walter would think he had grown another appendage! Michael planned on
gluing himself to the older operative's hip.
He had heard about the deep sub-basements of Section, where the surveillance
cameras couldn't go. If it was the last thing he did, he was going to lure
Walter down there.
And get the cold op's hot flesh into him!
*****
Part 7
True to his word, Michael dogged Walter's footsteps. Every time Walter turned
around, Michael was there. But he was smart. He wore no knowing smirk; he
played no foolish word games. He simply offered his presence.
And it was driving Walter crazy.
Walter ignored it as long as he could. But one afternoon, one long and
particularly trying afternoon, he snapped. "Good Christ, Michael, what the
fuck are you trying to do to me?" he hissed, as always mindful of the
hypervigilant Section eyes and ears.
Michael regarded his mentor blankly. "Excusez-moi?"
With only a quick and incautious glance in either direction, Walter slammed Michael's
body into the nearest wall. Let people watching think he was merely manhandling
his trainee. He was. God, and he was loving it!
"Why, you little cockteaser, I oughta--" The sparkle in Walter's blue
eyes flared into a veritable conflagration, and Michael had the sense that he
was not the only one who was going to get burned.
His large, calloused hands gripping the lapels of Michael's mission jacket,
Walter drew so near, Michael could feel his breath on his face. On his mouth.
Oh, God. He closed his eyes, certain Walter could feel his diamond-hard
erection straining to break free from its bonds within his pants.
His teeth bared in what could only be a feral grimace, Walter snarled,
"For two cents, I'd fuck your ass so hard, you wouldn't be able to sit
down for a week."
Michael gasped. Walter smiled, thinking he had finally managed to scare the
crap out of the kid. But no....
Michael's eyes widened and flew to a point beyond Walter. Walter turned
involuntarily and cried, "Shit!" in a low, grating whisper.
"Is there a problem here?" Operations' silky-smooth smarm poured over
Walter like something viscous.
Unable to prevent a moue of disgust from distorting his mouth, Walter winced at
Operations' reaction.
"I said...is there a *problem* here?" Operations repeated. This time
minus the supposed charm.
"Yeah," Walter answered reluctantly, drawing another gasp from
Michael's lips. Dear God, even with Paul standing inches away from him, Walter
could feel himself hardening in response to the thought of Michael's mouth. On
him. Drawing him in. Sucking....
Operations waited expectantly for Walter to continue.
Walter blinked. "But nothing I can't handle."
"Then handle it somewhere else. We don't need every operative in Section
watching you ream a recruit's tender young ass." At Walter's unavoidably
shocked look, the man formerly known as Paul Wolfe smiled. He was aptly named.
For his smile was definitely vulpine.
"Figuratively, of course." Unlike Michael, Operations had no such
compunction about playing enigmatic word games with Walter. He knew exactly
what he was saying. He suspected that Walter had become a trifle too attached
to his material. Ah, well, it happened.
But it was nothing that a couple of good hard strokes in the confines of one's
bed couldn't take care of. Or was it?
***
Take care of it. That's what Operations was saying. Take care of it.
Walter swallowed hard and gritted his teeth. He wanted the young trainee with a
fervor that frightened him. Ops was saying, Sure, knock yourself out, have a
good time. Fuck the kid. But move on. Get over it.
Walter strode down the corridor, away from Operations, Michael in tow. In fact,
Michael, despite his superior height, struggled to keep up with the older man's
pace.
"Where...where are we going?"
"Down."
Michael gulped. Down? What was down? Down didn't seem like a good direction.
Things that went down might not come back up.
"What's downstairs?"
"Sub-levels," Walter replied tersely, cutting off further talk with a
sharp gesture to his lips.
Michael shook his head, his shoulder-length hair curling around the nape of his
neck in a capricious manner. Almost tantalizing Walter. Teasing him. Making him
want to touch it, taste it in his mouth. God, how sick was that?
When they reached the elevators, Walter stopped, so suddenly that Michael
nearly collided with him. "S-sorry."
Walter threw his pointing (hell, accusing was more like it, he hoped like hell
Michael would shut up) finger in Michael's face. Each stab of his finger like a
physical blow.
"Shut the fuck up, if you know what's good for you, boy. I mean it."
