Love Thy Enemy story should be rated NC-17

Father Pedro Alejo stepped from the dim interior of the small village church into the courtyard behind it and breathed a deep sigh, savoring the peace.

He needed this brief time alone to calm his whirling thoughts. The incredible had happened. It was the miracle that he had been praying for. The phone call today was a sign that God had not abandoned or forgotten this small, obscure, war-battered village. Hope, for years such a small, fleeting thing, returned, coming to him in full, glorious force.

The young priest fell on his knees on the path where he stood and bowed his head.

"Lord, thank you," he prayed fervently. "Thank you for this reprieve for my people. Please give me the words to persuade Don Carlos to change his ways," Pedro pleaded. "Show me how to reach him, to turn him from the path of destruction...."

"Guide me, O Lord, and I will follow." He crossed himself and finished his prayer. "In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit- Amen."

He rose to his feet and brushed off his knees. His heart light, he looked happily around the small garden. He felt stronger, more confident, with all the hope and strength of his twenty-four years. *I can do this* he thought.

Pedro Alejo was an idealistic, good-hearted man. He was brave as well, for what he had endured and the horrors he had seen would have crushed many other men.

Don Carlos, the callous drug-lord that had decimated their village, had seen to it that those who opposed him were ruthlessly hunted down and exterminated. Now only a small number of villagers were left- mostly old people and children. The young men had all been either killed, drug-addicted, or roped into working for the Don and his men.

Father Pedro was only spared death, but not harrassment, because of Don Carlos's respect for the Church. The young priest at times had almost despaired of his parish surviving, so great was Don Carlos' control of everyone and everything, and so harsh was his vendetta against the people who had dared to defy him.

The young Father felt sometimes that fighting Don Carlos was like fighting a mountain- he was too strong, too immense, too -- everywhere--- to be touched; hs village had been crushed under the weight of that mountain.

But now a miracle had ocurred- the mountain had come to him.

Don Carlos had phoned the church that morning, asking to speak to the young priest. Pedro had expected another death threat, or a warning, or maybe another offer of a bribe. But this time Don Carlos had not wanted to intimidate him.

Amazingly, the drug lord had been humble, repentant, crying, begging for forgiveness. It seemed the years of hard living and hatred had at last caught up with him, his body was giving out; he was dying. Don Carlos had begged for Pedro to come to him, to grant him absolution of his sins, and perform for him the ritual of last rites.

Another man, not as gentle and noble as Pedro, might have felt like gloating over his enemy's turn of fortune. But Pedro was not such a man. He felt this was just an incredible gift, and opportunity to love his enemy as his Lord had instructed. He had agreed readily to come to his dying foe's bedside and offer him what comfort he could.

This was an important moment, and Father Pedro was not unaware that God was watching him.

What he didn't know was that Section One was watching him as well.

From his look-out point in a vehicle across the street from the church, Michael lowered his binoculars, nodded at Nikita seated next to him, and reported in.

"Target in sight," he stated calmly. "We're going in."

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

Father Pedro smiled at his visitors as he ushered them into his small study inside the church.

"Please sit down, sit down," he urged them eagerly. "It is wonderful to have you here! May I get you some coffee, or some lemonade, perhaps?" It was amazing, thought Pedro. Two miracles in one day. The Bishop himself had taken notice of Father Alejo's work and had sent these two, his close aides and associates, to assist him- this green-eyed priest with the angelic face and long hair, and a nun with the most heavenly blue eyes he had ever seen.

"We don't require refreshments," said Michael, declining the wide-eyed young priest's offer. He reached into his cassock pocket and pulled out a gun and held it on the startled Father.

"We just need you to listen to what we have to say," continued Michael calmly. "Please, sit down," he ordered his victim politely.

Pedro sank slowly down into his chair behind his desk, his smile fading. His eyes narrowed, and he looked from one to the other of his captors, seeming more angry than afraid.

"Who are you?" he demanded curtly. "Are you Don Carlos' people? Did he send you here to check me out?" There was no fear in the young priest's voice, only concern and indignation.

"No," answered Michael in the same polite, but menacing tone. "We're not with Carlos."

Nikita turned sympathetic eyes to the young, bewildered priest, but her tone was just as firm as Michael's. "We're here to take Don Carlos down, and you, Father, are our way in," she explained softly.

Pedro was up out of his chair, eyes blazing. "WHO ARE YOU?" he demanded again. "How could you know of my meeting today with Don Carlos? I have told no one...."

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

"It doesn't matter how we know," said Michael impatiently. "We just need you to do what you're told."

The priest, eyes flashing, stalked past his visitors, unconcerned about the gun still held on him, and strode to the door.

"I don't take orders from you," Pedro told them in a voice as firm and as cold as Michael's own. "Don Carlos, although he is not a good man, is still one of my parishoners. And he has asked for my help, and I will give it. I have my duty...."

"I will not allow you to interfere with God's work," the priest continued sternly, and pulled open the door to the study. "Please leave," Pedro ordered, standing in the doorway with a challenge in his eyes.

Michael almost smiled at the young priest's bravery. Not many people he encountered were this cool, either at gunpoint or under Michael's intimidating gaze. He admired the brave young man before him.

Michael took the door by the handle and pulled it firmly closed again. "I believe you will change your mind about helping us when I tell you just what Don Carlos intends to do to your village," he told the priest softly.

Pedro tilted his head, crossed his arms across his chest, and eyed the two operatives curiously. He was beginning to believe them; he knew Don Carlos was capable of perpetrating almost any atrocity on his towns-people.

"All right," he agreed suddenly. "I'm listening. What is it that you want to tell me?"

Nikita stepped forward, the long back skirts of her habit rustling, and began her explanation, trying to be gentle as possible, although the subject was brutal in the extreme.

"Don Carlos does not deal just in drugs," she began softly. "He deals in weapons, too."

The priest bit his lip and nodded. "I know that," he answered with a grim expression on his handsome face. "He has shot many of our people, and many others have died in skirmishes with thugs for whom Don Carlos has provided the arms...."

Michael locked eyes with Pedro and went on. "It's more than guns this time," he told him.

The priest's eyes widened. "What do you mean?" he asked, puzzled.

"Don Carlos has acquired biological weapons," continued Nikita. "To be specific, he has in his possession a quanity of deadly nerve gas and we know he plans to use it against your village."

"Madre de Dios!" Pedro gasped, slumping against the closed study door in shock. He turned wide eyes to Michael, who saw fear in the young priest's eyes for the first time.

Pedro took a deep breath and then straightened, standing proudly before Section's best anti-terrorists. "I ... I believe you," he told them, suddenly calm and controlled as they. "What do you need me to do?"

Michael returned the gun to his pocket and nodded at Pedro. "Just get us in to his compound- Let us accompany you when you go to see Don Carlos," he explained softly. "When we get there, we'll take care of the rest," Michael assured him.

"Si," agreed the priest, looking pale but composed. "We can go right now, if you like. Just let me gather a few things- my prayer book..."

He reached for the door handle and left the room, Michael allowing the younger man to pass by him to enter the hallway to the sanctuary.

