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Tension Relief
by Lianne Burwell
May 1998
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"You wanted to see me, Madeline?"

Michael watched as the profiler looked up from her desk. He returned her 
gaze, coolly and without expression.

"Yes, Michael. Sit down."

He moved to sit opposite the older woman, and waited for her to explain 
why she had called him to her office. She was looking at a computer 
screen, but it was angled so that he couldn't see whatever was displayed 
there.

"There's a problem with Birkoff."

Michael blinked, the only expression of surprise he allowed himself to 
show. It was not something that he'd ever expected to hear. The young 
computer expert did everything asked of him, and never complained. His 
performance during the recent contamination crisis had been even better 
than anyone might have expected.

"How so?" he asked. And what did Section plan to do about it was the 
silent follow-up.

"He's been showing signs of tension, of a type perfectly normal for a 
young man his age, especially considering recent events. Unfortunately, 
it will soon start affecting his work."

Michael didn't question her certainty. It *was*, after all, her area of 
expertise. But Birkoff was too important to their missions to allow him 
to be distracted. His monitoring from Comm was often the difference 
between life and death for agents in the field. His focus needed to be on 
the job at all times. And if his job performance dipped *too* low...

"So what do you want me to do about it?"

"Help him... relieve the tension."

Michael frowned. Somehow, he didn't think that she meant a workout, so 
what... Madeline was smiling, seeing realization on his face.

"Wouldn't someone else be more appropriate?" he asked, a small tinge of 
desperation in his voice. "Nikita, or one of the other female operatives, 
perhaps?"

Madeline's smile broadened. "No, I doubt it. Not after what happened 
with Gail. I've checked, and of the people he might trust, you are the 
only one who would be appropriate, right now. I suggest you deal with it. 
Soon."

She turned away in obvious dismissal. As Michael headed out the door, he 
was already planning the best approach to use. Losing Birkoff was *not* 
an option. His skills were too valuable.

* * * * *

In the end, Michael decided that the direct approach would be the best. 
It was late, but when he tracked the young man down, he wasn't surprised 
to find the Birkoff still awake. Instead, he was in a lab working on one 
of the new, experimental, computer systems.

"Michael!" Birkoff said in his unusually pitched voice, looking up as the 
operative entered the room. "Is there something wrong?"

"Not yet, but there may be."

"Let's get going, then," Birkoff said, heading for the door. Michael 
reached out and grabbed his arm, stopping him in his tracks.

"No that sort of a problem," he said in response to Birkoff's confused 
look.

"Then what..."

Michael gave a carefully concealed sigh, then proceeded to explain 
*exactly* why he was there. "Madeline wanted to talk to me about you 
today. She said that you have been too tense lately, and that it is about 
to start affecting your work. Her recommended... treatment was sex, and 
she told me to take care of it."

Birkoff's jaw dropped, and his eyes widened behind the tinted glasses he 
wore. "Ummm... If this is a joke, Michael, it's not very funny."

Michael allowed himself a small smile, and hung on to Birkoff's arm. "No, 
it isn't a joke. This has to be dealt with before it starts to affect 
your work. We count on you, in the field, and we need you happy and 
focused. If Madeline says that I'm the best person to... help you with 
this, then I will." His voice gentled. "We don't want to lose you, 
Birkoff." He could see the flinch. Section didn't tolerate any failures 
After more than seven years, Birkoff knew this. Michael remembered, with 
a start, just how young Birkoff was. He'd still been a teenager when he 
was brought into Section, so it was little wonder that he had little 
experience or people skills. He just seemed so... old, so cynical, that 
sometimes it was easy to forget his real age.

Birkoff was still trying to pull away. Ignoring the shaking head, Michael 
pulled the young man closer, and bent his head to kiss him. He could feel 
the shock running through Birkoff, and pressed the advantage. He 
remembered his own reactions at that age, and knew it wouldn't take much. 
Birkoff was primed and *needed* to be set off.

Resistance was fading fast, and Michael took advantage of it. He pulled 
Birkoff into a full-body embrace. He could already feel the erection 
pressing into his hip. Birkoff was responding to the kiss now, and 
Michael was pleased to feel his own arousal growing. It would make things 
easier.

Michael reached around to pull the young man's shirt from the waist of 
his pants, then slipped his hands inside to cup his ass, pulling him 
tighter against his own groin. Birkoff gasped into his mouth, and bucked 
in his grip.

Birkoff pulled away blushing, obviously embarrassed by the large damp 
spot now decorating the front of his jeans. "Thanks," he said, coolly, 
turning away. "If there's nothing else you needed..."

Michael came up behind him. "You don't relieve tension *that* easily," he 
said with a slight smile. He reached around to cup Birkoff's groin, and 
felt the twitches of a new erection forming already. The recuperative 
powers of the young, he thought. Especially when they live like a monk.

Keeping one hand on the young man's groin, he reached up to pull of the 
glasses. They were placed on the table, and quickly joined by his shirt. 
He reached into his own pocket and pulled out the condoms and lube that 
he had brought with him. He placed them on the table, as well, and 
Birkoff's eyes widened.

