Title: Under Lock and Key

Author/Pseudonym: Silk

Fandom: La Femme Nikita

Pairing: Greg Hillinger/Jason Crawford

Date: 10/00

Rating: NC-17

Summary: Hillinger mourns the loss of Birkoff.

E-mail: silkn1@worldnet.att.net

Disclaimer: All things LFN belong to WB, USA Network, Fireworks Entertainment, and LFN Productions. There is, of course, no money being made here.

Warnings: m/m, angst, h/c. Spoilers for Season 4, especially Abort, Fail, Retry, Terminate.

Beta by Tinnean, who also doubles as a major source of inspiration. You da Muse, Sis!

*****


Under Lock and Key
by Silk

Under lock and key. That's where I always kept my deepest, darkest secrets. I never wanted anyone to know how I really felt. Wouldn't be...um, for lack of a better phrase, politically correct.

There's a lot of that here. Politics, I mean. If I've learned one thing in all my time in Section, it's whose ass to kiss. Oh, I know what people think about me. They think I don't know that they talk behind my back. Even leaving Section One for Oversight and a second-in-command post at George's side didn't change that.

They hate me.

I'd be lying if I said that didn't hurt. Not that they'd ever see that written on my face. I don't give anything away. Okay, I can't do a poker face like Mikey. But I've learned to hide behind cutting-edge sarcasm.

I exploit every opportunity that comes along. I use everything and everyone.

That's my fucking job.

But no one told me that it would pit me against the one person I really cared about.

Nah, I know what you're thinking. Me and Birkoff go way back. Right to my first day in One. He didn't want me there. He saw me as the competition. Boy, was he psychic or what?

I *am* smarter. Faster. More creative. I *am* more than he'll ever be. Or could dream of being.

He reluctantly tried to help me. I don't think it was in Seymour's nature to be any other way, strange as that sounds. But I pushed him away. With words. With insults. Oh, yeah, and the occasional attempt on his life. What was I thinking?

I trusted no one. Especially not him.

He was the enemy. Do you think I didn't know that?

Ops and Maddy set me up. Bigtime. Think they cared what we thought of each other? Hell, no, they fueled the fire. Every chance they got. Cause it made our numbers better. Made us more effective at the job.

And we all know, the job is the only thing that counts here.

You're only as good as your last mission.

Shit, Seymour, why'd you have to go and die on me? That wasn't in the plan, man. I never got a chance to tell you.

Something.

It was just like you, though. To go out in a fucking blaze of glory like that. You stupid altruistic son of a bitch! What did you have to go and do that for?

You thought they were your fucking family! Hell, I guess if you grew up in One, they were. But they wouldn't have done the same for you.

They would have let you go in a heartbeat.

Even when I went to Oversight...I always thought I would see you again. I always knew you were there. Somewhere.

Now you're fucking gone, you pathetic loser.

And I can't see past the fucking tears in my eyes.


Part 2

No one knew how I felt about Birkoff. I mean, shit, it's not the kind of thing somebody who wants to live shouts out in the middle of Section One.

Then *he* came.

The other. The brother. The twin. I tried to keep from feeling outraged that this piece of shit was still walking around on two legs when a decent human being like Birkoff was dead.

But I couldn't help but stare at him. The resemblance was so strong, and yet...they were completely different. Mirror twins. Polar opposites.

Looking at Jason Crawford was like looking at myself. The cocky half-smile. The relaxed posture. The mouth that promised everything but gave none of it away.

Once again, I was struck by the irony of it all. Why hadn't I gone to Birkoff and done something, *anything*, about this, this in stupifyingly bad taste attraction I had for him?

Maybe because he would have...laughed. I don't think I could have taken that.

So I stayed far, far away from the insouciant Jason with his "How'd you like to fuck this?" smile.

It would have worked. After all, we no longer worked side by side anymore. I didn't *have* to see him any more than I wanted to.

But dammit, I wanted to.

And somehow he *knew*. Arrogant son-of-a-bitch.

*He* came to *me*.


Part 3

"Greg, my man, what *are* you doing, hiding yourself away in this here corner of the universe?"

"It's where I work, Crawford. Get lost."

Crawford rolled his expressive brown eyes. As if. The fun was just getting started. Christ, he couldn't help but want to play with Hillinger. He was such fun to tease, the little prick.

Hillinger sighed heavily. He wasn't going to go away. He was going to stand there, looking like the ghost of Birkoff Past until Greg wanted to fucking scream.

