Work Text:
The Taste Of His Tears
by PEJA
Memories glisten. Sparkling stars just out of reach. Beautiful to contemplate, impossible to savor. Look-but-don't-touch precious bits of maybe-was that tip-toe through the shadows of yesterday.
Standing over the freshly dug grave, Michael Westen's thoughts drift to those memories. Some good. Some bad....Most bad for obvious reason. Victor had been good at what he did, and what he did was kill people.
Michael, being Michael, was not a sentimental man. Not a man to wear his emotions on his sleeve. That fact alone spoke volumes considering the silent tears streaming down his face and the bunch of wild flowers he lowered onto the assassin's grave.
"I miss you, Vic."
'Miss you back.' Victor's voice whispered in is ear.
Whirling about, Michael found himself caught up in an embrace that was too strong to be spectral. Lips crashed against his, demanding surrender, and Michael could do nothing accept do just that, his lips parting to give the other man entrance. To savor that first unique flavor that was Victor.
Michael moaned, his hands sliding up the solid muscular body he thought never to touch, to caress. He gasped for breath as Victor's lips slid from his mouth and peppered sweet kisses over his face, tasting his tears.
"How...?" Michael managed through a soft groan.
Victor pulled back, his hands cupping Michael's face. He smiled that sexy half-smile and brushed another kiss over Michael's lips. "You think I'd give a loaded gun to anyone?"
"I checked for a pulse. You were..." Michael reached out and traced Victor's rugged features with trembling hands. "Is it really you? I'm not dreaming?"
A dark chuckle sounded between them. "Not dreaming, Mike. Really me." He pushed his cheek out with his tongue. "Drugs can simulate anything if you know the right ones to use, and I do."
"Thank God for that." Michael drew Victor's head down and smothered him in a kiss that promised years of passion to come.
Passion both men fully intended to cash in on. Danger and black ops be damned.
end