********************************************************************** The following is an addendum to my story, "Invisible Walls," although it could certainly be read without any knowledge of it. Basically, I'm exploring what Michael might have been dreaming when he's sleeping in the van on surveillance stakeout with Nikita in "Inside Out." This story is very much NC-17 and does contain some fairly rough sex. You've been warned; if you're under 18 and read this anyway, I take no responsibility. The content of the dream here represents, as well, my vision of what I'd like Michael and Nikita's far future to be. I hope you like it. :) No infringement of any sort is intended with the following. Please send any comments or requests to: gilbertklfn@cs.com. **********************************************************************

It wasn't often that Michael slept during a mission of this length. . . . It wasn't often that he slept at all. Today, though, it was the only way to avoid the uncomfortable silence he and Nikita seemed to be sharing, and-- since his involvement in the surveillance wasn't necessary at the moment--it seemed the only reasonable course.

Michael had no real hope that sleep would give him an escape, however; he wasn't naive enough to believe that. The innocent and the conscienceless could find peace in their dreams, but the damned who still felt pain were lost. There would be no escape for him.

All of his dreams, when he slept, lately, were about her. Some were nightmares of blood and loss; others were beautiful fantasies. It was actually the fantasies he feared the most, though; they were too sharp a reminder of all he knew they could never be.

Some last fragment of consciousness tried to grasp hold of reality, as he felt his dreams beginning, but the pull of his subconscious--strong because so long repressed--was too much for him. The dream began:

************

Michael awoke--instantly tense, completely lost. He was naked, and a woman's soft form was wrapped partially around him, her long, fair hair half-covering her face. He was still holding her hand. She stirred, as his fingers tightened on hers. "Michael?" she murmured sleepily, raising her head, wondering what was wrong.

His heart quit beating quite so loudly at the sound of her voice. He stopped holding her hand and pushed her hair out of her face. "`Kita?" He was still breathing heavily. He looked around the room. "Where are we?" It wasn't familiar.

"We're home." She was still groggy.

He removed her from him gently and got up, leaving her under the sheet, as he checked the corners for cameras, looking out the window for a familiar view.

Nikita sighed. "Michael, again? It's been over a year now."

He looked back at her, eyes frightened. "What do you mean?"

The look she gave him was a tender one. She held out her hand to invite him back to bed--back to her.

He felt like a caged animal, unsure whether the hand extended to him was his liberation or his death. He watched her cautiously for several seconds, then slowly began to come to her. He took her hand, his eyes still wary, and sat down near her.

She reached out to brush his hair back from his face, but he flinched as though expecting to be hit. It wasn't that he didn't trust her, but the newness of the situation had him on edge. She took his hand, therefore, and kissed his fingers. "We're safe."

He shook his head, looking sad. "There's no safety, Nikita."

She looked gently at him, stroking his hand. "Section's gone, Michael. It's been gone for well over a year now."

He seemed disbelieving. "How?"

She gave him the smile of a woman who had patiently retold the same story many times. "I destroyed it. You came with me, when everything was done." She stroked his palm. "You could've stayed--could've fought against me, but you chose to live with me instead."

He looked confused. "But the substations--the people?"

"The substations are rubble. . . . Some of the people survived." She looked away, haunted. "Some didn't."

"You killed them?" His eyes traced her face.

She turned her head away further. "I destroyed the system." She shrugged slightly. "They made their own decisions."

"Who didn't make it?" He was trying to process all of this.

"Operations, Madeline, . . . a lot of others." Her voice was small; she swallowed back a lump in her throat.

"And Walter and Birkoff?" he asked. Could she really have destroyed her friends?

She looked back at him, worried. "*Of course* they made it. Hell, we just got a message from Walter the other day that he married that woman he met recently." She looked at him closely. "You don't think I'd let them die, do you?"

He was still trying to process her message. "The agency?"

"Thinks we're dead," she finished.

He gave his last objection to the validity of her words. "The directory?"

"Birkoff destroyed it."

He shook his head slightly and stroked her face. "But why did you do it?"

She looked amazed. "It was *Section*. We never once helped anyone, unless we did it by accident. We specialized in pain and murder." She had tears in her eyes; she pulled away from him completely and turned to sit on the other side of the bed, her back to him. "I love you, Michael, but I hate it when you wake up like this." She looked up at the window. "This is the man I wanted to leave behind."