"What do you want, Jason?"

"Not much. I was thinking how y'all would look damn good in black--"

"Leather, no doubt," Hillinger quipped with real frost in his voice.

"Naw, Greg, you ain't the type to carry off that kind of a fashion statement at all. You're more the..." There was a pause while Crawford pondered. "I got it. Black velvet. You would look positively scrumptious in black velvet, doncha think?"

"I think you took me for someone who gives a shit, Jason. Give it up. I'm fucking busy."

"Ooh, maybe y'all will make a mistake or something. Then I'd just have to come back here and whup your ass, wouldn't I?"

Hillinger whirled to face the intruder, a snarl on his lips and incautious heat in his face. "You just got here, Crawford! What miracle of technology makes you think you're even remotely in *my* class?"

Crawford pouted, his full sensual mouth jutting forward. It was almost enough to make Greg cry.

"Why the fuck won't you leave me alone?"

"You can't forget him, can you?"

"Who?"

"You know who, Greg. Don't play games."

"You mean Birkoff? There was no love lost between us, Jason." There should have been, though. There fucking should have been.

"You knew him better than anyone else, Greggie."

Hillinger lost it then. "Don't fucking call me that!" he shouted, cords standing out in his neck.

Aghast at revealing so much to someone he considered an enemy, Hillinger turned back to his keyboard, clenching his teeth together as he choked back a sob of pure desperation.

Jason moved closer, his seductive drawl dripping over Greg's tortured senses, sweet as honey, slow as molasses. "I need your help, Greg."

"My help? No, you want information, you go straight to Quinn. She replaced him."

Jason huffed gently, clearly the prelude to a bemused laugh. "No one could ever replace him, Greg. Not *you*...and certainly not that snarky little bitch that works in Comm."

Hillinger turned to face Jason with a startled glance. "They want *you* to replace him."

"Yeahhhh...now you're getting the big picture, Greggie."

Hillinger winced.

"You want me to help you how?"

"Help me become Birkoff."


Part 4

"What am I doing wrong, Greggie? The accent's relatively easy. But you keep telling me I don't sound like him."

Greg sighed. "Your voice is similar, Jason. It's just--"

"Just what?" Jason snapped in exasperation.

"It's your attitude," Greg managed to get out.

"So what the fuck's wrong with my attitude, Weasel Boy?" Jason drawled, the sarcasm so thick that you could cut it with a knife.

"That."

"What that?"

"*That*. What you just said. Birkoff would never say that."

"My brother was every bit as sarcastic as I am. Everything I've found out tells me that much."

"Not the sarcasm. It's just--you two come from two different places."

"We were both born here in Section, Weasel Boy. How could we come from two different places? Enlighten me, please."

"Birkoff had a--he was--oh, shit, man, I can't do this!" Hillinger abandoned all attempts at keeping his feelings a secret and buried his face in his hands.

Very, very slowly, Jason moved closer until he stood directly behind Hillinger. He placed his hands on Hillinger's shoulders and felt him flinch under his grip.

He bent his head and touched his lips to the nape of Greg's neck. "Please!" Jason smiled enigmatically and realized that it was impossible to tell if Greg was afraid of his touch or pleading for more.

Hillinger raised tear-filled eyes the color of onyx to Jason's. A sniffle escaped him against his will. There was no one in sight in the Comm area at Oversight. Row after row of empty computer terminals lay silent. Still one would need to be crazy to show any kind of personal feeling towards a fellow operative, no matter how confident one felt.

Jason was just crazy enough. Day after day he had stood perilously close to Hillinger, knowing the young operative had desired his late brother. He wasn't sure if Hillinger himself recognized the growing attraction between them. Even though Hillinger denied a physical relationship with Birkoff, Jason was certain that he had wanted one.

Hillinger's lower lip trembled as he gazed intently into the dark eyes of his opposite. "B-Birkoff never knew. He would--he would have *hated* that I--that I--" Even now, Greg couldn't say it out loud. His near-black eyes blurred with tears again.

Jason almost smiled as he reached out to stroke Hillinger's face. "Then we really *are* different. Because there's no way I could look at this face and *not* want you."

"But you've been flitting from girl to girl--"

"No better way to hide than in plain sight." The gleam in Jason's eyes was unmistakable. But Hillinger felt as if touching *anyone else*, but especially *Jason*, would be irreverent. It didn't matter that Birkoff never knew how he felt. He couldn't betray him by making love to his brother.