Michael obeyed. Without question.
***
When they arrived in the sub-levels, Michael's first thought was, It's so dark,
how can anyone see what they're do--? Oh. Ohhh....
His heart beat faster. Even as his cock swelled in his pants.
Walter suddenly thrust Michael into the dark recesses of the corridor, and
Michael almost yelled, his surprise was so great.
He couldn't see. He really couldn't see. His eyes tried to adjust to the lack
of light, his pupils dilating as far as they would go. In vain. All in vain.
Walter repeated his earlier gesture, body slamming Michael into what seemed to
be another wall. Michael's face pressed hard and fast against the wall, he
could feel hands grip his waist, unbuckle his pants....
The air was cold on his hot flesh. It should have cooled him down. It didn't.
It was every bit as arousing as it was unexpected.
But he just had to say something. He had to know.
"Walter...is that all I am, just an anonymous fuck?"
The hands stilled where they were. Then the sibilant hiss came back, echoing in
his ears and down the length of that subterranean blackness.
"If Operations says that's what you are, Sunshine...no one better argue
with him. Least of all, me."
"Then you think it will all end here?" Michael sounded resigned, yet
his voice was tinged with something else. Sadness? Regret, perhaps?
"I know it will."
"Ah...." Michael nodded, even though the older man, like him, could
not see. Unseen, unnoticed, his green eyes filled with tears. Frustration.
Fear. But most of all...something far more forbidden....
Love.
Walter knew better than to try to penetrate an untried ass without preparation
or lubrication. It would be painful for both of them. But he had to do something.
This close to his heart's desire was making him achingly aware of his true
feelings.
Carelessly shoving his own pants down, just enough to bare his groin, his
burgeoning erection, the tip already slicked with the first drops of his
essence, sprung forth, popping itself into that soft, shadowy crevice between
Michael's buttocks.
He wanted to be inside him. Christ, it was killing him to--
--rub himself, wet, hard, slippery, along the crack of Michael's ass.
Oh, God, he couldn't hold on. He hadn't felt such a loss of control in years.
Come, wet, hot, slippery, jetted from the tip of his cock in three long, deep
spurts. Emptying himself against Michael's ass and back, his cock rode the
outer perimeters of the sweet, come-filled track it wanted to
possess.
Heaving himself against Michael's body with a groan, he abruptly realized that
he was the only one who could claim satisfaction. Reaching around Michael's
waist, he slid his hands lower. Slowly, inexorably, until he gripped Michael's
still-erect manhood.
Telling himself that he was only doing this to finish things between them, he
pumped Michael's cock, harder, faster, deeper, ignoring Michael's barely
audible noises.
"Come, goddammit! You little prick, I'll teach you to fuck with things you
don't understand!"
Still, Michael resisted him. Whether through sheer physical stamina or will,
Walter couldn't be sure.
Finally, Walter gathered a liberal amount of the fresh come coating Michael's
back and stroked it gently, almost lovingly, up and down the hardened length of
Michael's cock.
"From me...to you...sweetheart," he whispered, biting down hard on
Michael's shoulder.
Michael's cock jumped obediently in Walter's hands, and with a slow, shivery
shudder, Michael came.
His hands suddenly filled to overflowing with Michael's hot life essence,
Walter listened to Michael's breathing begin to slow, grow more regular. Laying
his cheek against Michael's shoulder, all at once he drew back.
The metallic tang of blood in his mouth, at first he thought he must have
bitten his lip during climax. But no... Carefully nudging Michael's shoulder,
he felt the ragged edge of the small laceration he'd made.
Part of him was appalled. That he could do such a thing to anyone was bad
enough. But to bestow such an animalistic gesture upon someone he actually lo--
Oh, yeah. I marked you for life. What an honor, kid.
Suddenly Walter laughed, the sound obscenely loud in the hushed hallway. Ops'
solution? Get over it.
Well, it was done. But it wasn't over.
"*Now* you're my bitch, sweetheart," Walter whispered hoarsely
against Michael's nape. "*My* material...*my*....."
His words trailed off even as they sank into the hopeless morass that Walter
called a brain.
Just plain *mine*.