Nikita joined Michael at the door. She stood close to him and lowered her voice so that Pedro would not overhear her. "What happens to Father Pedro after we take down Don Carlos, Michael?" she asked tensely.

Michael looked at her solemnly, then looked away, his mouth tightening in a grim line. "you know what happens, Nikita," he told her harshly.

"He knows too much- he's seen us...."

Michael exhaled a deep sigh and closed his eyes. "He's collateral," Michael finished in a sorrowful tone.

"No!" Nikita protested. "Please, Michael," she begged, putting her hand urgently on his sleeve. "Can't we do something?"

Michael met her eyes and held her gaze for a long moment. "I'll try, Nikita," he whispered. "That's all I can promise."

She gave him a brave smile and a hard squeeze on his arm. "Thank you," she told him with quiet sincerity. "Thank you, Michael."

A moment later the priest returned, hurrying down the hall toward them, carrying his book and and a small pouch that contained a vial of oil with which he would annoint the sick old man who wished to destroy him and everything he loved.

"I'm ready," Pedro said breathlessly, warm brown eyes looking eagerly from one to the other.

"Good, let's move," Michael ordered tensely. He hoped silently that Father Pedro was praying for all of them as he led them outside to the jeep.

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

Don Carlos at seventy-six years old had achieved all his life's goals but one; he was wealthy beyond his dreams and had more power than any other man in his country, including the beleagered President. He controlled all the weapons, all the drugs, all the money, and all the people in the area.

All the people, that is, except for the ones in the village where he was born. Stubbornly, his home-townspeople had refused to be proud of him, refused to admire his achievements. They refused to go along with his take-over of their lives; they resisted all his threats and his brutal tactics. But most infuriating of all, they refused to fear him.

The worst of them was the priest, Father Pedro. Don Carlos thought back to when Father Pedro had first been sent to replace the elderly, ineffectual priest that had preceded him. Stupidly, Don Carlos had assumed then that the inexperienced, green, wet-behind-the-ears innocent Pedro would be unlikely to make waves, to cause him much trouble. Don Carlos assumed the impossibly young, dewy-eyed cleric would, after one confrontation with the entire might of Don Carlos' organization, tuck his tail between his legs and cower before him like a frightened puppy.

But Father Pedro had not done what he had expected. Inside the puppy had lurked the fierceness, the strength, the nobility, the stubborness of another animal- Father Pedro had the heart of a lion.

Looking at the priest superficially, one would have not expected this shocking depth of character. Pedro was of average height with a slender build. His face was handsome in a boyish way, his brown eyes clear and reflecting the sweet innocence of his sheltered up-bringing. His straight black hair was cut short, making him seem even more youthful, and brushed back off a high, noble unlined forehead.

His sensitive face usually held an expression of sweet trust and infinite gentleness. Don Carlos had somehow overlooked the determined set of his strong jaw and the defiant tilt of his chin. Father Pedro, using the most peaceful and non-violent of methods, had proved to be the leader of a resistance movement that defied even Don Carlos' vast resources and relentless efforts to crush.

Don Carlos fumed that, of all people, this unworldly, simple man of God had managed to defeat him, Don Carlos, the most powerful man in his part of the world.

Don Carlos smiled. Father Pedro would not defeat him for long. Don Carlos, lying on his death-bed in the bedroom of his huge, opulent estate, had summoned the priest to come to him. Don Carlos knew there was not much time left, and that he was weak with pain, but he was confident that he had enough time and enough strength left for one last power-play with his young enemy-- One last glorious battle.

He would face Father Pedro once more, and this time- this last time- he would win.

Don Carlos smiled another death's head smile, bloodless, thin lips pulling back to form a vindictive grimace on his skeletal face. He sighed an evil sigh and lay back on his pillows, and waited for his victim's arrival.

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

Michael and Nikita found no resistance to their presence, along with the priest's, when they arrived at Don Carlos' elaborate hacienda. The guards had been given orders to bring Father Pedro to the dying man immediately, and the Don's men accepted the guileless, green-eyed cleric and the ethereally beautiful nun automatically as part of Pedro's delegation.

The visitors were not even searched, for which Michael and Nikita, both armed, were grateful. They followed close behind a tight-lipped Father Pedro as the guards led them up the stairs to Don Carlos' bedchamber.

One of Carlos' men tapped loudly on the door, then, without waiting for an answer, opened it and gestured for the three religiosos to go in. The trio entered the dimly lit room and the guards stayed outside, shutting the door firmly behind them.

They were at last alone with Don Carlos.

The old man, lying on the bed on the far side of the room, struggled to sit up, smiled another evil smile, and beckoned them near.

Don Carlos had been a cold man, a cruel man, a man who had lived only to exploit and dominate others, a man consumed by the drive for power, and, at this moment, for vengeance. The fact that he was dying had done nothing to change that.

His illness had not softened him, had not made him ponder his past and rethink his way of life. In fact, the knowledge of his impending death had not changed him at all. If anything, it had deepened his resolve to dominate, to destroy, to conquer.

He would die as he had lived, Don Carlos determined. Even in death he would be the victor. And if he had to die, he would take his enemies with him.

"Come closer, Father, please," begged Don Carlos weakly. "I am glad you are here."

And it was the truth. He was glad to see the young priest. He was determined to triumph over him in the Afterlife as well. Don Carlos was eager to be forgiven of his sins, to be granted entry into Paradise. And then, looking down from Heaven, he would witness the destruction of the village and all the people who had defied him- he would have his vengeance from the grave.

It was a perfect plan, he gloated to himself. Perfect.

Pedro approached him with a dignified stride, coming to stand very near the old man's beside. Michael and Nikita moved closer, but stayed back, lingering near the foot of the bed. The two operatives, tense and alert, watched every movement closely.

Don Carlos looked up into the face of this last enemy and smiled his death's head smile again.

"Please, Father," he asked in mock sweetness and humility, "I am ready to accept God's forgiveness now."

Pedro's mouth hardened, his lips pressed together in a thin, stubborn line, and his eyes glittered dangerously.

"Perhaps God is not yet ready to grant it, Don Carlos," the priest said with asperity. "And neither am I."

Michael looked up to meet Pedro's eyes and gave him a stern look. This was not the script thay had rehearsed. Michael had instructed Pedro to just come in, perform the last rites, and then step back and let him and Nikita take over. He was not prepared for this unexpected stubbornness from the youthful priest.

"Father Pedro ...." Michael cautioned in a soft voice, but with a hard look in his eye. "I think...."

"IF you don't mind, my son," Pedro cut him off, meeting Michael's gaze with a hard look of his own, "I believe God and I can handle this."

The priest ignored Michael's glare and turned back to the dying terrorist on the bed.

"You have a choice to make, Don Carlos," the priest stated in a soft voice edged with steel. "You can tell us where you have hidden the poison that you plan on using against the village- You can show us mercy, and God will grant you his mercy and forgiveness in return."

"OR..." Pedro continued as he turned and headed toward the door.

"OR, I will leave now and you...... Pedro said with a shrug of his shoulders, as if he preferred this second alternative, "You can burn in Hell for eternity as you deserve."

He opened the door and made as if he was about to leave, but turned to stare at the dying man once more. "It's entirely up to you," the priest said softly, and pulled the door open wider.