Wait, thought Greg, did I just say "making love"? Oh, shit.

"There's nothing wrong with being with me, Greg."

"I can't."

"He'd forgive you."

"I can't." But Greg's voice sounded less sure.

"You're beautiful."

"I--"

"You can pretend I'm *him*. Hell, if you can teach me how to be him, well enough to fool Oversight, you can certainly fool yourself for a half hour."

The thought of being touched by someone who was willing and *able* to stand in for Birkoff made Greg's mouth go dry. "I--" Suddenly overcome by a very real wave of longing, Hillinger leaned forward and kissed Jason on the mouth.

Jason's eyes grew hot. "I want to fuck you, not take you to the Prom. Kisses are for people in love. Not people having sex."

Hillinger looked stricken. Angry at himself for forgetting that Jason seemed every bit as skilled a gameplayer as he was, Greg shut down emotionally. "You arrogant shit."

"Yeah. There is *that* aspect of my personality, I guess. I still want to fuck you, though, " he said amiably.

"People in Hell still want ice water. That doesn't mean they *get*
it."

"Well, shit fire and damn the matches, Greg. Nice to see you getting
into the spirit of things."

Part 5

Hillinger looked up at the young man looming over him. His expression suddenly serious, Jason Crawford looked like the last man on Earth to tangle with. His tone unexpectedly bitter, Jason said, "Never should have started this with you. You're...not who I thought you were."

Hillinger would sooner choke than ask, but he couldn't seem to prevent the words from coming out of his mouth. "Who did you think I was?"

Jason made an impolite noise. "I thought you were a match for me, but at the last moment, you turn into some kind of...human. How's that sposed to make me feel, huh? Like I'm using y'all? Like I got no personal interest in y'all at all?"

"You don't," Greg stated flatly. "Why pretend?"

Jason reached out with one hand and cupped the younger man's chin, lifting his tear-stained face. "I never saw anyone as complicated as *you* are, Greggie. To look at y'all, I'd expect sarcastic one-liners right up to the moment you come. You seem hard-wired for that kind of thing. I don't
believe you've ever given *anything* away before." Jason paused to reflect a moment. "And that makes you mad as Hell, doesn't it?"

Hillinger tried to jerk his head away from those warm, probing fingers, but Jason held him fast. "It does!" Hillinger made a sound then, screwing his face up as if he were struggling not to cry again.

"You don't like being on the receiving end of being fucked, do you, Greg?" Jason lowered his head until he could lick the side of Hillinger's face, his warm, wet tongue extended to its full length. Hillinger groaned, and his dark eyes abruptly opened, glittering like shiny black pieces of
volcanic glass.

"You're not one of those guys who thinks he has to be in love with everyone he fucks, are you?"

Hillinger shuddered. But whether it was with need or with trepidation was anyone's guess.

"I told you before. I'm all for *fucking* you. But I don't do *love* affairs. They get..." The Comm op smiled crookedly as he searched for the right word. "...messy."

"I could never *love* you," Greg spat. They were the first words he'd spoken in several minutes, and the venom that colored his voice made Jason's close-cropped hair stand on end.

Jason shrugged carelessly. "Good. Then we understand each other."

Hillinger smiled faintly. "I would never make the mistake of thinking I could read you, Jason. You think you know something about me that gives you control. But it doesn't. Let me tell *you* something. I never *fucked* your brother. But I did *love* him. How's that for a surprise?"

When Jason's fingers suddenly went nerveless, they stopped holding Hillinger's face within their grasp. Greg wrenched his head away from Jason, his midnight eyes clouded with remembered pain. "He was worth *ten* of you! You pathetic piece of crap!"

"Mmm..." Jason murmured. "I have to wonder what he did for you that got y'all hot and bothered."

"He existed."

"Ohhh, I see...must've been true love then."

Hillinger mumbled something under his breath. Something too low, too unintelligible to hear.

"What's that, Weasel Boy?"

"I said I *wouldn't* know. Never been in love before."

"Woohoo! I got me a real virgin here, don't I?"

Hillinger's nostrils flared with impatience and residual anger. "I didn't say I never fucked anyone before. Just that I've never been in love."

"You wanna be, though. I can see it in your eyes."

"So what? You just told me that you don't *do* that kind of thing! And I'm not in the market for a pity fuck! So buzz off, fly away, or set yourself on fire! I could give a fuck!"