Suddenly, everything seemed to fall into place for him. The memories returned.

It had taken him a lot longer to pull everything together this time. The lapses back into his life in Section were growing farther apart, but they were also getting more prolonged, when they came.

He shook his head, stood up, and came around the bed to kneel in front of her, his hands on her legs. "I'm sorry, `Kita." She looked at him. "I just can't accept good fortune easily."

She gave him a saddened half-smile. "You're telling me."

He smiled slightly, one hand stroking her face. "It just seems unreal that you still want me."

She laughed a little and leaned over to kiss his temple. "I don't-- everyday." She trailed her arms down his back and propped her chin on his shoulder. "I was throwing things at you a week ago."

His slight laughter vibrated against her hands. "Good." He pulled back to look at her. "I wouldn't trust you, if you were adoring." He held her face in his hand and kissed her cheek.

"I don't think you've got anything to worry about." Her eyes had a mischievous light in them.

He smiled. He loved it when she looked like this--so innocent and vital, despite all he had done to her, all they had been through.

Michael held his lips close and traced hers with the tip of his tongue. She opened her mouth and claimed his, allowing him to search her sweetness.

This was what he had always wanted. He stood up and pushed her gently back onto the bed, still kissing her. Lying on top of her, his body reacting to her softness, his hands retracing areas they had memorized long before, he felt complete. This was what he had dreamed of, through all of those dark years of Section--that his angel would save him from his hell . . . from himself, despite all his best efforts to defeat her.

His hands held her face, as he kissed her, his kiss becoming more demanding.

She whimpered under him and ran her hands into his hair to hold him to her.

He remembered now, remembered how they had made a study of possession, how often they had claimed each other to remind themselves that no one could come between them again. No missions would make him unfaithful; no lies and manipulations could hurt her--make her turn away. He would never have to touch another woman again; he was now `Kita's to claim.

And she did claim him--greedily and often, in a way he had always dreamed of. She never bothered to hide her need or desire anymore. She would make him hers with one searing look and then follow up on it, until his muscles were quivering from releases so overpowering they were almost life-threatening. . . . Then, soon thereafter, sometimes, she would delicately torment him, until he was literally begging her for more.

She knew her power, and she used it mercilessly. . . . She knew all his secrets, too--all the darknesses in him, but she never once pulled away.

There were days, certainly, when her anger and hate outweighed the love, but he was comforted by them; something in him would have died if he had harmed her inner fire.

More often, though, Nikita healed him--offered her body as a balm for the wounds in his soul. And, even though he could be a bit like a wild animal she had adopted as a pet--never entirely tame, always capable of a reversion, she never feared him, regardless of how dangerous he became--justifiably confident that he would never hurt her again.

Nikita had wildnesses of her own, too--a light of danger her eyes took on which aroused him endlessly to see. Their lovemaking was sometimes more akin to two panthers mating in the jungle than the gentle touch of lovers.

Right now, though, all he knew was that he needed her--needed the woman who was his soul. He wanted to give her pleasure, to fulfill her so thoroughly that all memories of their past were erased. The pressure of his lips on hers was painful, he knew, but she was his to claim. . . . He would show her the animal she had brought into her bed.

He broke away from the kiss and smoothed back her hair, while he stared into her face. She opened her eyes to see the predatory light in his and gave him a feral smile. She leaned up and nipped slightly at his swollen lips before smiling dangerously again.

He emitted a noise which sounded like a growl before kissing her roughly once more, his hands running back behind her head. He then traced his tongue over her cheek to her earlobe, biting it lightly, his teeth grazing down it.

He continued to play with it for several seconds, while her nails lightly held onto his shoulders.

Tiring temporarily of the lobe, Michael began to bite his way down her neck in a line, nipping at little bits of flesh and suckling them before moving on.

Nikita met each movement with a gasp or groan.

Reaching her shoulder, the tip of his tongue ran over it, until he gave it a light bite. He traced his tongue back over her shoulder blade and then rooted his teeth to the tender flesh at the juncture of her shoulder and neck, alternately nibbling and suckling there. Nikita had taken to whimpering, her hands holding his head to her.

He stopped his sensual tormenting of her neck after a few minutes and raised his head back to hers; his eyes shone like a predatory cat in the jungle's, before he ravished her mouth again, revelling in her taste and her beautiful noises.

He pulled back from her and moved to nibble far more lightly down the other side of her neck. The contrast enthralled her, and she took to groaning once more.