***********

Michael watched admiringly as the priest played his audience of one with dramatic skill. Seldom had he seen such expert manipulation anywhere outside of Madeleine's white room. He glanced at Nikita and he couldn't help letting a small smile quiver at the side of his mouth.

Nikita, in turn, bit her lip to keep her own smile in check.

The pose was working. Pedro, his back turned to the room as he headed out the door, was gratified to hear the old man call him back.

"Father Pedro! No!" Don Carlos cried, in tears. "Come back!"

Pedro froze in the doorway, then did a slow, dramatic turn. Michael and Nikita again watched in admiration. It was an effective performance. Very effective.

His hand still on the door handle, Pedro answered. "Tell me where the nerve gas is hidden, and I will consider it," he said with quiet dignity.

Sobbing brokenly, Don Carlos capitulated entirely. Nodding vigorously, he began to tell them what they wanted to know. He couldn't get the words out fast enough.

"It's hidden..... buried..." the old man gasped. "In the village..."

"Where?" Michael demanded curtly, fixing Don Carlos with his blank stare.

"In... in a coffin in the churchyard," blubbered the drug lord piteously. "In my father's grave..."

Pedro threw the old man a look of disgust mixed with puzzlement. "Why the graveyard?" he asked. "Why your father's grave?"

Carlos, crying too hard to speak, sobbed on, but said nothing.

Suddenly, a look of understanding crossed the priest's face, as well as another look of disgust. His expression was that of a man who had bitten into something rotten that had left a foul taste in his mouth.

"Ahh," said Father Pedro, nodding his head. "I understand...." He closed his eyes for a moment and shuddered. "You were going to release the nerve gas at your own funeral, weren't you?" the priest whispered in shock, hardly able to believe his own conclusion.

"Oh, my God.... You were going to kill off the whole village when they came to pay their respects..." Pedro gasped out in astonishment.

"Si, si!" blubbered the old man, confessing his sin. "If I couldn't control you anymore, I would rather see you all dead than to let you go free...."

Nikita sighed loudly and shook her head in disgust. Such vile vindictiveness repelled her.

Michael showed less emotion, but was no less disgusted than the other two. He reached into the pocket of his tunic and took out his cell phone and dialed a number.

"Team Two," he ordered. "We have a location. Send containment." He conferred with the priest for a brief moment, then went back to speaking in the phone, giving the other operatives directions and more instructions.

After a minute, Michael concluded his conversation, flipped the phone closed, and looked at his two companions.

"Let's get out of here," he ordered.

Stubbornly, the priest refused again to obey him. "No," Pedro told him firmly as he crossed the room to sit on the bed beside the weeping old man.

"I made a promise," the priest stated, looking up at Michael. "And I intend to keep it."

He took the drug lord's hand gently in his and began softly reciting the prayers of last rites for his dying enemy.

"There's no time," declared Michael impatiently, and started to step forward.

Nikita's hand on his arm stopped him. He looked up into her pleading blue eyes.

"We got what we want, Michael," she whispered. "Let him get what he wants..."

Michael angrily pulled his arm from her grip and whispered back in exasperation, "Who cares what that bastard wants? I have no pity for Don Carlos..."

"I wasn't talking about Don Carlos, Michael," Nikita answered gently. Michael sighed and watched the priest comforting the dying man with his soft words and familiar gestures. Saving Don Carlos' worthless soul would probably be the last thing Pedro would ever do. Pedro obviously wanted to complete his task after he had given his word. He deserved the chance to do that much, at least.

"Bon," Michael agreed suddenly, whispering back to Nikita. "Out of respect for the Father, I will allow him to finish his prayers."

Michael realized fleetingly that the scene before him made him extremely uncomfortable. He wasn't sure if it was because Don Carlos was praying for forgiveness, or because he was remembering all the times he had killed people and no prayers of any kind had been said.

With an effort of concentration, Michael stilled his thoughts and focused on the priest's words. Pedro finished his prayers and came to a stop.

Don Carlos was still sobbing, and moaning out that he was sorry, so very, very sorry...

Pedro patted the terrorist's hand. "All will be well, Don Carlos," the priest comforted him.

"You have repented of your ways, just like the thief on the cross that died in the same manner as our Lord, right next to Him," the priest went on tenderly. "And I will tell you the same words that Jesus told him.."

He patted Don Carlos' hand again and looked into the old man's tearful eyes. "..'Today, you will be with Me in Paradise'....." the priest finished gently.

The old man smiled tremulously, expelled a deep sigh, relaxed, and closed his eyes, totally at peace.

The next moment his body jerked up violently as a silenced bullet entered his heart, killing him instantly.

"Rest in peace," Michael said somewhat sarcastically, putting his gun back in his pocket.

Pedro could only blink in shock, looking in bewilderment from the still figure on the bed to the stone-faced man in black.

It occurred to him that this was a fitting way for the life of this evil man to end. He was grateful that Michael had waited until the old man had found God's mercy and peace.

"Thank you," the priest told him softly after a moment.

"Let's go," urged the green-eyed avenging angel.

Pedro nodded, and with one last glance at Don Carlos, followed Michael and Nikita out of the room.

No one interfered with their leaving, just as no one had interfered with their coming. The three clerics passed without incident through the large house and out into the courtyard, reaching the jeep with almost eerie ease.

The Don's guards stood in respectful silence as his three enemies drove off.

They rode in silence for several miles, Michael driving, Nikita beside him in the passenger seat, and Father Pedro in the back, each busy keeping their own thoughts.

After a time, Pedro looked up from his reverie and noticed the terrain around him was unfamiliar. He realized at once that his two companions were not going back to the village church.

"Where are you taking me?" Pedro asked angrily. "What do you want from me now?" he demanded, brown eyes flashing.

Nikita turned in her seat and met the priest's angry gaze with sad blue eyes. "I'm sorry, Father," she said with genuine regret. "But if you want to live, you're going to have to come with us...."

Pedro stared at her for a long moment, then closed his eyes, his mind reeling. He stayed like that for a long time, frozen in his seat, head bowed. Nikita, concerned, watched him for a time, then realized suddenly that he was praying.

She sighed, and turned around in her seat to again face front, exchanging a sorrowful glance with a grim-faced Michael.

From the back seat she heard the priest whisper a fervent plea. "Madre de Dios, help me..." Pedro pleaded softly.

No other word was spoken after that as the jeep and its desperate occupants continued on their journey back to Section One.

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

Pedro proved to be an unusual recruit in more ways than one. First of all, he did not require sedation, manhandling, beatings, or restraints to keep him in line when he was brought in.

Unlike most of the unfortunate Section operatives recruited from prison who woke up in the white room drugged, bewildered, afraid, and/or belligerent, the gentle priest already had a good idea what was going on and reacted to his new circumstances with a calm, dignified acceptance.

Pedro did not resist when he was blind-folded, led down the hallways, and locked in a white room with an incredibly high ceiling. Nor did he resist when his vestments were taken from him and he was given a white t-shirt and sweat-pants to wear, and left barefoot. He did experience a pang of loss when the small, gold cross that he wore around his neck was removed from him.