Jason leaned down and captured the younger man's face with a vise-like grip. His fingers digging in, it quickly became obvious that he would leave marks. Maybe that was his intention. Or maybe he simply got carried away. But there was one more thing that was becoming evident.

Jason was starting to take this personally.

Greg began to sweat.


Part 6

"Take me to your room, Weasel Boy." Jason's warm and curiously sweet breath wafted across Hillinger's face, and he closed his eyes on a surge of hunger so sharp, it felt like it could draw blood.

I don't understand why I'm so attracted to you. I don't want this. Not this way. I've never been into pain. Yet every moment that you're standing there, being *you*, *not* being *him*, is sheer torture.

"Why does it have to be *me*?" Hillinger asked Jason in a hoarse whisper.

"You know why, Greggie. If you think about it *real* hard, it'll come to you, boy. You just see if it doesn't." Jason eyed Hillinger with an almost eerie calm. They were alone. The room was utterly silent. But they both felt the tension thrumming between them. Like a loud sizzle in their veins.

They could never be unaware of each other again.

"You want vengeance?" Greg laughed, a short, bitter noise that cut itself off. "Get in line."

"Why would I want vengeance? You didn't kill him."

"*This* time. That's what you mean, isn't it?" Greg put his aching head down on his folded arms, which rested on the desk in front of him.

"Don't tell me what I mean, boy. The only way you'll discover *that* is to take me to your room."

Greg's eyes shone with a strange light. "So you can fuck me."

"Hell, yes."

Greg began to laugh. "All this arguing might pass for foreplay where *you* come from, but it's giving *me* a headache."

Jason leaned heavily on the younger man, his eyes involuntarily closing as his tongue snaked out to capture his earlobe again. "Your choice, boy. I'll do you right here on your fucking desk if you want. And you know I'm just crazy enough to go for it."

"The surveillance--"

"Fuck surveillance. Between you and me, we know enough to shut down surveillance here."

"What if someone found out? We'd be cancelled."

Jason's lips caressed the back of Greg's neck, nuzzling their way through silky dark brown hair at the nape. "We're all already dead, Greggie. What are you so afraid of?"

"What makes you think I'm afraid?"

Greg winced. He could hear the quaver in his voice. He hated that. Now, when control was so important, he couldn't fail.

Jason's hand moved inside Greg's shirt, tracing its way across his relatively hairless chest to claim a flat male nipple. Greg groaned against his will. He didn't want this. He didn't--

If it was inevitable, could he blame himself for not stopping it?


Part 7

His quarters were small. Spartan. But they were clean and free of surveillance. One of the perks of being the right hand of God. Greg stifled an urge to laugh hysterically. In his world, God's name was George.

Hillinger began stripping off his clothes, suddenly wanting to get the whole thing over with. A well-muscled arm gripped him around the waist, pulling him into a tight embrace. "You didn't ask "May I?" now, did you?"

A fierce glint entered Hillinger's obsidian eyes. "Oh, sorry. You didn't tell me you were into the Master-Slave thing. Where would you like my sorry ass...Mas-ter?"

Jason grinned, his dark chocolate eyes sparkling like fresh champagne. "You'll do, Greggie, you'll do."

"Do what?"

"Whatever the Hell I say."

Greg snorted. He couldn't disagree with that.

Jason began pushing Hillinger's shirt open, tearing the buttons off when they would not cooperate with his suddenly awkward fingers. When his bare shoulder was exposed, Jason lowered his mouth to Greg's skin and suckled, raising a welt there.

"Hey! No marks!"

"Shut up, Greg. You're mine now."

To say that Hillinger found Jason's possessiveness profoundly disturbing on any number of levels would be an understatement of the worst kind. Frowning at his would-be lover, Hillinger said, "I don't *belong* to anyone but myself, Jason."

That's where you're wrong, boy. You've always belonged to me. Jason pushed, none too gently, and Hillinger went sailing backwards to land with a soft thump on his bed.

"Fine," snarled Greg, unaware that his color had risen or that tears came, unbidden, to his eyes. "Fuck me then, you fucking heathen! Fuck me and get out!"

After slowly disrobing himself, Jason stood there, his slight, slender frame surprisingly muscular and well-toned. "I don't want to *rape* you, Greg."

"The Hell you don't!" Greg shouted. "Isn't that what you fucking hillbillies do?" he railed venomously.