His hands traced down her sides, as he worked his way slowly down her body. They glided down to her hips before roaming back up the smooth flesh to her breasts. His thumbs caressed the undersides, as he kissed up her throat, running his tongue along the underside there.

He stroked the sides of her breasts and then moved up, until his fingers were tracing in circles very close to the delicate flesh of the tips. She tried to press herself into them, but he backed away with her every effort, never quite touching her as she wanted.

His mouth traced down her throat and breastbone, until his tongue ran over to lick the underside of one breast--to her groan. He then continued to kiss around it, still refusing to give her the relief she begged for.

"Michael, please," she cried, her voice almost catching on a sob.

He smiled up at her and gave her a nipping kiss before returning to her breasts. They were perfect and aching to be touched; he loved her like this. His mouth encircled the whole of one small breast before his teeth ran back up to capture the waiting nipple. At the same time, his hand pinched its twin.

Nikita screamed out in desire. He knew exactly how much she needed, and he never made the mistake of being either too gentle or too rough. She held him to her, as tears of pleasure ran down her cheeks. "Yes," she moaned.

Michael continued to exploit his knowledge of her desires, revelling in her need and in the incredible feeling of her on his tongue and against his lips. His hand never ceased its arousal of the twin bud.

This felt so good for him--his mouth was made to suckle her--that he didn't want to stop. After awhile, however, he forced himself to switch off, to Nikita's groan--disappointed to lose him for even a second.

"Michael . . . more," she groaned, and he ran his teeth over her, suckling more firmly. His arousal throbbed against her thigh.

Nikita held him more tightly to her, until he bit her again. She sighed contentedly, smiling, small whimpers still sounding from her. "Yeah," she moaned.

Her sounds made Michael's desire for her unbearable. He licked a goodbye to the nipple and then alternately kissed and licked his way down her stomach, moving toward the treasure at her core. She was quivering slightly.

He moved his mouth down to her thigh first and licked a line down it. He repeated the action on the other and then wrapped her legs around his neck.

He smiled up at her to see her eyes closed, her lips parted, her hands holding onto the sheets, as she waited, breathlessly, for his touch. He lowered his head to slowly trace the tip of his tongue around her, just inside the entrance to her depths, stopping to suckle her bud, his hands holding her to him.

Nikita let out incoherent sobs, her body conforming to his touch. He continued suckling her firmly, until her breathing was almost dangerously eratic. Then, he held her further up to him and pulled on her bud with his lips.

Nikita convulsed under him, letting out a cry which was barely human.

Michael gave the bud one last, tender lick and then entered her with his tongue, beginning to run up and down each of her walls.

She wasn't completely down from the last orgasm; she wasn't sure she would survive the next. "Michael, I . . . uhhh . . . oh, God . . . ."

He started stroking her deeper, establishing a rhythm. Her breath was shuddering, her hips shaky, as he helped her move them. Her heels were crossed and on his shoulders. She was groaning.

Michael found a very receptive spot in her and began licking it with abandon.

"Oh Jesus . . . Michael," she moaned, before one final lick sent her crying out, her walls trembling around his tongue.

She was shuddering and crying slightly, as he unwrapped her from around him gently and looked back up at her. He returned her body to the bed, smiled, and then gave her small licks, as he worked his way back slowly to her face.

He braced himself on his arms above her, looking down at her. He loved her like this--her body soft and willing, her face still caught up in the rapture he had given her. He loved her in ecstasy; it suited her. This was his dream --to be the one who gave her intense, erotic pleasure for the rest of her life. He could think of no life goal more noble.

Nikita looked up at him and smiled, her eyes tracing his face. Her shudders had been reduced to mere tremors.

He smiled at her, still holding himself above her. "Had enough, or do you want more?"

Her eyes became suddenly dangerous--a panther on the prowl; it was the look he had been hoping to see. She grabbed on to his arms. "Pull away from me, and you'll suffer for it."

He lowered his face closer to hers. "Wouldn't dream of it." His mouth played near hers, teasing, his tongue coming out to not quite touch her.

Nikita was through being played with. She let out a growl and leaned up to capture his mouth while her hands ran down his body to pull him into her.

He returned the kiss, lowering himself on her before holding her head, pressing it back into the bed. Her hands on him felt so good; he could feel himself jump, as he entered her. He loved letting her take partial control like this--trusted her with his body and their shared pleasure.

