I love this game we play.

I put my hand on the crook of your elbow, or lightly tap your cheeks or your forehead, maybe cover the small of your back with a possessive hand. Your expression doesn't change, your smile doesn't waver, but your heart rate leaps like Michael Jordon going for the championship basket. Your breathing gets harsher - only to my ears - and the scent of your arousal rises up and flows over me.

You don't acknowledge your body's reaction. Not this time, not here. But we both know...

One of my most precious memories is of the first time you responded to my touch, and turned your beautiful face up to mine, the awareness of *us* new and painful in it. I was stunned; you'd never given me any hint you could think in male to male terms. You swallowed hard, and I could almost see you shove it all away. Then you acted as if it never happened.

At the time, I was grateful. I kept that part of me well hidden, almost non-existent. The last thing I wanted was for it to intrude upon my life at the department. You were too much a part of that life already. Gender aside, and the gods know that'd be hell all by itself, sex between partners is against policy for some very good reasons. So I ignored our awareness, our desire, too, and it became routine for us.

I couldn't seem to stop touching you, though, and you never complained or asked me to stop. You grew bolder, more confident in putting your hands on me, and I loved it. Even as we ignored our attraction, the lust became a permanent thing living inside both of us - a steel band that grew wider and stronger. I think we both knew all along that sooner or later one of us would give in to it.

It didn't surprise me I was the one to surrender first. After all, I had some idea of how the forbidden fruit tasted. Losing my sight to Golden was far more than I needed to be pushed past the breaking point.

I was so wrapped up in trying to fool everyone, trying to function normally, trying to get the bad guys, trying to pretend that having you with me constantly wasn't pure ecstasy. Gods, Chief, *Your Hands Never Left Me!* I'm exaggerating, of course, but that's the way it felt.

When you brought me upstairs that night and left me alone to get ready for bed, I just stood there. I listened to you shut down the loft for the night, go into your room, take off your clothes, then just stand there, *just* like me, *just* as if you were waiting for something.

Why was that what made me go downstairs, I wonder? Why did I feel as if you were waiting for me? Could you see the yearning I was feeling? As if my skin wanted to flow off me and cover you? Is that why you soundlessly took me by the hand and pulled me to your bed?

Did you find freedom in the darkness, the silence, the way I did? We were skin and hands and mouths, touching every where, some how, all at once. Your hair swept over my shoulder once, and I had to dial down the sensitivity to keep from coming because of it. You dragged the fingertips of one hand down my spine, and I had to turn it down again. Then again. And it was still heaven.

I swear it was if some of my nerve endings found a home in you. I would kiss the corded line of your throat, and you would scream in pleasure from it. I nipped at the heel of your hand, and you thrust against me as if I had driven myself into you. One of us would come, and the other would go on as if nothing had happened, arousing his lover again. Then again. Then again.

When the night ended, we were sweaty, tangled together on a wrecked bed. If I had died at that moment, I would have spent eternity not knowing because heaven would not have been sweet enough to penetrate, and hell would not have had the strength.

Reality, on the other hand....

The alarm went off, and we got up as if it were any other day. The case, the job took everything we had, and almost for good. Chief, I was more scared of losing you to the Golden, than of losing my sight.

When we were home together, again, at last, I was so eager for night to come. You have no idea how dumbfounded I was when you had Margaret stop over. And hurt. But I read the message loud and clear, and I went along with it. What choice did I have? You would have had a new place to live before midnight.

Besides, the military and my upbringing have made me a patient man, when I have to be. I watched your never-ending line of women, never jealous of them. They were candy and you had the world's biggest sweet tooth. In the long run, though, candy doesn't satisfy. Sooner or later, you *need* a meal.

You never stopped putting your hands on me, never stopped responding - silently, only to *my* senses - to me touching you. It took everything I had, every trick of waiting I knew or could make up. Eventually, you were the one to walk into a dark bedroom. If I had known that all it would take was being kidnapped by a rogue CIA agent I would have arranged it, personally, weeks earlier.

Gifting you with the same hidden quiet as you had given me, I pulled you into my bed. After the sensuality of the first time, your fierceness caught me off guard. Which was not a complaint, by the way. I *reveled* in your demanding passion, ate it up as a feast after the famine. You commanded my body as if you *owned* it, and your possession of me drove away any possibility of anyone ever taking me again. Every scratch, every bite, every bruise was cherished.

It didn't surprise me when you left as light began to creep into the loft. I would have been more surprised if you had stayed. Waiting became both harder and easier, because I knew, even if you didn't, there would be another dark, silent night.

Sometimes, not wanting to frighten you away by giving in too easily, I would wait too long. Frustrated, sure that this time you wouldn't come to me, I would snap at you, wound you with insults I didn't really mean. Shit, I'd be so tired and lonely for you in my bed I half wanted to provoke you into some action to end our game, permanently. Your very tolerance of my surliness is what I would pin my hopes on then, and I would come to you.

I think the only time we stepped outside the rules was when Galileo nearly took you from me. I had him by the throat, you know. Threatened to drop him. I didn't mean it. I was going to jump with him. Everyone would have thought we both went over in the struggle. Well, maybe not Simon, but without evidence, he wouldn't have said anything. What saved him was the sound of your heartbeat and cries of relief, under the echoes of the blast.

If I had touched you then.... I kept it casual, made a stupid joke, got you to the truck. Locked my hands on the steering wheel. I saw you look at them, look at me, nod. You knew. Went ahead of me up to the loft, just out of reach, until we were safely through the door.

You turned, I opened my arms, and we were one body, one heart, one thought. Right there on the floor in front of the door. I smile every time I walk past that spot, and will as long as we live here. Fierce sensuality - I wouldn't have thought it possible. Having your foot slide up my calf was as arousing as having your hand wrap around my cock. Even as you tried to consume me with a kiss, you would rock your chest lightly across mine, sweeping a hint of soft hair over my muscles. Incredible.

We were both screaming by the time we climaxed, and it drained us so completely, it was all we could do to make it to the couch before we fell into sleep.

You never understood why I said 'thank you,' when we woke the next morning, did you? It was for giving me the joy of waking with you in my arms, that once. Or maybe you did. The smile you answered with was worth the long wait I knew I would have before the next time.

And there will always be a next time, Chief. I will suffer through your harem. I may have to suffer through you finding a suitable wife and marrying her. I may have endure you leaving on some expedition. As long as I have to, I *will do* what I have to. But I will always come to you, or you to me, each of us both winner and loser in this game we play.

The End