When the door had closed behind the guards, the priest merely settled on the cot in the center of the room, and sat down calmly to wait. He knew God had a purpose for this new, unexpected twist his life-path had taken, and he knew sooner or later someone would open the door to his room, come in, and explain everything to him.

So, calmly, placidly, he waited. His peaceful attitude did not come from a place of defeat or weakness, or because he had given up. Rather, his peace was due to a deep inner strength and his unshakeable faith in his Lord. He had complete trust that God would show him the way, and guide him in what he should do, even here, in this dungeon prison.

His faith was justified a few hours later when the door of his room opened with a loud, metallic creak and Michael entered the room.

The green-eyed angel was still dressed in black, this time not in priest's garb, but a severe, starkly simple black suit.

Michael closed the door behind him and then greeted Pedro solemnly. "Hello," he said softly.

Pedro quickly slid off the cot and crossed the room to stand in front of Michael. He gazed at the older man with wide brown eyes.

"Hello," he returned the greeting with youthful eagerness. "What is this place? Why did you bring me here?" he asked, gesturing around at the white walls and high ceiling. "What do you want with me?"

Michael smiled slightly in amusement. The young Father was brave indeed, as he had told Operations. There was no fear in the priest's eyes, only curiosity.

Michael had had a little difficulty at first explaining to his superiors why he had brought Pedro in instead of "taking care of him" at the end of the mission.

He had been summoned to Operation's tower office to justify to him and Madeleine the reasons behind this fool-hardy decision to keep the incidental collateral alive.

To persuade them of the value of Pedro as a recruit, Michael had presented Operations and Madeleine with a truthful argument: Father Pedro Alejo was more than just a village priest- he had essentially been an anti-terrorist freedom fighter for his entire career.

For the last four years of his young life, Pedro had fought against the most powerful criminal and viscious terrorist in his country. The priest had kept his people together, rallying them, encouraging them, in spite of impossible odds.

Operations had felt a sudden, strange kinship with Pedro as Michael elaborated on the young priest's history. He identified in many ways with this new, potential recruit. The priest's fight against Don Carlos reminded him of his own fight, long ago, as a prisoner of war in Vietnam.

There, in that jungle in a faraway place, the struggle had been not just against the enemy, but against despair. Operation's greatest challenge had been to keep hope alive in his men. Maybe that was exactly what Section needed now- a boost to morale in the form of this noble young man.

"All right, it's settled," Operations decided abruptly, interrupting the discussion between the three of them. "He starts training tomorrow."

Michael looked relieved, but Madeleine had not been quite as happy as the men about this decision.

"Mmmm," she pondered, frowning, "I wonder if that's wise."

Exasperated, Operations glared at her with his cold blue eyes and sighed. "You have an objection?" he demanded curtly.

"No, not an objection," the lovely brunette replied calmly. "Perhaps a reservation..."

She tilted her head and went on, as her colleagues listened attentively. "As you know, compassion and humanity have no place here in Section," she stated flatly. "And I'm afraid if Pedro Alejo becomes one of us, we will be introducing exactly those very elements that we don't want into our midst."

"We should cancel him," Madeleine concluded in a business-like tone.

Operations nodded, and looked thoughtfully at the ceiling, pausing to puff on his cigarette before rendering his decision on Pedro's fate.

Michael stood silently by and held his breath. As the time stretched on, with Operations still puffing and pondering, Michael became even more nervous and tense. Unable to stand the silence any longer, he blurted out one last plea.

"Cancelling him would be a mistake," Michael insisted firmly, meeting Operation's cold blue eyes. "I think he'd make a good operative."

The older man took one more slow drag from his cigarette and then suddenly smiled. "Good," he said forcefully. "We'll train him..."

Michael nodded, and turned to leave, his heart light. His brief flare of happiness was short-lived, however, as he overheard Operations commenting to Madeleine as he went out the door.

"If Pedro fails, we can always cancel him," the silver-haired leader remarked casually.

That had been this morning. Now Michael stood in front of the young innocent priest and had the daunting task of introducing him to his new life in this particular corner of Hell known as Section One.

Michael folded his hands in front of him, met Pedro's wide-eyed gaze and began, speaking in a low gentle voice.

"This is where you'll train..." he told the young victim. "This is where you'll learn...."

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

As the months went by after Pedro's recruitment, Michael and Madeleine were both proven right about their predictions of the young priest's success in training as an operative.

Michael was right- Pedro was a good operative. The young priest had no problem training, learning, adapting, and mastering all the new skills he was taught. Weapons, computers, martial arts, all came easily to him.

Pedro was particularly adept when it came to strategy and tactics- he was extremely intelligent and had a keen mind for seeing the unexpected, for detecting new angles, and viewing things from a different perspective.

Birkoff used him frequently to help plan missions. The young computer genius hoped that Pedro would be assigned to his team of analysts after his training was finished.

Birkoff was not the only one who wanted Pedro on their team. Throughout Section, he was respected by everyone, from his lowly fellow recruits, to the cold ops, to profilers, to Medlab and Housekeeping.

This popularity might have been due to his skills and his reliability, or because he had a charming personality, an endearing combination of strength and gentleness, toughness and sweetness. But that was not why he was so well-liked.

His appeal went beyond his physical skills, his mental abilities, or his emotional make-up. It was deeper than that. His desirability was due to a factor that Madeleine had feared--- Pedro Alejo had a beautiful soul.

She, too, had been correct about his effect on Section, that he would inject an element of humanity and compassionate warmth into their ruthlessly cold and deadly world.

People trusted him. People confided in him. They talked to him, sometimes for only a few brief minutes, and went away comforted. The operatives sensed that this gentle man understood them, and in understanding them, accepted them completely, as fellow human beings and as fellow workers for God's Kingdom.

Madeleine noticed that her work load was lighter since Pedro had been in Section. She required fewer sessions with recalcitrant operatives, there were fewer suicide attempts, fewer bouts of anger and less externalizing of emotion. Missions flowed more smoothly, teams functioned more efficiently. Morale had never been higher.

*This can't go on* she thought to herself. *Something has to be done.* It had happened without her realizing it. Pedro had somewhat of the same effect on Section as Nikita and Walter did - they injected an overt element of spirit into this soulless realm.

Madeleine had taken away Father Pedro's collar and robes, his prayer-book and his cross, but she had not been able to take away that which made him a priest- his kindly heart.

Pedro performed no rituals now, and he said no official prayers. But he was somehow always present at the right time just where his support was needed- in Medlab, after missions went bad, in van access before the nervous operatives went out, in Systems, in quarters, in the training rooms, even outside the white room.

He knew just the right thing to say or do to bring comfort to his fellow Section captives. Sometimes he didn't say or do anything- his mere presence was enough to calm and soothe, to bring hope.

In her office, Madeleine shook her head and wondered how she had let it get this far. She and Operations had worked hard to destroy and crush the humanity and compassion of their operatives. Tenderness and sympathy had no place here, and must be ruthlessly stamped out.

But here she was, allowing the glaring example of these unwanted virtues to flourish unchecked in their midst.

Pedro's insidious magic must be stopped, Madeleine determined. But how? To cancel him would cause an immediate mutiny, of that she was sure. No, she couldn't kill the priest outright. She had to find another plan.

