Yet another *early* NC-17 effort from me. :)

The following is a post-"Love" story; it takes place the night after the mission. It has spoilers for both "Love" and "Charity." It is an NC-17 story. You've been warned; I take no responsibility if you're a minor and you read this, anyway.

No infringement of any sort is intended with the following. Please send comments to: gilbertklfn@cs.com.

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Nikita was angry; she was pacing near her bed in a state of barely-controlled rage. Everything about the last mission seemed like an insult--from the charades with Michael and the lies about the office building to their forced performance for voyeurs. Hell, even Madeline's choice of underwear for her had been insulting.

Now, in her own choice of far-more-comfortable garments--cotton panties and a tank top, Nikita tramped along her floor, her fury simmering. One of the worst aspects of the mission, she decided, had actually come after it was over, when she had discovered that--not only was Bauer not being punished for his crimes--he was being rewarded and toasted for them. Nikita badly wanted to see the man die; remembering watching the innocents he killed--holding them as they gasped their last, panicked breaths, her rage could think of nothing less as justice.

And Michael. Although, even in her anger, she didn't exactly want him dead, her fantasies of him at the moment weren't particularly pleasant ones. She wanted to make him pay--for everything: lying about Section's plans, knowingly letting the attack happen--and being angry with her for her horror, justifying Section's lack of action, and, well, *everything* that happened at Bauer's later.

Her story of their supposed first meeting in Rio had been intended as a lesson for him, and she knew--happily--that it had made him nervous. She had taken control then, reversed--for a few seconds--the balance of power which had existed between them since their first meeting, and it had scared him a little. It was about time, she thought; it was time he knew what it felt like for her.

He had gotten his revenge later, however--pulling her close during the dance. Despite her anger and all her best efforts at distancing herself, she knew he could see the effect his touch had on her.

"Damn him," she thought, flopping down to sit on the foot of her bed. Even his answer to Stephanie's observation, "You must be in love," had been a challenge: "We are." He had said it watching her, daring her to contradict him--the smug bastard.

Nikita fell back onto the bed and stared at the ceiling. It didn't help matters any that--even being watched by a pervert like Bauer--even through her fury--she had been aroused by Michael. She had kissed him, at first, challengingly--daring him to not be turned on by her touch; he had lost the challenge.

Although she had managed to stay mostly aloof from him then, she had failed miserably later. She had been slightly touched by the tenderness in his eyes when he approached her after her diversion. By the time they were on the bed, she wanted more of him. He felt so *good* pressed against her--touching her so delicately while kissing her so passionately--that she wanted to just forget about Bauer, the mission, and the stupid cameras and spend the next several hours having him. And, she was furious with him--and herself--for feeling this way.

Nikita shook her head. Michael had too much control over her life--over her. She wanted desperately to balance the scales.

Nikita pulled herself up and crawled into bed, pulling a sheet over her. She closed her eyes and imagined the vengeance she would reek, if she could:

She saw herself, dressed in a seemingly-mundane white Oxford shirt and slightly flowing, mid-calf skirt, walking into Michael's office and closing the door, dumping a bag near it.

Michael, seated--as always--behind his desk, looked up at her. "What is it, Nikita?"

Nikita smiled and closed his window blinds, walking closer to him.

Michael looked slightly worried. "What are you doing?"

Nikita unbuttoned the top few buttons on her shirt and walked over to him, trapping both his arms on the arms of the chair with her hands, leaning down to him. With no bra on, she allowed Michael a view he rarely got to see so close. She smiled at him.

Michael looked nervous--both of her and of himself. "What is this, Nikita?"

"This is what you've been wanting, Michael," she informed him. "This is what you've been taunting me with."

Michael tried to remain cold, but his body was beginning to betray him. "This is what you think I want?"

Nikita smiled at his attempt at denial and ran the tip of her tongue down the side of his neck.

Without meaning to, Michael sighed and closed his eyes, tilting his head back slightly. His hands began to grip the rails of his chair.

Nikita gently bit the skin near his collar and looked back up at him, smiling. His eyes were still closed. She played with his lips with hers until he responded to the kiss. She pulled back, leaving him wanting more. He tried to rise, but she held him in the chair. "No, Michael. This is on my terms, or I leave."

Michael's eyes were dark with passion, and his breathing was ragged, but he tried to ignore it. "You *should* go," he said quietly.

Nikita just smiled at him. She leaned forward and began to nip her way down his throat. When his head leaned back again, she removed one hand from his arm and began to stroke him lightly through his pants. Still stroking him, she looked back up. "I don't think your body agrees with you," she noted.

Michael's eyes were closed, desire evident on his face. "`Kita, don't." He made no effort to stop her, though.

Nikita stopped briefly and reached for the closing on his pants, opening it deftly and carefully upzipping them. She reached into them and freed him--already hard--from pants and briefs. She began stroking him again slowly.

Michael gripped the arms of the chair desperately, eyes tightly closed, lost in sensation, his breath shuddering slightly.

Nikita kissed behind his ear and played with his earlobe. "Still want me to go?"

"No," Michael moaned.

Nikita stopped stroking him, stood up, and smiled. "Good." She unbuttoned her blouse completely and removed it, revealing herself to him.