*****
Part 8
With a stifled cry, Michael sat bolt upright in bed. His legs tangled in
the sweat-soaked sheets, his chest heaving with each painful breath, his
eyes searched, wild and panicked, the stygian night of his bedroom.
Although his groin was sticky with semen, his cock was still hard.
It had been days since Walter had taken Michael to the sub-levels of Section,
and had climaxed against his ass. In spite of the young recruit's best efforts
to remain in control, the older operative had forced him to come as well. He
had bitten him until he bled. He had called him 'his'. And then he
had kissed him, hot, passionate kisses that left him ravished. Tongues dueling,
teasing, tasting, probing.
And then Walter had turned on his heel and left him, deep in the bowels of
Section. If life hadn't taught him it was useless, Michael would have wept out
his loss there in the darkness.
Numbly, he had pulled trousers up over his shaking legs and fastened his belt
buckle. He had run a hand through his hair, trying to give it some semblance of
order. For a moment, he gave in to his despair, leaning his head against the
wall where Walter had let him taste heaven, and then snatched it away from him.
How many times had he managed to get close to the older man, only to be thrust
away? No more! he vowed. He just could not take it! All he wanted was peace.
But peace eluded him. Days were spent in Walter's company, learning the tricks
of the operative's trade, working so hard that he hoped sweet oblivion would
welcome him into her arms each night.
But nights were spent tossing and turning, exhausted but unable to sleep. And
when he finally managed to succumb to fatigue, he was ambushed by the dreams.
In each dream Walter would shove him up against the wall and strip his
trousers from him. And in each dream Walter would walk away from him, leaving
him on the brink of orgasm, trembling and unfulfilled.
****
A soft tap sounded on his door. Michael scrubbed his face and then reached for
his shorts. Sliding them on over his long legs, the recruit got to his feet and
tottered for a brief moment, trying to regain his equilibrium.
The tapping came again. Sighing deeply, Michael made his way to the door and
carelessly flung it open.
Standing there, looking absolutely disreputable...absolutely gorgeous...was
Walter.
The bandanna he had recently taken to wearing, to conceal what he saw as his
thinning hair, was hanging lopsided over one ear. A shirt tail was hanging
loose and the buttons were mismatched. He grinned and slurred, "Hi, sweet
cheeks!"
Michael could smell the sweet odor of alcohol. "Have you been drinking,
Walter?"
"Hell yes!" the cold op chortled. "And I've had me a snootful,
too! You gonna invite me in, baby doll?"
The recruit narrowed his eyes at his mentor. "Can you give me one good
reason why I should?"
The corner of Walter's mouth twisted in a grin. "Because you love
me?"
Michael gasped and tried to slam the door shut, but Walter was already pushing
his way into the room. He staggered just a trifle, and lurched to a table that
sat, bare, near the door to the bedroom.
The younger man closed his door and reluctantly watched his mentor, fascinated
in spite of himself.
Fumbling in his vest pocket, Walter finally got his hand around whatever was
hiding in there and pulled it out. Setting his legs wide apart for balance, the
cold operative placed the object on the table and turned a switch. "Now we
won't be disturbed." The drunk who had knocked on Michael's door was gone,
and in his place, the competent operative who was most senior in his
department.
Against his will, Michael stepped closer to the man who held his heart in his
callused hands. Curiously he asked, "What is that?"
"Just a little something I whipped up in the last couple of days. I wanted
to make sure when I took you, we wouldn't draw any unnecessary attention."
"You're--you're going to take me?"
"Damn straight, babycakes! Did you think what we did the last time was
enough?"
"You left me so abruptly, I didn't know what to think. And you've been so
distant, so aloof. I thought you scratched your itch, and were done with
me!"
Walter crowded close to the younger man, rocking his hips forward, letting him
feel the arousal that was growing increasingly more urgent. "Oh, I
scratched that itch all right, but I barely touched the surface. There is no
way am I done with you! The last time caught me unprepared, but not now. This
little gadget will block the surveillance cam. We should have at least half an
hour before anyone gets curious about all the white noise coming from here!
Forty-five minutes if there's a God!"
Michael's mouth was so dry it felt like cotton. "How else are you
prepared?"
Grinning rakishly, Walter held up a box of condoms and a tube of lubricant.
"I'm on the edge here, boy. I don't think foreplay is an option tonight!
