Title: It Can't Happen Here

Author/pseudonym: Silk and Tinnean

Fandom: La Femme Nikita

Pairing: Michael/Walter

Rating: NC-17

Status: New/Complete

Archive: Yes

E-mail address for feedback: silkn1@aol.com or tinnean@aol.com

Series/sequel: No

Other websites: http://www.geocities.com/silkntin/warning.htm

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: 7/8/00

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?"


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.

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?"

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!

"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?"


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!

*

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*.

*

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