Title: Safe

Author: Jeanie

Rating: NC-17

Fandom: The Authority

Pairing: Apollo/Midnighter.

Warnings: Never change your password when drunk. Also, don't read this if m/m sex is a personal squick. A couple of violent moments in there, too (but not sexual violence).

Disclaimer: All characters are owned by Wildstorm and D.C. Comics. Not me. I just whip myself into such a frenzy fantasizing about them that I just have to share it if I'm to get any peace of mind.

Dedication: To Lachesis, who, whether she betas or writes, kicks ass like Jenny Sparks on steroids.

Feedback: I am not too proud to beg. glitterghost2001@yahoo.com.au

Notes: This is the very first fic I'm posting to the list. Hope you all enjoy.

If you're unfamiliar with the characters, they're the first honest-to-god gay couple in a mainstream comic. You can find info on them here, as well as some lovely pics of intimate moments:

http://gayleague.com/gay/characters/display.php?id=132


Safe
by Jeanie


Sometime late in the afternoon they came to an old, abandoned steelworks.

Apollo carried Midnighter inside through a broken window. It was a clear, cold day, and with the blinding sun above them they had some chance of passing unnoticed by passers-by below. It probably would have been a better idea to approach the building and enter on foot, and under less distressing circumstances such caution would have come naturally to Midnighter at least. But the shock of what they had just witnessed left them both in no clear frame of mind.

Apollo set himself and Midnighter down on gritty concrete. They spent a few moments glancing around at their new surroundings, plainly unused for years. The windows were all shattered, obviously by the chunks of brick and broken bottles that littered the floor along with other debris.

Midnighter spoke up - the first words either of them had uttered in hours. "So where are we?"

Apollo was startled. They had passed some very familiar landmarks on the way here. That Midnighter hadn't even noticed said worrying things about his state of mind. "Some virtual ghost town in the north of England," he replied. "There was hardly anybody on the streets, so I doubt anyone spotted us."

Midnighter nodded, but his eyes were so blank and unfocused that Apollo wondered if what he had said even registered.

He studied Midnighter closely, trying to make out the expression behind the leather mask. Back at the facility, their team-mates shot down and torn apart all around them, it had been himself who had staggered and vomited in the sheer terror of the moment. Midnighter had dragged him back to the transport area, only to find that the teleporter refused to function unless they were carrying the bio-reactor they had been sent to retrieve. It was only the fact that Midnighter would die if Apollo didn't pull himself together that had enabled him to function. Now, although he was still shaking from the shock, it was Midnighter who seemed to be suffering the most. Apollo was concerned.

He watched Midnighter fold his arms and lean back against the bare, dirty wall.

"We have to think about what we're going to do next," he told Apollo.

"Well ... we should be safe here for tonight at least."

"Bendix will come looking for us."

"We'll deal with that if it happens. He most likely thinks we're dead. In the meantime, we just keep moving."

Midnighter nodded as if in agreement, but he was staring at the window they had just flown through, as if already expecting some powerful superhuman to burst through it and drag them both back to the nightmare they had barely escaped from. In reality, his mind was otherwise occupied; his enhancements kept going back over the battle and its outcome. Exactly six hundred and eighty-five thousand, one hundred and sixty-two possible scenarios flashed through his mind in less than a minute. All but five hundred and thirty-three showed either himself, or Apollo, or both falling with their team-mates. Less than a hundred showed him how more than himself and Apollo could have been saved, yet it was this last few dozen that his mind seized on again and again. Not one of them showed him more than half the team escaping intact.

A stern voice interrupted his thoughts. "Stop that."

He glared at Apollo. "Stop what?" he snapped, knowing exactly what.

"We're not safe enough yet to start dwelling. If we are going to be tracked down, it's more likely to happen in the first few hours. I need you on the ball, in the now, not a million miles off rehashing history."

