Under Lock and Key

by Silk

Part 10/End--NC-17

Hillinger looked stunned when Birkoff shook his head and began to laugh softly. "What?" he queried, afraid of the answer.

"Of all the things I expected to say to you, *this* sure as hell wasn't one of 'em." A tiny muscle at the corner of Birkoff's mouth clenched and unclenched, the reflexive crease somehow betraying an inner tension he kept hidden so well.

Hillinger frowned. "I don't understand."

"Sure you do." Birkoff's face remained still, even as every other muscle in his body tightened in anticipation.

"No, I really don't, Seymour." Pause. "Does this have something to do with what *I* said to *you* before? Cause if it does, you don't have to say it back. I never expected that, not from you--"

Birkoff leaned closer, pressing the fingers of one tremulous hand to Greg's cheek. "I have *never* felt this way about *anybody*, Greg."

His dark eyes gleamed, but the origin of the fierce light remained a mystery. He grinned suddenly. "I sure as hell didn't think it'd be *you*."

Birkoff kissed Hillinger tenderly, lingering on his lips, as if tasting them for the first time. "This is so much *worse* than *fucking*, Greg. I thought we'd be wrestling to see who gets to top and who gets to bottom...." Birkoff paused, as if breathing suddenly hurt.

Hillinger didn't dare hope, but his near-black eyes shone with undisguised adoration for the older Comm op.

"I fucking *love* you, Greg. And dammit, that *wasn't* part of the plan."

"Maybe you need a *new* plan," Hillinger quipped pertly.

"Maybe you're too fucking far away," Birkoff countered dryly, reaching out for the younger man.

***

If someone asked him to describe what happened next, Birkoff would have been at a loss to explain just how they both got undressed.

But all at once, they *were* in bed, and nothing could have prevented them from coming together.

Birkoff chuckled as his slender but muscular frame covered Hillinger's. "See? I told you that wrestling would be involved."

Hillinger relaxed enough to smile, and Birkoff couldn't resist kissing him. "You don't mind me being on top now, do you, Greg?"

A moment later, Birkoff was stunned to find himself flat on his back, staring up into Greg's laughing dark eyes. "We could take turns," Greg suggested.

Birkoff narrowed his eyes, reclaiming what he now considered part of *his* territory. When Greg was comfortably settled beneath him again, Birkoff bit Greg's mouth, just enough to give his lips that love-bitten look. "*I* think you should stay put long enough for one of us to enjoy this."

Hillinger traced a fingertip over Birkoff's mouth, the gesture more loving than sensual. "Your wish is my command, Seymour."

Birkoff grinned, a slow, possessive smile transforming him. "Technically, I think *you* now outrank *me*, but then again, I'm *dead*, so--"

Hillinger froze, his fingers at the corner of Birkoff's mouth. His midnight-colored eyes fixed on his lover, he whispered raggedly, "Please don't say that. I can't--"

"Oh, I'm sorry, baby, so sorry," Birkoff reassured, the endearment slipping out unbidden.

Birkoff kissed the tears that trickled from the corners of Greg's eyes, and Greg sighed with relief. You're still here. This is *not* a dream. I was so afraid that I was going to wake up and....

...you'd still be dead.

"Love me."

"I do."

"Touch me."

"I am."

"Fuck me," came the last hoarse exhortation.

The gentle but necessary stretching only aroused them further. As Birkoff's fingers slipped inside his lover, teasing and stroking that spot that gave him the most pleasure, Greg began to lose control. "I don't want to come yet. I want you *inside* me. I want to see your eyes looking straight into mine when it happens."

It felt like nothing else. It was like praying to be saved from some force so much greater than your own, only to see the blinding white light that brought salvation at last...firsthand.

Birkoff made his way inside that snug channel and rested there for a moment, allowing Greg to adjust to the feel of him. When he began to stroke, slowly at first, Greg's gasp almost stopped him. "D-don't you dare stop now!" he cried out.

Together they struggled towards completion, the pinnacle clearly in sight. His hand grasping Hillinger's cock, Birkoff continued to surge inside his lover until, with a shudder, he spilled his life essence within him. "Greg!"

A whispered but heartfelt "Seymour" came in reply.

Birkoff nudged Greg's lips apart, his tongue swirling restlessly inside his mouth. Then, as if to punctuate each word, there was a more powerful, more intense kiss. "This. Was. Not. About. Fucking."

He wrapped his arms around the younger man's neck, pressing their bodies together, ignoring the stickiness that spread across his groin. "This was making love," he whispered, nuzzling Greg's ear.

For several minutes, it seemed as though all was right with the world. Their well-sated young bodies craved sleep, and it seemed as though they would get it. Then reality set in.

"Seymour?"

"Hmm?"

"Where do we go from here?"

Birkoff frowned. "What do you mean?"

"I mean...." All at once Greg looked as if someone had sucker punched him. "Are we ever going to be together again? Like this?" Or are you going to slip back into your role? Pretend to be Jason, who just happens to be *really* good at impersonating his brother? Shit, how can I ever trust you? How will I ever know where I really stand?

Birkoff's dark eyes reflected a certain level of conflict and angst back at his lover. "There *is* more freedom in living *his* life, you know. I can do things people would never expect of *me*."

Greg shook his head. "But I love *you*. Not *him*. I don't want to be with *him*. I...I don't even know if I *can*."

Birkoff's thumb wiped a tear that threatened to spill from Greg's eye. "Even if it's the only way *we* can be together?"

Hillinger was silent.

"I'm not asking you to do anything, Greg. If all you can do is keep my secret, that's okay."

Hillinger nodded.

"After all, we all do...whatever we have to do." Birkoff sounded sad, almost hopeless, as he turned away from his lover.

Greg pulled on Birkoff's chin, forcing him to make eye contact. "You honestly think I would betray you now?"

Birkoff didn't answer.

"I *love* you. Doesn't that mean anything?"

"It means everything." Birkoff kissed Greg lightly, disobeying his own body's urging to take what was his by right.

"But you expect me to--"

Birkoff trained his all-too-serious eyes on Hillinger. "I expect...nothing." That's probably what I'll get, too. If I'm lucky.

***

Epilogue

I know what you're thinking. You think I reported Seymour, don't you? You think I fucked him, and then, when all the shouting was over with, I fucked him again. This time for Section.

Well, you're wrong.

Are you as surprised as I am? I bet you're not. Seymour had me pegged from the getgo. I *am* that ambitious. I *do* look out for the main chance. I *don't* take unnecessary risks.

But I'm protecting a secret here. As well as the man I love. Who'd have thought?

It still gives me a chill to hear him talk in that unnatural voice, that creepy Southern drawl. But luckily, I only have to hear that outside our bedroom. Our quarters are surveillance-proof. We *both* saw to that.

Soon I'll sign off on "Jason's" training. Everyone will applaud accordingly, of course. I've done a great job. So realistic. He could really pass for Birkoff, don't you think?

I can't help but laugh. My tears have all dried up.

Birkoff is dead. Long live Birkoff!

End