Michael watched her, drinking in the sight.

Nikita smiled at his worshipful gaze. She leaned down, achingly close to him, and pulled up his shirt, tugging it off of him in one swift motion, Michael helping obediently. His hair stopped following its usual orders and landed in a more-tussled, less-rigid style.

Nikita reached up and stroked his cheek, before running her fingers back into the auburn locks. She leaned close to him, breast inches from his face. She pulled him forward, and he took her gratefully into his mouth, cherishing her nipple with his tongue.

Nikita groaned slightly and cradled him close to her, running her hands through his hair.

Michael put his arms around her and pulled her closer still, eliciting a moan from her.

Nikita let him adore her that way for several minutes. Then, she pulled back and stood him up, helping divest him of the rest of his apparel.

When he stood naked before her, she smiled. She put her hands on his waist and guided him around the desk, before helping to lower him to the floor. Then, she stood above him, straddling him, as he lay there. She smiled down at him.

Nikita lowered herself until she was crouched across his thighs, allowing him the revelation that she wore no underwear. She leaned down to lightly tease his neck with her lips, while tracing the muscles of his arms with her hands, before moving them down to run lightly over his nipples. Michael groaned, and she ran her tongue down to taste the hard buds.

"Yes," he sighed.

Nikita continued there for a while before running her lips lower still. She kissed the tip of his penis, before running her tongue along the back of it, from the base to the tip. The breath caught in Michael's throat. When she finally took him in her mouth, stroking him simultaneously with her hand, he let out a deep groan.

After a while, Nikita ran her lips back up to the tip again and then sat up, looking at him.

"Please, `Kita," he begged.

Nikita smiled and stood up. She kicked off her shoes and then removed her skirt slowly. Finally completely revealed, she stood above him. "Do you want me?" she asked.

"Yes," he pleaded.

Nikita smiled and lowered herself again. Michael's hands tried to take hold of her hips, but she held them away, on the floor. Then, she lowered herself onto him.

"Yes," Michael moaned and then groaned deeply, as Nikita moved her hips to take him completely inside her.

She closed her eyes and smiled, loving the feel of him filling her. She began to move.

After a minute, Michael looked up at her, eyes pleading. "Please let me touch you, `Kita."

Nikita's look clearly said that she was allowing an indulgence. She let go of his hands and helped pull him up to her.

He kissed her passionately before running kisses down her neck and throat, hands feeling her back and running down to her hips before pulling her down further onto him.

Nikita let out a moan which half sounded like a contented laugh.

Michael's hands ran up her back and held her close, as his mouth again worshiped her breasts.

Nikita quickened their pace.

After another minute or so, Nikita leaned Michael back down onto the floor, forcing him away from her breasts.

"Please, `Kita," Michael begged.

Nikita leaned over, put her hands on his face, and kissed him--hard, thrusting down onto him even more.

Michael groaned.

Nikita sat back up and continued riding him, their strokes deep.

"`Kita," Michael moaned.

Nikita rode him harder, putting her hands on his waist. "Mmmmm," she murmured.

"Please, `Kita," Michael begged.

Nikita rode him faster, hands clenching his sides, eyes closed.

Michael thrust back at her as hard as he could, insane for her, eyes closed, mouth open, groaning.

Nikita opened her eyes and looked at him again. "Look at me, Michael," she ordered.

He did, his eyes filled with desperation.

They stroked furiously now, watching each other. Michael's face was filled with longing--pleading. Nikita half-smiled at him.

Had either been sane, they might have been afraid of hurting her with the depth and ferocity of their strokes, but sanity had no part in this.

Then, they could feel it; they were both so close. Michael sat up to take Nikita in his arms, holding her tightly. Nikita put her arms around him, running her fingernails down his back. She bit the side of his neck.

"Nikita!" Michael groaned huskily, holding her almost crushingly close, losing himself in her.

"Mmmmm," Nikita licked her lips and then laughed, as she came.

Michael clung to her, even after they had both come down.

Nikita pulled him gently from her and laid him back down. She smiled at him and gave him a kiss before slowly pulling herself off of him, sighing.

He watched her devotedly.

Nikita walked, rather slowly, to her bag and took out a towel.

As she dried off the sweat and began to dress again, Michael watched with alarm. "You're not going to leave, `Kita?" he begged. He sat up.

Nikita knelt down by him and smiled again. She drew him into a deep kiss. Then, she pulled back, stood up, and--leaving Michael naked on his office floor with a towel beside him--walked over to the door, picking up her bag. "Have a good day, Michael," she smiled brightly at him. With that, she left.

Lying alone in her bed, Nikita smiled. It was only a fantasy, of course, but it had given her back some sense of order--of control over her own destiny. Still smiling happily, she rolled over to go to sleep.

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At Section headquarters, Michael watched a monitor. He had been worried about the mission's effect on his relationship with Nikita and had decided to check up on her. Ever since she had pulled a gun on him, though, he had learned not to just let himself into her apartment.

Watching Nikita's smile on the surveillance screen, as she turned over to sleep, disturbed him slightly. He didn't know exactly what she was thinking, but he felt fairly certain that she could prove even harder to control from now on. With this new thought, he blinked and turned away.

[The End]

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