Apollo was trying to slip back into field officer mode, but it wasn't quite working. Looking right at him, Midnighter was sure he could detect lingering traces of shock and fear. Yet this did more to drag Midnighter's mind back to the immediate present than anything else could have done - if they were followed and attacked, he would have to be there for Apollo.

He glanced around again, taking their surroundings in properly this time. "Let's look around. We might find somewhere in here with a floor half-way fit to sleep on. And we'd better make sure there aren't any squatters camping here, either."

They found an office, about twenty feet square, with a carpet that at least seemed free of broken glass. As far as they could tell, no-one else had been in the place for years. With nothing better to do, they sat leaning against the walls and made brief, broken conversation about where they could go the next day, making half-hearted attempts to take each other's mind off the slaughter at the facility. For Midnighter at least, the attempt was futile. His technologically-enhanced brain persisted in its repeated analyses of the lost battle, and he decided to just give into it and let it tire of the subject in its own time. But to get the pictures of carnage out of his head for a few seconds at least, he started going back over events immediately after the team's transfer, before they had entered the facility itself, looking for anything that might have warned the team of the danger ahead. He found nothing, but he did suddenly remember something that made opened an entirely new train of thought.

"Apollo ... do you remember reading Macbeth?"

Apollo looked at him in surprise. "Sure, I've read it. Or seen it somewhere, maybe ..."

"No, I mean, do you actually remember when you read it? You made a crack about the three witches today, just before we entered the facility, but can you recall just when in the past you sat down with the play and really read it? Or do you have the story in your head and not know how it got there?"

Apollo thought about it and shook his head. "No. I don't remember actually reading it. But I know the play. I know everything by Shakespeare ..." He narrowed his eyes, concentrating. " '... his two chamberlains/Will I with wine and wassail so convince/That memory, the warder of the brain, /Shall be a fume, and the receipt of reason/A limbeck only ...' "

"Nicely put, Lady Macbeth, but what the fuck's a limbeck?"

"It's a mixing vessel for spirits. And you're an asshole."

"My point is, I have all this knowledge in my head and absolutely no memory of how it got there. For instance, I knew you were speaking Lady Macbeth's lines, but I can't say how I knew. And other things, too - I can remember advice my father gave me, but I couldn't tell you the slightest thing about my relationship with him, or if I even liked the guy. Facts, information, knowledge, my head's full of it, but it's like everything personal has been erased. I remember everything about our training, but before that - I don't remember what my name was, or where I used to live, or how many relationships I've been in, or even what my sexuality was."

"And now?"

"Now I'm single, homeless, and my name's Midnighter, I guess."

"And ...?"

"And that's none of your goddamned business."

Apollo smiled, but didn't push it. Midnighter was glad he didn't, but he also realized that there had been no more malice in Apollo's comments than there had been in his own. Barbs, but no stings. The verbal sparring reassurred him somehow, or it would have but for the new questions chasing themselves through his mind.

For instance:

Henry Bendix's ultra-secret team, created for his own covert purposes, had consisted of five men and two women. Henry Bendix was an insane psychopath who had today demonstrated that he saw his team as tools to be exploited, not individuals with any inherent right to exist. If he had decided to tinker with them in ways he didn't tell them about ... ways that would ensure greater loyalty within the team ... making proper allowances for the gender imbalance of the group
...

Midnighter wished he could look at his own and Apollo's files. He couldn't help wondering if the phrase "Theban Band" appeared in them somewhere. He could clearly remember certain moments that had taken place during his years of black ops training; times when there had been interaction between himself and Apollo, severely circumscribed by necessity, but during which Midnighter had felt aware of certain feelings within himself that didn't exactly fall into the context of comradeship. But how could he be sure anymore that his memories were real?

He looked at it from a different angle. He imagined scenarios where Apollo would give some sign of reciprocation, and of a willingness to take things to the next logical stage. Should that happen - and Midnighter saw no reason to expect that it would - would he be willing to deny Apollo and himself on the basis of the above reasoning?

And the only honest answer he could come up with was No, he would not.