She paced, and fumed, and thought, and paced again, until an idea occurred to her. It was not the priest himself that needed killing, Madeleine realized suddenly. What really needed to be killed was----- his soul.

She smiled an evil smile.

"Michael," Madeleine ordered firmly, speaking into the intercom. "Come to my office-- NOW."

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

When Michael arrived at Madeleine's office, he found he was not the only one summoned there. He cast a swift glance at the other two people so honored- a tense, scowling Nikita and a stoic, if also tense, Father Pedro.

Michael stepped down the short flight of stairs at the office entrance and stood in front of his superior's desk, between the two others. He brought his attention to the lovely, cold-eyed brunette.

"You wanted to see me?" he asked in a calm voice, gifting her with his best blank stare. He may have appeared unmoved and in control, but he found his summons here to be just as unsettling as his two companions did.

"Yes, Michael," Madeleine answered with a falsely sweet smile. She got right down to business.

"I want your evaluation of Mr. Alejo's progress so far," she demanded. Michael tried not to act surprised. He was often asked to give reports on new recruits; that was nothing new, but he had never been asked to do so in the operative's presence, like now.

Michael could only assume Madeleine had an ulterior motive for asking him this question with Pedro standing right there, listening.

He gave a quick glance at the priest, and then cleared his throat and began. "His scores are high; he excels in all areas," stated Michael truthfully.

"We have had no problems with his performance or his attitude," Michael went on. "He seems to fit in well and to have made a good adjustment to his new environment...."

Michael paused to glance again at Pedro, who stood submissively silent to his right, eyes downcast and staring at the floor. He swept his eyes left and met Nikita's grateful gaze and then turned back to Madeleine.

"I think he will make an excellent operative," Michael finished sincerely.

"Mmmmmm," said Madeleine thoughtfully, steepling her fingers together and swiveling in her chair. "I wonder if that's true...."

Something in her tone frightened Nikita further. "You don't agree?" the blonde blurted out. "You don't recommend .... abeyance, do you?"

Madeleine laughed and shook her head. "No, not abeyance, Nikita," the brunette assured her. "I think that Pedro's training just needs to be adjusted a little, so that it is plain to him as well as to everyone in Section, that there has been a complete break between his old life and his new one here with us..."

She tilted her head and looked at the new recruit appraisingly. "We need to make an example of him..."

The priest lifted dignified eyes to Madeleine's, his warm brown eyes meeting her cold ones, and addressed her directly as she had not done with him.

"You wish to punish me for obeying you, is that it?" he said softly.

"No, not at all, not at all," denied Madeleine with a shake of her head. She smiled sweetly again at Pedro but her voice had a cold steel edge.

"You are still trying to hold onto your old life, Mr. Alejo," she said with asperity. "You are still trying to be "Father Pedro"---- you are still clinging to your old identity, and that has to stop...."

The priest was beginning to lose his seemingly endless patience; anger flared in the soft brown eyes. "You forget that I have taken holy orders, Senora..."

His lips tightened in grim line. "Orders from a higher authority than yours," he continued in a stubborn tone. "You forget that I have made vows to serve my God and my fellow man...."

A matching anger flared in Madeleine's eyes and she stood up from her desk and stalked over to the priest, glaring at him. She reached out one hand and firmly gripped his chin in her fingers and tilted his head back. Pedro submitted, letting his hands stay where they were, hanging loosely at his sides. But the eyes that met hers were not docile, but defiant.

Nikita and Michael exchanged a look, both fearful of what was to come from this confrontation. Both knew that Madeleine, with the power of Section behind her, would be the winner in this battle of wills. The young priest had no chance.

"No, you are the one who is forgetting things," Madeleine hissed into Pedro's face. "You forget that "Father Pedro" is dead- he no longer exists..."

"But..." the young man began to protest.

Madeleine's grip on the priest's face tightened. "You forget..." she went on in a low, menacing tone, "that the only life you have now belongs to Section, the only identity you have is the identity we give you...."

She leaned closer, and Pedro did not break his gaze that was locked with hers. "We.... own... you....." Madeliene intoned slowly, enunciating each word. "We OWN you, body, mind and soul..."

Pedro broke away from her grasp and backed away, glaring at her, his eyes flashing, chest heaving in anger.

"NO!" he yelled defiantly. "God owns my soul, not you!"

*Merde* thought Michael, and put a restraining hand on Pedro's arm and pulled him back a few steps further from Madeleine. He knew she had pushed the young man past the point of anger; Michael did not fear that the gentle priest would attack her, only that Madeliene would goad him into saying something further that might make whatever punishment she had planned for him even worse.

Michael's green eyes met Pedro's in a warning glance. *Stay cool* he thought to the priest, trying to convey his message without words. *Play along with their games.*

Nikita stood watching them warily, and took a step closer to Madeleine, almost as if she were trying to shield the young recruit from Madleine's wrathful glare.

Suddenly, the brunette's anger faded and she laughed, and leaned back against her desk, perching on the edge of it and regarding the three operatives with amusement.

"We shall see," she said with another laugh. "I think, Mr. Alejo, that you have many talents that can be used by Section that have to this point remained ......untapped..."

Her eyes gleamed evily and she went on. "We have yet to ..... exploit those skills of yours, but that oversight will be remedied by the three of you...."

"Tonight," she finished, nodding emphatically.

Nikita was puzzled, and glanced at the two men behind her. From their bewildered expressions she realized they were just as confused as she was.

"What do you want from us, Madeleine?" Nikita demanded, putting her hands on her hips in an exasperated, defiant stance. "Just what do you want us to do with Pedro?"

Madeleine laughed out loud. "We surely would be amiss if we neglected to train a man like him, an attractive man, with such a ..... passionate nature... in the art of seduction...."

Michael paled, and he heard Pedro gasp loudly beside him. Nikita began shaking her head, silently, no, no, no....

Madeleine delivered her final blow. "I think Pedro has great potential as a Valentine op," she continued gleefully.

"Michael," she said, riveting her attention on the class 5 operative, "I want you and Nikita to teach him everything he needs to know...."

"Everything," she went on, as the three stunned victims stood shocked and unmoving in front of her.

"Teach him all the ways to pleasure and seduce a woman," she said, looking at Nikita, who blushed furiously and lowered her eyes. Then Madeleine turned her gaze back to Michael and locked eyes with him again. "OR a man..." she finished.

Pedro closed his eyes and trembled.

Before any of the three could choke out a protest, the door to the office opened and two guards appeared, sporting sidearms. Madeline gave them her instructions.

"Take them to Observation," she ordered. She watched gleefully as the three filed past her to the door, angry and shocked but unable to fight her.

"Put on a good performance," she gloatingly commented to the priest before he left. "We'll be watching you closely."

Pedro gave her a small, brave smile. "And God will be watching over us as well," he said softly, just before he turned and obediently followed his trainers and the guards out of the room.

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

The heavy metal door clanged ominously behind them, and the three operatives stood awkwardly just inside the entrance to the stark white room where the guards had led them and then locked them in.