Jason chuckled. "I don't hear no banjo music, boy. And this sure as Hell ain't Deliverance."

Jason gazed intently into Greg's wide black eyes, as if he were searching for something he was certain would be there. If he could only look hard enough.

A tear trickled down Greg's cheek, spilling its silvery burden as it traveled. A moment later, Jason's finger captured the drop. He touched the tip of his finger to his tongue and smiled at the taste. "I always wanted to taste you."

Covering the younger man's body with his, Jason seemed more than comfortable there. "You still want to fight with me?"

Greg shook his head mutely. Something about this whole scene confused him. His head was struggling valiantly to get in touch with his heart. Not to mention his dick.

"Good."

A second later, Jason touched his lips to Greg's, and the Oversight op jerked away, as if he were struck by lightning. "Christ!"

Jason blinked. "He's not here right now, Greg. Will I do?"

"Oh, my God!"

"You're not worried about that betrayal thing again, are you, Greg? Cause I told you...." Jason's voice faded away.

When he spoke again, the Southern drawl was gone. In its place was...something else.

"...I told you I wouldn't mind."

Oh, God. Greg drew in a shuddering breath. He had finally lost his mind. Because...in front of him...was either a damn good imitation of...or the real...amazingly alive...

Birkoff.

Part 8

"B-Birkoff? Is it really *you*?" Hillinger couldn't think beyond his immediate reaction--joy--at the thought of Birkoff having beaten the odds one more time.

The man Hillinger knew as Jason nodded.

"Thank God!" said Greg hoarsely, not caring one bit how Birkoff interpreted that.

"Don't you want to know how I did it?"

"No," Greg confessed. "I don't care how or why or anything but--God, you're *alive*."

Birkoff studied his former nemesis with a curiously compassionate look. "I thought you *wanted* me dead, Greg," Birkoff prompted.

Abruptly recalling how transparent his feelings were a few minutes ago, Hillinger flushed. "You know that's not true," he choked out between suddenly numb lips. Hillinger couldn't believe the powerful sense of relief pervading his being, just from knowing that Birkoff lived.

Birkoff shifted his body so that he faced Hillinger. "Greg..." he whispered as his hand reached out to stroke the side of Hillinger's face. Hillinger shut his eyes as tightly as he could. His body insisted on betraying him. There was little he could do to hide the massive erection that throbbed between his legs.

"You h-hate m-me, r-right?" Hillinger asked rhetorically.

Birkoff let out a long sigh, his breath traversing the distance between his mouth and Hillinger's cheek. "Oh, Greg...someone hasn't been listening too well...."

Hillinger hiccupped, his eyes blinking wide open at the same time. "You *want* me?"

Birkoff leaned close, his tongue darting out to capture Hillinger's earlobe. He licked Greg's face from temple to chin...slowly. "Shit, if this is a dream, don't wake me up," Hillinger muttered under his breath. Birkoff caught most of it, and his throaty chuckle sent shivers down Hillinger's spine.

"Do you remember what you said I would do?"

Hillinger barely nodded. "That you would h-hate this. That you would run away screaming."

Birkoff nuzzled the downy beginning of Hillinger's 5 o'clock shadow. "Does this feel like rejection to you, Greg?"

Hillinger gulped. "You're waiting to get some kind of payback. I just know it. None of this is for real. None of--"

Birkoff kissed him, effectively shutting him up, and once Birkoff's tongue was swirling restlessly through his mouth, Hillinger could no longer recall what he wanted to say.

"Fuck."

"I'd love to."


Part 9

"Is the room secure?"

Greg nodded.

"Let's do it."

"Umm...."

"You having trouble processing again?" Birkoff asked, not unkindly.

"I...um...I...." Hillinger dropped his eyes. He was so terribly excited and yet...he wanted this to be about more than *fucking*....

He must have murmured this out loud because Birkoff's eyes gentled as they took in Greg's wistful expression. So unguarded now, so oddly vulnerable, Hillinger had no defenses left against the dream that languished within his heart.

"Greg...." Birkoff began to kiss Hillinger, his slender, well-shaped hands framing the younger man's face.

"Birkoff..." Hillinger answered huskily.

"Seymour..." Birkoff corrected.

"You don't like being called that," Hillinger said, managing to look endearingly confused.

"I changed my mind."

"When?"

"Right after I heard the way *you* said my name when you realized who I *really* was."