Apollo's voice interrupted his thoughts for the second time in half an hour. "Our identities were only supposed to be wiped until we completed our mission. Maybe it's just a temporary thing. In a few days or weeks we might get all those memories back."

"That may not be a good thing."

"How do you mean?"

"Think about it. Bendix will try to draw us out of hiding. If we have families out there somewhere ..."

He didn't have to finish. Apollo's enhancements didn't include a computer hard-wired to his brain, but Midnighter's point was clear. If the erasure of their identities was temporary, Bendix would only have to wait until their memories restored themselves, and then it would simply be a matter of choosing hostages from people Apollo and Midnighter would have formed bonds with in the past. People with spouses and children weren't accepted as StormWatch recruits, and recruits were forbidden from forming personal relationships with each other, but that didn't rule out brothers, sisters, parents, friends
...

Following this train of thought a little further, Apollo realized that the same applied to any bonds that he and Midnighter might form while they were still on the run. With dismay, he understood that he and his comrade were now under a moral obligation to shun other people as much as possible. Not just because of the risk of being detected by covert StormWatch agents, but because of the potential danger to anyone they may come to care about. The potential loneliness of their situation, the knowledge that it might be that way for the rest of their lives, was appalling. The only comfort for Apollo came from knowing that Midnighter would be there to share his exile.

"You know," he said, "we may as well try and get some sleep. I wouldn't mind being unconscious for a while."

"I don't think I can sleep."

"You cold?"

Midnighter supposed he must be. He was shivering. How long had he been doing that?

Apollo stood and approached him. "Take off your trench coat."

"That's supposed to get me less cold"

"You have to argue with everything? Take it off and lie on your side."

Realizing what Apollo intended, Midnighter complied. Apollo lay down behind him, back to back, and spread the coat over both of them. He was so warm that Midnighter knew that he must be using his solar powers. His trembling gradually subsided, to be replaced by drowsiness.

"Apollo?"

"Hm?"

"We have to stick together. I've done the math, and even as a team our chances are slim, but still about six and a half times better than if we separate."

There was a pause as Apollo woke up enough to absorb his words. "Don't worry," he replied eventually. "I'm not going anywhere."

Silence settled over them again like a blanket as they drifted off to sleep ...

... and the next thing Midnighter knew, he was back in the facility, simultaneously dragging and carrying the retching body of his field officer. Immediately behind them, he heard Crow Jane start to yell as fire engulfed her. Not screaming - squealing. A horrible high-pitched noise that rang in his skull like a banshee's wail, becoming an even more horrible gurgling before finally it ceased. With his enhancements showing him a million ways that he was about to die, he finally managed to get Apollo back to the transfer area, where he yelled into his fetish, demanding extraction.

Nothing happened.

Thinking his fetish had been disabled in the struggle, he instead grabbed Apollo's and yelled the same request into it. After two and a half torturous seconds, he heard Bendix's voice replying. "I read you, Midnighter. You have not yet accomplished the object of your mission. The teleporter will not function until you do so. Weatherman out."

The words sank into his brain like nails. He continued to yell, panic escalating when he realized that Apollo was unconscious in his arms, unable to help. His yelling lost coherency as unseen projectiles ripped through his body like it was butter, while at the same time something made Apollo's head explode ...

He awoke in pitch darkness, shaking again, violently this time. Nauseous, he stood and fumbled blindly for the wall, feeling his way along it until he found the doorway, leaning out of it to vomit. But it had been hours since his stomach had held anything to throw up; he stood, bent over and clutching his midsection, his stomach retching and heaving as if it would hurl itself up through his gullet. He shut his mouth and started to swallow repeatedly in an effort to get the peristaltic movement flowing in the right direction again. At the same time, he sensed a presence in the darkness beside him, and felt Apollo's big hand spread across the space between his shoulder blades.

