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

Date: 10/00

Feedback email: Tinneantoo@aol.com

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

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. "Who's your
daddy?" 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 hooker, 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