If you want any kind of finesse, I'd suggest you hustle your sweet ass into
that bedroom and spread eagle on the bed!"
The older operative was disappointed when his material didn't obey him
immediately. And then he started to worry. Had he read the situation
incorrectly? Was it possible Michael no longer wanted him?
The green-eyed temptation before him lazily looped his arms around his neck,
and rubbed his groin against the evidence of Walter's fierce arousal.
"Kiss me!" Michael ordered softly, letting his mentor feel how much
he wanted him. "Fuck my mouth with your tongue!"
With a groan, Walter took what the younger man was offering him. His tongue
stabbed into honeyed depths, stroking his lover, testing the textures of the
mouth that was driving him to distraction. The condoms and the lube dropped
from Walter's hands. They filled themselves with the curves of Michael's firm
buttocks, caressing the crevice between, pressing the puckered opening that
begged to be plundered.
"Jesus, God! Michael! I've got to have you now! Have you done this
before?"
"The level of my expertise didn't seem to concern you the last time,
Walter."
"The last time I *knew* I wouldn't be able to do much more than play with
you! Now I want to fuck you till you don't know which end is up! But I don't
want to hurt you!"
"You won't hurt me! I need you inside me so badly, I don't think I can
wait for the bedroom!" Michael's thumbs hooked in the waistband of his
shorts and shoved them down over his hips. They dropped to the floor and he
stood before his lover in all his naked, muscular glory.
Walter jerked as if touched with a live electrical wire. His fingers were
wrestling with the mismatched buttons on his shirt when Michael pushed him
beyond his control. The young recruit picked up the tube and squeezed a goodly
amount of lubrication onto his fingers. The cold operative watched with parted
lips as those clever fingers worked the opening he was getting desperate to
bury himself in.
Michael dropped to his knees before Walter and unfastened his trousers, pushing
them past the erection that demanded his attention. He forgot about the rest of
the older man's clothes as a bead of moisture on the tip of Walter's cock
called to him. Helpless to resist, he leaned forward and licked it off with a
broad swipe of his tongue.
Walter moaned and shuddered.
Michael got back to his feet and turned away from his mentor. Bracing himself
over the table by his bedroom door, he spread his legs, giving the cold operative
an excellent view of his actions.
Walter watched avidly as his young lover speared his lubricated fingers into
his narrow passageway, preparing it for the ravishment he knew was
coming. Somehow he managed to get his clothes off. Trembling so much he
dropped the box of condoms twice, the older man tore open a foil packet and
rolled its contents over his engorged length. Applying a liberal coat of
lubrication, he stepped closer to the heaven his recruit was offering him.
Separating the firm buttocks that had haunted his dreams, Walter aimed his cock
at the opening to Michael's body and nudged it gently. The tight ring of muscle
gave way to accept the intrusion and Michael couldn't suppress a moan. "Deeper,
Walter!" he pleaded.
"Easy, baby. If we go too fast, I can hurt you!"
"*Fuck* hurting me! I need to feel you all the way inside me!"
Walter rocked his hips and Michael found himself stretched by another inch of
hard, operative cock. He tried to thrust back and take more of his lover in the
channel that had never accommodated a man before, but Walter held his hips in a
hard, almost painful grasp, and wouldn't let him move.
Gradually, inch by slow inch, the cold operative pushed his turgid flesh into
the young recruit's body. Michael thought he would go mad with the wanting. And
then he felt hairy thighs rubbing against the curve of his backside and knew
Walter was all the way in. He began an easy pace that measured his length again
and again in his lover's narrow channel.
The rhythmic motion was too much for Michael. With a hoarse shout he began to
come, spilling his seed on the table that bore his weight and the weight of the
man who lay over him. Walter's hand reached around quickly to muffle his lover's
cries, as his hips pistoned faster and faster, bringing him closer and closer
to satisfaction.
Michael scrabbled at the hand that covered his mouth, and then succeeded in
taking two of the fingers into the hot, wet cavity. He sucked on them and
teased them with his tongue, biting down wickedly, while Walter's other hand
seized Michael's cock and pumped it in time with his own strokes.
And then the older man touched a place within Michael and he screamed around
the fingers in his mouth, and he came again, covering the table with his semen.