As if by way of apology, he opened his mouth to say "Nothing to come up," but before he could get all the words out his gut gave another lurch. He shut his mouth in a hurry and re-swallowed his stomach as it tried to escape a second time. It subsided, but Midnighter remained stooped, trying to get his trembling under control. He still hadn't succeeded when he felt Apollo's other hand cup his face, drawing him upright and closer, and then he felt Apollo's mouth covering his own.

He was so startled at first that he didn't really respond to the kiss - just allowed his mouth to be opened by gentle pressure, Apollo kissing him softly, lips only slightly parted as if trying not to overwhelm him. As Midnighter responded he kissed more fully, deeper, the one big hand still on his back, other arm passing around his shoulders to embrace him properly. And Midnighter hugged him back. He pressed his face into the curve of Apollo's shoulder and clung to him, shutting his eyes tightly as his body gave a final cathartic shudder, expelling the last of the long day's horror.

Feeling him calm again, Apollo grasped his face between both hands and tilted it so he could look into his companion's eyes by his own golden glow. His thumbs stroked the visible skin beneath the mask, then slid up to prise their way beneath the black leather. As he eased the mask off, the skin he could see was barely marked, although his fingers told him that by a better light more damage might be visible. Midnighter's brown hair was quite short, a fraction of an inch longer than a buzz cut. Apollo kissed him again, felt his mouth open right away this time, and kept kissing him over and over as he removed every part of his clothing. Each time his hands brushed over a particularly vulnerable area - throat, stomach, heart, groin - he would feel Midnighter tense momentarily as his enhancements tried to tell him the touch was a threat. But each time he would overcome it and remain pressed close. Apollo knew that Midnighter had been designed to view touch as an invasion of his personal space, a threat, especially from a post-human even more powerful than himself. He knew that Midnighter couldn't resist such reflexes unless he completely trusted the person touching him.

Once he had Midnighter stripped - which he did slowly, prolonging the enjoyment - he stepped back to remove his own clothes. He did it quickly, but without haste or fuss, simply kicking off the tatters of his uniform and letting them drop. He seemed to float in the surrounding darkness like a light in a void, white-golden and perfect. Midnighter drank in the sight, and doubted that his lost memory had held the image of anything quite so beautiful.

They embraced again. Midnighter remembered that Apollo's abilities included impossible strength, near-invulnerability, super-speed, flight, and the ability to reduce a skyscraper to cinders with a look. Somehow - as he kissed Apollo, arms around his neck, feeling the other man's penis stir and wake against his belly - the knowledge of what his new lover could do increased his sense of comfort, made it even easier for him to let down his defenses. The belief that all that might would never, ever be turned against him. He felt the warmth in him swell; the tiniest gesture, sound or touch from Apollo made it spill out, just like the lightest tap from a finger makes a brim-full cup run over. He let Apollo lay him down on the dusty carpet and sank back, pulling Apollo down on top of him. As the bigger body settled on his own, he let his legs relax and spread. He had no idea if he had ever let another man do to him what he was silently inviting Apollo to do. The act would probably take some time, given how long Midnighter's body might need to adjust, especially given that what Apollo had between his legs was in proportion to the rest of Apollo. That was okay. The thought of spending hours with that big, warm, powerful body on top of his, inside his, wasn't a repellent thought at all.

Apollo was in no hurry himself. For what Midnighter counted to be one hour, eleven minutes and nine-point-one-five-six-recurring seconds, Apollo simply held him with the head of his erection pressed snugly against Midnighter's tight ring of muscle. All that time they kissed, or Apollo would latch his mouth onto Midnighter's neck - thrillingly, right over the jugular, so Apollo could feel it pulse against his tongue. Or he would just gaze at Midnighter's face, caressing him for minutes at a time. All the while a steady stream leaked out of him, making his lover slick and ready. When the very tip eased in Midnighter relaxed automatically - and for another eight minutes and negligible amount of seconds (Midnighter had stopped counting) Apollo advanced no further, only allowing himself to slide out again and then push back in. Using his powers to defy gravity for a moment, so he didn't have to choose between partially breaking contact or forcing Midnighter to bear his whole smothering weight, he eased his arms under Midnighter's legs and lifted them, hooking knees over elbows. The new angle let him slide deeper in, never more than a fraction of an inch at a time, or more than an inch every few minutes. Finally he was all the way in, hips resting on Midnighter's thighs, and for another long period he just held, kissed, and caressed his lover as before.