Hillinger grew tearful in remembrance. "I love you," he said, a bit surprised at how the words felt in his mouth.

"I know." Birkoff threaded his fingers through hair several shades darker than his own, each strand he touched so silky-soft.

Hillinger's breath caught in his throat. Midway between the most rampant desire he had ever felt in his life and the most urgent need to confess his love, he couldn't speak for several seconds. "I never thought I would see you again."

Birkoff nodded, his dark eyes somber.

"I never thought...I'd get a chance to tell you. How much...how much...you meant to me." Hillinger looked almost frightened.

Birkoff kissed him, partly out of the longing that was spiraling out of control inside him, partly out of the fierce need to reassure both Greg and himself that he *was* alive and well and finally able to act on that longing.

Hillinger's hand clutched at Birkoff's neck, involuntarily seeking to pull the Comm op even closer. Birkoff's kisses were suddenly hotter, deeper, wetter.... Reluctantly dragging his mouth away, Birkoff rested his forehead on Hillinger's, gasping for breath. "God, this is crazy," Birkoff whispered.

Hillinger broke into a shy smile that made Birkoff's heart ache. "You love me, too, don't you? Just a little?"

"I didn't know you would feel like this," Birkoff admitted helplessly.

"I could say the same thing," Hillinger said, clasping Birkoff's hand in his. He pressed a fervent kiss to Birkoff's palm, and Birkoff was lost.

"Christ, this is so fucking dangerous," Birkoff said, as much to himself as to Greg.

"That *just* occurred to you, Seymour?" Hillinger held his breath, impatient to see where this was yet to go.

Birkoff began to nod, imperceptibly at first, but more intently as moments passed. "If I say this is about *way* more than fucking, will you hold it against me?"

"Forever, if you'll let me."

Part 10

Hillinger looked stunned when Birkoff shook his head and began to laugh softly. "What?" he queried, afraid of the answer.

"Of all the things I expected to say to you, *this* sure as hell wasn't one of 'em." A tiny muscle at the corner of Birkoff's mouth clenched and unclenched, the reflexive crease somehow betraying an inner tension he kept hidden so well.

Hillinger frowned. "I don't understand."

"Sure you do." Birkoff's face remained still, even as every other muscle in his body tightened in anticipation.

"No, I really don't, Seymour." Pause. "Does this have something to do with what *I* said to *you* before? Cause if it does, you don't have to say it back. I never expected that, not from you--"

Birkoff leaned closer, pressing the fingers of one tremulous hand to Greg's cheek. "I have *never* felt this way about *anybody*, Greg."

His dark eyes gleamed, but the origin of the fierce light remained a mystery. He grinned suddenly. "I sure as hell didn't think it'd be *you*."

Birkoff kissed Hillinger tenderly, lingering on his lips, as if tasting them for the first time. "This is so much *worse* than *fucking*, Greg. I thought we'd be wrestling to see who gets to top and who gets to bottom...." Birkoff paused, as if breathing suddenly hurt.

Hillinger didn't dare hope, but his near-black eyes shone with undisguised adoration for the older Comm op.

"I fucking *love* you, Greg. And dammit, that *wasn't* part of the plan."

"Maybe you need a *new* plan," Hillinger quipped pertly.

"Maybe you're too fucking far away," Birkoff countered dryly, reaching out for the younger man.

***

If someone asked him to describe what happened next, Birkoff would have been at a loss to explain just how they both got undressed.

But all at once, they *were* in bed, and nothing could have prevented them from coming together.

Birkoff chuckled as his slender but muscular frame covered Hillinger's. "See? I told you that wrestling would be involved."

Hillinger relaxed enough to smile, and Birkoff couldn't resist kissing him. "You don't mind me being on top now, do you, Greg?"

A moment later, Birkoff was stunned to find himself flat on his back, staring up into Greg's laughing dark eyes. "We could take turns," Greg suggested.

Birkoff narrowed his eyes, reclaiming what he now considered part of *his* territory. When Greg was comfortably settled beneath him again, Birkoff bit Greg's mouth, just enough to give his lips that love-bitten look. "*I* think you should stay put long enough for one of us to enjoy this."

Hillinger traced a fingertip over Birkoff's mouth, the gesture more loving than sensual. "Your wish is my command, Seymour."