It felt so good that he was hardening even further, as he penetrated her more deeply. He broke the kiss to look at her and saw the feral light in her eyes. He smiled and gave one final thrust, entering her completely.

Her nails sunk into him slightly, as she closed her eyes to slits and tilted her head back. She let out something which was half a groan and half a growl.

Michael smiled. Her throat provided too tempting a target. He licked along it, as he allowed her a few seconds to recover from his entry. Then, he began to stroke her, as his teeth bit lightly along the side of her neck.

One of Nikita's hands came up to clench his shoulder, while the other lifted his head to return it to her mouth. She held him to her, as she kissed him ferociously. Her hips met him in his rhythm.

She began to give him little nipping kisses, while her nails traced down both his sides. She felt him flex in her, as she tightened herself around him.

His breath caught. He opened his eyes to find her dangerous smile. "More," she commanded.

With a smile of his own, he ran his hands slowly down her to her hips and began to stroke up into her deeply. She closed her eyes and leaned her head back, her hands on his shoulders.

"Is this what you meant?" he asked her, with a perfectly straight face, which didn't hide the knowing gleam in his eyes.

Nikita opened her eyes and leaned up to kiss him, her hands in his hair. She then broke the kiss and looked at him again. "Yes," she responded, as she rolled them both over, until she was on top. She propped herself up on her hands above him. "But maybe I can do better."

She tightened her internal grip until he stopped stroking and just groaned, his head back. "Thought that would wipe that smug look off your face," she smiled.

She began her own rhythm, sliding down onto him deeply before coming back up to almost release him. She continued this while giving a nipping kiss to his throat. Then, she traced her tongue over his slick chest and out to his arm, nipping at it and coming back to kiss his shoulder.

Her tongue next traced down him till she lapped at his nipple, running the tip of her tongue around it. Michael groaned and ran his hands into her hair; she held him to her, as well--her hands at his back, as she suckled him.

"`Kita," he groaned.

She gave a last lick to that nipple. "Yes, I know, my love," she purred, licking a line down his breastbone. "You like receiving my attention almost as much as you like giving me yours." She suckled briefly at his other nipple and then held him up to her a bit, as she ran her mouth up to kiss and suckle at a sensitive spot on his neck.

By the time she worked her way up to his lips, he was almost mindless. It was times like this that she tamed him. She could do anything she wanted to him, and he was powerless to stop her--would rather die than try to. His soul was so fragile, when he gave it to her like this, but he knew she would return it--not only unharmed--but brighter and far more beautiful.

He returned her kiss and her rhythm, holding onto her. She brought him up to her, until she was sitting on his lap, her arms and legs around him--clinging to him.

The strokes were getting deeper, and Nikita was losing the concentration to be able to kiss Michael. Her breathing was heavy, and her head was back, being held by his hands. Her mouth was open slightly, as her breath caught on little moans and sighs.

Michael watched her, before he began nipping and licking lightly down her neck, stopping for a second to torment with his tongue the slightly bruised spot he had given her earlier. . . . God, she was beautiful like this--full of passion and need.

He needed to fulfill her--needed to be certain he was her fantasy, as she was his. His hands ran down her back, as his tongue stroked over her shoulder.

He took hold of her from behind, while he was running little licks and kisses up and down her throat.

He began rotating his hips in a circle up into her, as he squeezed her from behind. He kissed the underside of her throat.

Nikita's nails were on his shoulders, as she moaned with each movement. "Yes . . . Michael . . . please," she begged.

He raised his head to kiss her briefly, then ran his lips to her ear. He began to pull himself into her much more deeply, molding her to him with each thrust. He could feel her begin to shudder around him, her breathing erratic.

"That's it, `Kita . . . that's it." He kissed her cheek.

"Michael," she whimpered. A stroke went deeper, causing her to groan. He put one hand behind her head. "Yes, my love . . . yes." He ran several wet kisses down her neck. His strokes got harder, a bit faster. "Come for me," he whispered before nibbling her earlobe.

One last stroke convulsed her. "Michael," she whimpered, clinging to him. Her tears ran down his neck, as she shuddered around him.

He stroked hard into her once more and felt her internal tremors grow even stronger. The cry she gave turned into a rumbling groan.

He couldn't take any more. He needed her now; there was nothing gentle left in him. He was no longer tame.