All three were dressed in black, their dark clothing standing out against the barren white walls. Nikita crossed from the doorway to the other side of the room, as far away from the men as possible, and leaned against the wall, carefully avoiding sitting on the large, king-sized bed that was the only furniture in the room.

There was a door that led to a small bathroom, but except for that and the door through which they had entered, the walls stretched in unbroken whiteness around them. No cameras were evident, but Michael, and Nikita, as well as Pedro, knew they were there, knew that everything they did was being watched.

Amazingly, of the three, Pedro seemed the most calm, or maybe he was just the most stunned- Michael wasn't sure.

Nikita remained huddled, shivering, at the far side of the room, arms around her shoulders, hugging herself for comfort. She would not meet Michael's eyes when he looked at her.

Sighing, Michael turned to Pedro and gazed into the deep brown depths of the brave eyes that met his. "I'm sorry," he whispered softly.

He was repelled by what he would have to do to this man, yet another innocent he would destroy. Michael hoped the experience wouldn't shatter the young priest as much as Madeleine expected it would-- she had designed this to crush Pedro's will in the most brutal manner possible- to make him sacrifice his virginity and his vows to his new God and Master- Section One.

And being part of that punishment was another way for Madeleine to humiliate and torture Michael and Nikita as well- to drive home the lesson that it was Section that controlled them, that dictated their relationship, and not the star-crossed lovers themselves.

Typically, Pedro still strove to give comfort to others. "It's not your fault, mi amigo," he said to Michael reassuringly, with a warm look in his eye. He clapped the older man on the shoulder, and then turned to face the opposite wall, his back to Michael.

The priest's shoulders slumped and he lowered his head to his chest and sighed. "Would it be all right if we don't start just this moment?" he asked softly. "Could I have a few minutes?"

Michael felt tears start in his eyes at the dignified acceptance of this brave man. "Of course," he choked out, turning his head away to look blindly at the blank wall. "Take all the time you need."

Pedro's head came up and he nodded. "Thank you," he said quietly, and then walked to the far wall, crossed himself, folded his hands in front of him, and began to silently pray.

Nikita lifted her eyes to stare at the young priest, anguished, and then turned her tearful gaze to Michael. He met her look and then crossed the room to her, and gathered her into his arms. She clung to him for comfort, the only source of warmth to her heart in the cold, cold room.

"Michael.." she pleaded urgently against his chest. "Oh, Michael...."

He held her tighter and wrapped his arms around her shoulders. "I know...." he answered hoarsely. "I know...."

Both wanted to be together, to make love, but not like this, not like this...

Michael shut his eyes and felt Nikita quivering against him. They stayed locked together in the embrace until they heard a soft, whispered "Amen" behind them and looked up to see that Pedro had finished his prayers and had turned from the wall to face them.

He gave the couple a tremulous smile. "If it's all right with you, my friends," he said shyly, "I'm ready to begin."

He stepped closer and looked from one stunned operative to the other. "I would like you to teach me, please," he said solemnly.

Nikita stared at him in disbelief. "You WANT to?" she gasped. "You would give up your vows so easily? Throw away your principles, just like that? How can you do this?"

She thought Pedro was more of a fighter. She didn't understand why he wasn't angry now like before, wasn't protesting. She was dumbfounded by his calm acceptance of Madeleine's degrading and defiling assignment.

"Shhh, Nikita," Michael admonished her. " He has no choice- none of us do. Pedro knows if he doesn't co-operate, Madeleine will have worse punishments for him.... for all of us...."

He looked sympahetically at the young priest. "He knows giving up quickly, breaking his vows, is the only thing he can do..."

Pedro shook his head, and lifted his chin proudly. "No, my friend, you do not understand..."

He stared into Michael's deep green eyes, his own eyes filled with no embarrassment, only dignity. "I am not breaking any vows, nor am I giving up any mastery over me to Section One..."

"I am still, and will always be, a loyal servant of God," the young priest whispered earnestly.

He approached the stunned couple slowly and brushed a hand gently across Nikita's tear-stained cheek. "You see, I realize I have spent my life worshipping the Divine Feminine, Our Lady," he continued reverently.

"And nothing is more sacred to me than the Source of all Holiness..." He gently lowered his hand and placed it ever so lightly on Nikita's flat belly, as if he were touching the face of God Himself. "..... the Lady's divine womb, and its blessed fruit..."

He looked up with glowing eyes to Michael. "You see, THIS... what we will do, is not shameful, but is a sacrament.... is LIFE itself, is God himself...."

"The act of creation, the rebirth of the world, the incarnation of our Lord, re-enacted, celebrated, each time people make love...." Pedro went on in hushed tones.

"Just because I have not shared, until now, in this sacrament, does not mean that I don't respect it, or that I find it degrading, or unnatural, or that I disdain God's earthly gifts to his creatures...."

"Will you teach me?" Pedro asked again, humbly.

Michael held his breath, stunned at the poetry of the simple priest's words. This gentle man of the country-side, so steeped in Love and Divinity, of both the natural and spiritual, had given him a new insight into where the two combined, Soul and Body, Spirit and Earth, in the act of love.

"Oui," Michael agreed with a smile, and pulled Pedro into a brief embrace. "We will teach you..."

Nikita gave Pedro a shy smile of her own. Then she gasped in astonishment as the handsome young clergyman knelt at her feet.

"If you permit me, Senorita," he said softly, "I would like to worship you as if you were the Lady to me, here in the flesh before me..." He bent lower and pressed his lips to Nikita's feet.

She stood, swaying, stunned at the force of the love that she felt from him and at the waves of unexpected arousal that washed over her at his reverent touch. The sensation increased a thousand-fold when Michael knelt beside Pedro and kissed her feet as well.

She closed her eyes, and the next thing she knew, the men were lifting her and carrying her to the bed.

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

The next moments flowed like a dance between the three partners. Michael and Pedro gently laid Nikita on the bed between them and knelt on either side of her.

The younger man watched Michael carefully, letting him lead him in the dance, mimicking every movement of Nikita's skillful lover as he, slowly, senuously, began to show his student each small step in the dance.

Nikita lay quiescent and entranced into stillness on the bed. She closed her eyes, and felt herself quiver as first Michael lifted her hand in his, and then, a second later, Pedro lifted the other.

She felt soft kisses pressed to her palms, then her fingers. Then her arms were gently turned outward, first the right, then the left, and Michael's warm mouth came down on the inside of her wrist, nibbling gently.

Then Pedro, more hesitantly, but just as carefully, kissed her tender flesh.

It was erotic; it was..... enchanting. Nikita let her self relax back against the pillows, her fear dissipating, to be replaced with a haze of erotic languor, and something like awe, that she should be the center of such intense, focused desire, and reverent worship.

She could hear Michael's breathing quicken as his mouth slid up her forearm and licked the sensitive spot on the inside of her elbow.

A moment later, Pedro did the same, the pressure of his lips not quite as firm, but even more delicate than Michael's, his tongue warm and wet, and slightly rough against her tender skin.

Nikita moaned and arched her back on the bed. She hadn't expected these careful, gentle caresses to arouse her so. To be with Michael, to feel his touch, was exciting enough, but to have his movements mirrored exactly by the gentle Pedro on her other side increased her excitement ten-fold.