Birkoff grinned, a slow, possessive smile transforming him. "Technically, I think *you* now outrank *me*, but then again, I'm *dead*, so--"

Hillinger froze, his fingers at the corner of Birkoff's mouth. His midnight-colored eyes fixed on his lover, he whispered raggedly, "Please don't say that. I can't--"

"Oh, I'm sorry, baby, so sorry," Birkoff reassured, the endearment slipping out unbidden.

Birkoff kissed the tears that trickled from the corners of Greg's eyes, and Greg sighed with relief. You're still here. This is *not* a dream. I was so afraid that I was going to wake up and....

...you'd still be dead.

"Love me."

"I do."

"Touch me."

"I am."

"Fuck me," came the last hoarse exhortation.

The gentle but necessary stretching only aroused them further. As Birkoff's fingers slipped inside his lover, teasing and stroking that spot that gave him the most pleasure, Greg began to lose control. "I don't want to come yet. I want you *inside* me. I want to see your eyes looking straight into mine when it happens."

It felt like nothing else. It was like praying to be saved from some force so much greater than your own, only to see the blinding white light that brought salvation at last...firsthand.

Birkoff made his way inside that snug channel and rested there for a moment, allowing Greg to adjust to the feel of him. When he began to stroke, slowly at first, Greg's gasp almost stopped him. "D-don't you dare stop now!" he cried out.

Together they struggled towards completion, the pinnacle clearly in sight. His hand grasping Hillinger's cock, Birkoff continued to surge inside his lover until, with a shudder, he spilled his life essence within him. "Greg!"

A whispered but heartfelt "Seymour" came in reply.

Birkoff nudged Greg's lips apart, his tongue swirling restlessly inside his mouth. Then, as if to punctuate each word, there was a more powerful, more intense kiss. "This. Was. Not. About. Fucking."

He wrapped his arms around the younger man's neck, pressing their bodies together, ignoring the stickiness that spread across his groin. "This was making love," he whispered, nuzzling Greg's ear.

For several minutes, it seemed as though all was right with the world. Their well-sated young bodies craved sleep, and it seemed as though they would get it. Then reality set in.

"Seymour?"

"Hmm?"

"Where do we go from here?"

Birkoff frowned. "What do you mean?"

"I mean...." All at once Greg looked as if someone had sucker punched him. "Are we ever going to be together again? Like this?" Or are you going to slip back into your role? Pretend to be Jason, who just happens to be *really* good at impersonating his brother? Shit, how can I ever trust you? How will I ever know where I really stand?

Birkoff's dark eyes reflected a certain level of conflict and angst back at his lover. "There *is* more freedom in living *his* life, you know. I can do things people would never expect of *me*."

Greg shook his head. "But I love *you*. Not *him*. I don't want to be with *him*. I...I don't even know if I *can*."

Birkoff's thumb wiped a tear that threatened to spill from Greg's eye. "Even if it's the only way *we* can be together?"

Hillinger was silent.

"I'm not asking you to do anything, Greg. If all you can do is keep my secret, that's okay."

Hillinger nodded.

"After all, we all do...whatever we have to do." Birkoff sounded sad, almost hopeless, as he turned away from his lover.

Greg pulled on Birkoff's chin, forcing him to make eye contact. "You honestly think I would betray you now?"

Birkoff didn't answer.

"I *love* you. Doesn't that mean anything?"

"It means everything." Birkoff kissed Greg lightly, disobeying his own body's urging to take what was his by right.

"But you expect me to--"

Birkoff trained his all-too-serious eyes on Hillinger. "I expect...nothing." That's probably what I'll get, too. If I'm lucky.

***

Epilogue

I know what you're thinking. You think I reported Seymour, don't you? You think I fucked him, and then, when all the shouting was over with, I fucked him again. This time for Section.

Well, you're wrong.

Are you as surprised as I am? I bet you're not. Seymour had me pegged from the getgo. I *am* that ambitious. I *do* look out for the main chance. I *don't* take unnecessary risks.

But I'm protecting a secret here. As well as the man I love. Who'd have thought?

It still gives me a chill to hear him talk in that unnatural voice, that creepy Southern drawl. But luckily, I only have to hear that outside our bedroom. Our quarters are surveillance-proof. We *both* saw to that.

Soon I'll sign off on "Jason's" training. Everyone will applaud accordingly, of course. I've done a great job. So realistic. He could really pass for Birkoff, don't you think?

I can't help but laugh. My tears have all dried up.

Birkoff is dead. Long live Birkoff!


End