Apollo made love to him as if he never wanted it to end. Long periods of stillness would be followed by short periods of movement, fucking him so gently it could better be described as rocking rather than thrusting. When he moved he would stroke Midnighter's face and kiss him, brief friendly kisses, eyes never quite shut, scanning his face for the slightest sign of discomfort. Midnighter slid his hands down Apollo's back until they came to rest on his perfect cheeks, feeling the muscles tense and relax against his palms, kneading them with his strong fingers. Outside, the night and all its dangers crept slowly on, but the pair in love were oblivious. Although Apollo's movements never increased in speed or strength, he finally tensed in orgasm, sooner than he had intended, even though they had been at it for hours. He came in silence except for the slight rumor of a sound that never quite made it out of his throat.

Spent, he took Midnighter in hand. It didn't take long. A stroke and a half and it was done, Midnighter's head falling back onto Apollo's arm, everything heightened by the mouth lapping again at his jugular. They sagged together in their own smell and wet and lay for minutes without moving. Then Apollo stirred, scooped Midnighter up and carried him over to where they had abandoned the trench coat. He settled them both underneath it, his back to the wall, Midnighter between his legs and leaning against him, arms around his waist, head on his chest. Apollo wrapped arms and legs around him and rested his chin on the bristly hair, feeling it pleasantly tickle. He was still emitting a soft golden glow, as if his powers could express the warmth flooding him.

After a long time, Midnighter spoke. "Are you comfortable jammed against the wall like that?"

"I'm invulnerable, remember? A little ol' wall isn't gonna damage anything."

He stifled a yawn. "You're almost invulnerable."

He thought about it. "You're right. This wall could pose a serious threat. Should I knock it down?"

Midnighter chuckled. Apollo cherished the sight and sound, burned it into his memory: the first time he could remember Midnighter
laughing.

"So ... what are we going to do? In the long term, I mean."

Midnighter thought about it. He remembered the state of the place they were currently staying in, realized that they couldn't look forward to anything better while they remained fugitives. But they couldn't go back; Bendix was insane. And looking down on the earth twenty-four hours a day. Midnighter was determined to kill him the first chance he got, but he knew he and Apollo might have to spend years living this way. Perhaps, someday, Bendix would really overreach himself and be exposed and brought down - or he could make a stab at world domination and actually win. He and Apollo might have to spend the rest of their lives skulking and homeless. Alone, such a thought would be unbearable. But they were together. That would have to be enough. That, and ...

"We could actually do what we joined StormWatch for."

"You mean ..."

"Fight for a finer world. Obviously, not in any way that would draw attention to us. But what we can, staying covert."

Apollo's thumb absently stroked the hairs on the back of Midnighter's neck as he pondered. It didn't take much thinking; it would be good to have a purpose, rather than just aimlessly running from one abandoned building or neglected alley or empty doorway to the next. "I suppose we could," he said.

Midnighter gave a grunt of approval and changed his position slightly, cuddling closer.

"You know, if we both had to be in a situation like this, I'm glad it's together," Apollo told him.

"I'm glad, too."

"If you weren't here, I'd be a gibbering mess by now."

"What are you talking about? I was the one who woke up tonight trying to puke up an empty stomach, remember?"

"That's what I mean. I couldn't think of myself - I had to take care of you. You're more important to me than I am. If you're not OK, I'm not."

Touched, Midnighter lifted his head to look at him. "Just remember: that goes both ways."

Apollo kissed him. He settled his head on his lover's chest again and they both lay still, listening to the nothingness that surrounded
them.



End