"Michael...." she moaned again. It was as if there were two Michael's, she thought suddenly. The idea aroused her more.

Michael responded to her soft moan by slipping his hands under her blouse, trying to pull it up and away from the already taut peaks of her breasts.

With a soft gasp, Nikita opened her eyes and sat up quickly, helping Michael free her from the hindrance of her clothing. Her fingers trembled as she clumsily fumbled with the buttons. Sighing, she gave up the attempt as Pedro's long, sensitive fingers joined Michael's on the stubborn buttons, the priest's face rapt and entranced as he did so.

When all the fastenings were undone, Michael dragged the garment down and off her shoulders, then leaned forward to claim her lips in a kiss. She tangled her fingers in his silky hair and pulled him close, deepening the kiss. At the same time, Michael's hand stole up to caress one perfect, firm breast.

Pedro sat back on his heels on his side of the bed and watched the couple in fascination. The kiss was tender, and Michael's expert caresses even more so. Her breasts were beautiful, small but perfect, thrusting up, the pert pink nipples taut and beckoning to be touched.

Gently, carefully, Pedro held his breath and reached out to place the tip of one finger on the soft mound nearest to him, lightly tracing the outline of her aureole with a gentle stroke.

The virgin's gentle touch electrified her, and Nikita gasped loudly and broke the kiss with Michael and turned to Pedro, who had a fearful, uncertain look on his face.

He pulled his hand away from the soft breast he had touched, afraid he had hurt her, or perhaps offended her.

Nikita caught his hand in hers and and brought his fingers closer and pressed his palm to her breast in a gesture of permission and invitation.

The priest groaned and copied Michael's movements again, leaning forward to gently kiss her as his fingers eagerly explored and caressed the excited peak of her breast, that responded instantly to his touch.

Pedro's kiss was tentative, the pressure of his soft mouth light and undemanding. Nikita took the lead, twining her fingers in his hair and sweeping her tongue across his lips until she teased them open and entered him.

Pedro moaned against her mouth, and squeezed the breast beneath his hand more tightly. Nikita taught him gently, swirling her tongue over his, stroking it lightly across his full lower lip, gently biting the side of his mouth with hers.

Michael, mesmerized, watched the love lesson, enchanted by the magic of this first, sweet kiss. He felt himself caught up in the pure holiness of the moment, surprised that he harbored no resentment or jealousy toward his eager student. He felt only peace, and a sweet, urgently building excitement.

Gently he placed his hand back on the breast he had caressed before, and settled beside the woman on the bed, stretching out his long length along side her. Then Michael bent his head and engulfed the taut pink nipple in his mouth.

Nikita arched her back and gasped against Pedro's lips, moaning out her pleasure as Pedro's fingers aroused her and Michael suckled her firmly. She threw her head back and closed her eyes, lost in passion.

"Mmmm, ahh...." she whimpered softly, and arched her breasts up into Michael's lips and Pedro's hand, both ceaselessy, magically teasing her.

The priest followed his teacher, sliding down beside the quivering blonde on the bed, and, with a loud moan, nursed on the erect, pink nipple, drawing it hungrily into his soft, hot mouth.

Nikita almost fainted with the intensity of the arousal created by the caresses of the two men, both so gentle, both so firm, but each so different.

Michael swirled his tongue around the aching, hard peak, lavishing the sensitive tip with soft licks and gentle bites. Then his mouth slid off the hard nub, down the underside of her breast to lick the tender skin there, and back again, to once more capture her nipple between his lips.

At the same time, Pedro's hot mouth suckled her firmly, tugging eagerly on the taut tip like a hungry babe at the breast. He held her soft breast between his two hands gently, as if holding a succulent piece of fruit from which he devotedly drew sacred nectar.

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

As her two lovers' mouths tugged ceaselessly on her nipples, Nikita felt an answering tug deep within her body as her feminine core tightened with longing. Her breaths came in short gasps and she writhed between them on the bed.

Needing more, needing Michael to end her torment, she mindlessly reached out for him, her fingers searching up his black-clad thigh, seeking for his need that would complete hers.

"No, not yet," Michael warned softly, pulling back before Nikita could touch his hardened manhood. He sat up on his heels, and Pedro, following his lead, did the same. The younger man watched the others, wide-eyed, not sure what to do.

Nikita, bereft of their touch, groaned loudly and turned pleading eyes to Michael.

"Michael, please..." she begged in a passion-drugged haze, holding out her arms to him.

Michael smiled at her, his green eyes glowing, and leaned toward her to give her another gentle, light kiss. "Shhhh, 'Kita," he soothed softly against her mouth. "There's plenty of time......"

He lowered his hand to the waistband of her slacks and began undoing the buttons there. "I want to show Pedro how beautiful you are...." he groaned.

Pedro felt his mouth go dry as, mesmerized, he watched Michael's deft fingers lower the zipper on Nikita's slacks and peel them down to reveal the blonde's smooth, flat belly. With an impatient moan, Nikita helped him by lifting her hips up off the bed and Michael pulled trousers and panties together down past her thighs and over her legs and off, tossing the last of her clothes on the floor.

"Ay, so beautiful!" Pedro gasped, as Nikita's slender thighs were revealed to his gaze, and the treasure of soft curls between them.

Nikita tensed as Michael resumed his place beside her on the bed and Pedro stared at her from the other side. She bit her lip apprehensively.

"Just relax...." Michael whispered, sensing her unease. He began to trail his fingers lightly over her belly in soft, feathery strokes. Nikita quivered under his touch.

She sighed, and turned trusting blue eyes to Michael. She knew he would never do anything to hurt her, and she knew instinctively that Pedro would be just as gentle, if not more so, than his teacher. Still, she could not help feeling anxious and suddenly shy.

She realized she was the only one naked. Both men were still fully dressed. It was time to even the score.

She tugged impatiently at Michael's coat sleeve. "Take it off," she urged him. "Please..."

Michael let out a small laugh, nodded, and then planted a brief, soft kiss on her lips before sliding off the bed. He stood up and began stripping out of his clothes. The jacket and shirt were first to come off. Then he hastily began unbuttoning his pants.

Pedro blushed, feeling shy and embarassed. He hesitated, but after Michael and Nikita both gave him encouraging smiles and nods, he began undressing as well.

A few moments later, Pedro, trembling slightly, stood naked beside the bed. He glanced at Michael and was relieved beyond words to see that he was not the only one who was aroused by their love-play. Michael's solid erection pulsed between his legs, the thick penis bobbing against his thigh as the older man resumed his place on the bed beside Nikita.

He gestured for Pedro to join them, and the priest, still blushing, lay down on the woman's other side.

Nikita, entranced, watched the men in fascination. Both were so handsome- beautiful, really- but in completely different ways. Whereas Michael's skin was sculpted, cream marble, Pedro's was rich carved mahogany.

The priest, though slenderly built and not as tall as Michael, was still broad-shouldered and muscular, and his manhood, darker against his darker skin, was equal to Michael's in size and stiffness.

Pedro's broad chest heaved with each excited breath and his warm brown eyes glowed with the same depth of desire that filled Michael's lighter green ones. The priest shyly bit his lip and again waited for Michael to lead him in the next step of the dance.