"Which way would you like it?" Michael asked. Birkoff blinked, confused. 
"Fuck or be fucked?" Michael prompted, and chuckled at the spread of red 
across the other man's face. Stepping back, he stripped with quiet 
efficiency, enjoying the way that Birkoff's breath caught. Michael knew 
that his body was in excellent shape. A Section field agent couldn't be 
anything *but* at the peak of physical fitness. Even Birkoff, who rarely 
ever left the Comm center, had a well developed body.

"Well?" he prompted again. Birkoff swallowed.

"Be fucked," was the reply, almost too low to be heard. Michael stepped 
forward again, a faint smile on his lips.

"Well, then. Wouldn't that be easier if you weren't wearing so much 
clothing?"

"Umm, right." Birkoff started to undo his pants, an act complicated by 
the wet stain and the renewed erection pushing against the zipper. When 
he was completely naked, he suddenly froze, and looked at the door.

"Don't worry. I locked it already," Michael said. It was also one of the 
rare doors *not* made of glass. However, he would bet money that Madeline 
was watching over the surveillance system. It didn't much bother him. All 
operatives were under surveillance, most of the time.

Michael walked over to the table and snagged one of the condoms. "Turn 
around," he ordered.

"Michael?"

"Don't worry, Birkoff. You'll enjoy this."

While Michael pulled open the package and rolled on the condom, the young 
man turned around and leaned against the table, legs apart. Tension was 
obvious in every line of his body. Michael stepped up behind him, and the 
feeling of tension increased.

Instead of starting to prepare him for intercourse, Michael started to 
massage his shoulders. Birkoff seemed to resist for a moment, then the 
tight muscles started to relax. 

"There," Michael whispered. "Isn't that better?" He moved to massage the 
back, and a groan was his answer. Birkoff slumped, head hanging forward. 

For long minutes, Michael did nothing but massage, hands slowly drifting 
lower. When he judged that Birkoff was as relaxed as he could be, 
considering the circumstances, he reached for the bottle of lubricant. 
Silently, he poured a measure into his hand. He trailed a finger up and 
down Birkoff's cleft, and was rewarded with a gasp, and an involuntary 
thrust back.

He teased at the opening there, rubbing the lubricant into the skin, then 
pushed a single finger in, starting a thrusting movement.

"Ohhhh," Birkoff breathed.

"See. I told you that you'd enjoy it."

"Yesssss..." Birkoff said, pushing back against the finger. Taking 
advantage of the distraction, Michael poured some extra lube down the 
cleft, and a second finger breached the entry. He started to separate the 
fingers, still thrusting them in and out, waiting for the muscle to relax.

Birkoff was twisting, trying to get the fingers deeper, breath coming in 
pants, when Michael decided that he was loose enough. Keeping up the 
finger movements, he reached with his other hand for the bottle. He 
poured some lube onto his erection, then pulled the fingers out and 
replaced them with his cock, before Birkoff could protest.

Birkoff gave a cry, arching into the thrust, and Michael was barely able 
to reach bottom before Birkoff was spurting a second orgasm. Michael 
held still, riding out the contractions.

Once Birkoff had stopped moving, Michael started to thrust, idly 
wondering if the young man was going to be "up" for another erection. A 
questing hand produced a whimper, and a slight hardening. Michael bent 
his knees a bit, and started varying the angle of his thrusts, looking 
for...

Birkoff cried out, and his cock started to fill again. Michael repeated 
the angle, with the same result. He started to move faster, now hitting 
the young man's prostate with every thrust, and Birkoff was writhing in 
his arms, crying out continuously. Michael gripped his cock, pulling on 
it with the same tempo. This time, as he orgasmed, Birkoff screamed. 
Rather than resisting, Michael let the contractions milk his own orgasm 
from him.

They both slumped against the table, Michael draped across Birkoff's 
back, breathing heavily. Finally, Michael pulled back. He removed the 
condom, and placed it in a bag he had brought with him. He'd dispose of 
it someplace a little more... discreet later on. Birkoff was still in the 
same position.

"Feeling better?" Michael asked.

"Hmmm..." Birkoff agreed, sounding completely sated. Michael brushed a 
kiss against the back of his neck, then got dressed. He paused, heading 
for the door.

"Ask, if you ever need it again," he said, then left, locking the door 
behind him again. That hadn't been too bad, he thought. And, unlike with 
Nikita, there were no messy emotions involved.

* * * * *

A couple days later, a mission was being planned. Michael listened 
intently to the instructions that Control was giving, commenting where 
appropriate. As everyone stood, at the end of the briefing, he glanced at 
Birkoff. The young man looked relaxed and well rested. Michael caught his 
eye, as he headed for his monitoring equipment, and Birkoff gave a small 
smile and nod, then turned away. Nikita watched them, curiosity written 
all over her face.

Michael passed Madeline in the corridor as he headed for equipment, to 
pick up his weapons from Walter. The profiler also smiled at him, then 
continued on her way. No one commented on the events of the other day. 
The problem had been dealt with, and that was all that was important.

END