She was still clinging to him and shuddering, as he lay her back on the bed to rise above her. He began a deep, intense rhythm, allowing her no time to recover. He ran his teeth lightly along her neck to suckle roughly at the tender skin near her shoulder.

She could barely breathe. "Michael." Her nails were on his shoulders. He stroked more deeply. "Oh dear God . . . Michael."

"Yes," he half-growled. This was how he wanted her--groaning and desperate, filled with a ravenous need only he could satisfy.

He ran his mouth down to suckle sharply at her still overly-sensitized nipple. Nikita cried out and pressed her nails deeper into his skin. "Yes! . . . Oh, God, Michael, more."

He gave her slow, very deep--almost brutal--strokes, as she gasped her approval. He bit at her nipple slightly, as she screamed. Her legs were wrapped tightly around him.

God, she felt good. There had never been a more erotic creature than her; she was the absolute embodiment of need, sensuality, and fulfillment. The world seemed filled with miserable beings--men who would never know her touch, who--without her--could never truly understand passion.

He gave her a final nip and then ran his tongue up the slick skin of her breastbone and throat to give a nip to the underside. His hands were on her lower back, as he beat into her brutally. He was growing harder and thicker by the minute. Nikita was crying.

He gave her a hard kiss and looked at her, his eyes burning with carnal fire. "This is what you were made for, `Kita. . . . This is what *I* was made for." He gave her a very sharp stroke, as she closed her eyes to scream. He waited for her to recover enough to look at him. "This," he stroked her extra hard again, "is the meaning of our lives."

Nikita's lips looked like she was trying to form his name, but she was far beyond speech. Michael ran his hands up to her shoulders and shifted his weight forward. With an absolutely feral gleam in his eyes, he gave her a brutal thrust, while closing his teeth lightly over her jaw, tasting along her throat.

Nikita's nails wounded his back, as she arched under him. Her voice was shredding in her screams. The pleasure came--throbbed in waves, as she convulsed beneath him.

Michael watched her with animalistic glee, until she managed to catch half a breath. "Mi-chael," she whispered, whimpering.

He felt her tighten more completely around him, pulling him further into her. He closed his eyes, his control almost snapping.

As many times as they had been together now, he still found it hard to let go. Giving her pleasure, constantly searching for and capitalizing on new erotic weaknesses he had discovered was the realization of his long-held, overpowering fantasy; every time, he never wanted it to end--wanted to continue building on her ecstasy until she was insane and weak with delight.

So many years, he had been forced to seduce and please women who meant nothing to him--an endless procession of meaningless bodies to be serviced. Now, he was with the only woman he could ever need or desire, and--as shattering as the releases she gave him were--he wanted each time to be eternal.

Nikita understood this, but she cherished his pleasure as much as her own. "Yes, please," she breathed, encouraging him. She bit the skin between his shoulder and neck and suckled there for a second. His jaw tightened. "My love," she whispered in his ear before holding his head to her cheek.

Michael let out an inhuman cry, her words proving his final downfall. He ran his hands back down to hold her, as he thrust desperately into her several more times. Then, he exploded deep into her with a force which practically destroyed him. He was screaming.

His head rested on her shoulder; his tears ran down her body. He couldn't stop quivering and spasming inside of her. His whole body was still trembling; he could barely breathe.

Only she could do this to him; only she had this power. All of his life to this point had been a search for her. He could never let her go.

He was still shaking several minutes later, when he raised his head to look at her. She looked every bit as overcome and weak as he did.

She put her hand tremblingly on his cheek and kissed him. "I love you, Michael."

His breath caught, and he kissed her soundly back. "You're my heart, Nikita . . . my savior. There's nothing left in me, if you leave."

She smiled shakily and kissed him again. She was still trembling slightly around him, revelling in the feeling of his warmth inside her. "Then you have nothing to worry about."

Michael pulled her into his arms, kissed her once more, and rolled them over, never disuniting them. He managed to find the tangle of sheets beneath them and covered them both.

He kissed her forehead, as she melted into his chest. "I love you, my heart." He took her hand and kissed the fingers before intertwining his with it and settling it again on his chest. "Never forget that." He kissed her hair and then fell into a blissful, warm, dreamless sleep.

************

In the van, Nikita looked over at Michael as he slept and wondered what he was dreaming. Her own dreams, though only faintly remembered, were of some distant future with him--a future where she could trust and love him, without Section's interference. Whatever his were, she hoped they were that beautiful.

[The End]

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