The spasms triggered Walter's own long-denied climax, and he poured himself
into the body of his young lover.
****
When he finally regained some sense of time and place, the cold operative
realized the tremors rippling through the body he was still draped over were
sobs. "Shit!" he castigated himself. "I *did* hurt you! Oh God,
baby, I'm so sorry!" He eased out of Michael's body and scooped him up in
his arms, making his way to the tiny bath.
Michael's own arms went around Walter's neck and held him close. "No,
Walter! You didn't hurt me! It's just--I've never been loved like that before!
No one ever told me it could be like that!"
The older man set him down beside the tub and began to run a warm bath. "I
still think I should have been more careful!" He disposed of the used
condom while he waited for the tub to fill.
Michael trailed kisses up Walter's torso and licked at a flat nipple, bringing
it to pebble hardness. "God, Walter! If you had been any more careful, I
think you would have killed me!"
His mentor tested the temperature of the water and grunted with satisfaction.
"Just right!" He eased Michael into the soothing water and then
climbed in behind him, cradling him between his muscular thighs.
With a long sigh, Michael rested his head on the cold operative's chest. His
unruly curls tickled the older man's chin. "Where do we go from here,
sir?" He couldn't subdue a chuckle as he felt Walter's cock rise against
his hip.
Walter did like him to acknowledge who was the boss.
The older man leaned his head back, enjoying the coolness of the porcelain in
contrast to the heat of the water.
"I'm getting too old for this mission shit." He ignored his
material's protest. "I plan on telling Operations that as soon as you've
completed your training, I want out of the cold op business."
Michael turned in Walter's embrace and looked at him soberly. "He'll order
you canceled! Please don't do this! I don't think I could survive Section
without you here!"
Walter ran a fond hand over the hair that tumbled into Michael's eyes, brushing
it to the side. "It would bother you so much?" He pressed a chaste
kiss to that smooth brow.
"Well, I do have a plan, baby. I'm pretty good at tinkering with things,
like that anti-scan gadget I came up with. And Section is always on the lookout
for an operative who's had viable experience in the field. I think Operations
will vet my transfer to another department, maybe weapons, maybe
R&D. Who knows, amigo?"
Michael hugged him fiercely.
Walter got out of the tub. "I have to reset that thingamajig I created
before TPTB are alerted that something decidedly unSection-like is going on in
recruit territory!"
"Walter?"
The older man turned in the doorway. "What is it, sweet cheeks?"
"Would you consider staying the night?"
The corner of Walter's mouth kicked up in a way that Michael was finding most
arousing. "I was hoping you'd ask!" And he padded out into the other
room.
"I love you, Walter!" Michael said, but he said it too softly for
anyone to hear.
*****
Epilogue
"I love you." The words were so simple, yet they were impossible to
say.They danced around the actual declarations of love for months. Months that
turned into years.
It was there between them, like a living, breathing entity, yet it had no
substance in their world.
Walter could only watch as Michael absorbed his lessons all too well. Month
after month, year after year, Michael pushed himself to become better and
better at doing Section's bidding.
He succeeded beyond Walter's wildest dreams. He fought his way easily to the
top echelon of Section's field operatives, eventually commanding even
Operations' respect. Walter should have been damn proud of his creation.
But instead...the two men drifted apart. No longer able to see a vestige of
humanity in the younger man, Walter let go of the one thing that made his life
bearable.
He still had a heart. And a soul. Not many could claim that. Even after all
these years, it was still true.
But Michael...Michael broke that heart...when he lost his soul...and only
Walter cared enough to grieve that loss.
They could never be what they once were.
They could never go there again.
And Walter would die, alone and unloved, someday, but Michael's name would
still be in his heart, if not on his lips.
Michael picked up his panel, no longer able to prolong the inevitable parting.
"Goodbye, Walter," he said huskily.
Walter barely nodded, his light blue eyes tearing. He told himself it was a
fault in the lighting. He couldn't have seen regret in those dark green eyes.
Not after all this time.
His hands shook as he looked at the inventory list before him, the date jumping
out at him again. It was twenty years since Michael first came into Section.
Twenty...years...most of which were spent in the pursuit of things better left
unsaid.
"I love you."
End