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

Michael placed one hand on Nikita's hip and nodded for Pedro to do the same. The younger man followed his instructions, carefully resting his sensitive long-fingered hand on the top of the girl's gentle curves, his warm brown skin contrasting starkly with her smooth white thigh.

Michael slid his hand down slowly, sensuously gliding it down the length of her thigh to her knee, and then traveled up, fingernails gently scratching the tender flesh. Pedro swallowed hard and and did the same, fingers trembling slightly on the velvety, warm skin.

Nikita moaned and closed her eyes as the sweet passion flooded her at their gently caresses. Whimpering, she bucked her hips, urging the arousing fingers to go higher.

Pedro's soft moans joined hers. He was groaning out a stream of soft, passionate words in Spanish. Excited more than any moment of his life, his manhood throbbed painfully and his breathing came fast.

Nikita, panting quickly as well, turned her head to look into her worshipper's dark eyes. "Please, Pedro..." she urged him. "Please touch me...."

Her young lover could only nod in wonder, too overcome to speak. He hesitated, his hand resting unmoving on her thigh.

To help him, Michael gently pushed Nikita's knees apart and then put his hand over Pedro's and guided it higher until their fingers touched the blonde curls covering the soft mound of her womanly center.

Nikita's breath caught in her throat as the lesson continued. Michael guided his student's fingers to gently trace the line of her opening, and then she felt Michael's skilled fingers part the soft curls. He carefully teased the outer lips of her womanhood back, revealing the intricate pink folds within to Pedro's gaze.

"See," Michael whispered hoarsely to his entranced pupil, "It's like a flower-- delicate, beautiful, fragrant...."

He put his hand on the virgin's shoulder and pushed him closer to the focus of his desires. "Touch her..." Michael urged. "Taste her..."

Pedro met Nikita's eyes and she nodded her assent, then leaned back against the pillows with a trembling sigh.

Pedro moaned softly and then knelt between her invitingly open legs and lowered his face to Nikita's softness. He inhaled deeply, savoring her fragrance, and then closed his eyes and dipped his tongue into her moist depths.

"Ahhh... ohhh.... yes.... yes...." Nikita cried out, arching her hips against her young lover's hot mouth and digging her hands into the coverlet as her whole body quivered and tensed under his devoted caresses.

Though he was inexperienced, it was as if Pedro knew instinctively what to do to please her. He turned off his mind and let some deeper part of himself take over. His hands moved as if of their own accord to caress her inner thighs, and his lips and tongue ravished her eagerly, exploring, seeking, discovering, invading all her secret places.

Michael could not resist touching her either. He settled beside her and captured her mouth with his own, breathing in her softly exhaled groans and sighs. His hands found their way to her firm breasts again, fingers plucking and teasing the pink tips until they hardened and ached with need under the sweet torment of his touch.

To Pedro, immersed for the first time in the exquisite fragrance and feel of warm woman, it seemed that he had ascended to some higher place. She tasted of Heaven. Pedro felt himself transported to some other realm, carried high above the ordinary world to a state far beyond this reality.

He drank in the flower's nectar, his tongue darting and swirling inside her enchanting mysteries. He was intoxicated by her, her womanhood filling his senses and overwhelming him- her taste, her feel, her smell, her warmth, her sweetness....

He had never felt this way-- he was burning, he was flying, he was spinning, spiralling out of control.... He was going to explode...

Her raw femininity touched him, reaching a place deep in his maleness. She... completed him. Pedro moaned loudly, thrust his mouth against her once more, shuddered violently, and came.

"Uhh... ahhh.." Pedro gasped out in hoarse cries of passionate fulfillment. He collapsed against Nikita's legs for a moment, then quickly lifted off of her, backing away, his eyes wide with apprehension and embarrassment.

"I'm sorry...." he gasped out when he had again recovered enough breath to speak. "I didn't mean to...." he choked out, worried he had offended his Lady with this total loss of control. I'm sorry....."

Nikita and Michael quickly reassured him with their words and their smiles.

"There's nothing to be sorry for, Pedro," Nikita soothed him in a soft voice. "You didn't offend me," she told him, her eyes glowing in admiration. "In fact, I am ..... honored..." she whispered sincerely.

Pedro flushed and gave an embarrassed laugh, then looked shyly up at Michael, who grinned at him.

"You'll last longer next time," his teacher said smiling. "That's the beauty of this---- you can recover and do it again...."

Nikita caught Michael's eyes and then leaned close to whisper a plea against his cheek. "You haven't had your first time yet...." she groaned softly.

His breath caught, snagging in his lungs, and he let out a gasp as the meaning of her words sank in. His eyes locked with hers, and he gasped again as he read the invitation in their smoky blue depths. His body ached for her, his manhood throbbing in response to their anticipated joining.

She reached out to him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders to pull him close. With a soft moan, Michael swung his body over hers and positioned himself between her knees, his arms slipping around and under her to hold her tightly to him.

He bent his head to kiss her, and then, ever so gently, he lowered his hips to hers and slid his swollen cock into her wet depths and entered her.

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

Pedro, standing at the foot of the bed, held his breath as he watched the two bodies, two separate people, merge into one. He felt as he did when he had been present at holy moments not unlike this--- births, deaths, weddings, sacraments: he was honored and humbled to be included in sacred ritual.

This moment felt sacred as well, but he had no words, no gestures, no prayers, to mark this holiness, this most private of rituals. Awestruck, he could only utter the Goddess' name and then watch in respectful silence.

"Madre de Dios..." he whispered, trembling.

Michael had slowly eased his entire length into the woman beneath him, until now her womanhood engulfed him completely, their bodies joined as close as it was possible to be.

Nikita closed her eyes and savored the feel of him in her depths, feeling somehow whole again, as if the missing piece of her soul was now returned to her.

All her thoughts fled, however, when he began to move inside her, his hardness intimately caressing every inch of her yielding softness.

She moaned aloud and clutched him to her, fingers pressing deeply into his shoulders. His broad back undulated beneath her hands, even as his lean hips moved sinuously against hers, his whole body moving over hers in an exquisite, ancient dance.

It was not just bodies that were joined, but hearts and souls. Michael felt a sweet singing in his heart, and with each powerful thrust it grew louder, taking on a faster rhythm.... He realized after a moment that it was his own hoarse sighs, wrenched from deep within him as he thrust over and over again into Nikita's soft depths.

Pedro felt a tightening in his groin as the sights and sounds of the couple's passionate love-making filled his senses and stirred his manhood to life.

He tried to catch his breath as Michael's pace quickened and he began to touch Nikita everywhere, with his mouth and hands, even as his manhood touched her from the inside.

He slid his mouth along her jaw and then tasted her earlobe, biting gently, then nipped at her throat, tongue lashing across the sensitive skin. His right thumb found and captured her nipple, rotating it in small circles until it hardened achingly under his touch.

His other hand roamed down her side, her belly, her hip, beneath her thigh and then up again, leaving a line of goose-flesh in its wake. She shivered, as the combination of caresses overloaded her senses and left her mindlessly quivering in waves.

Michael was as elemental as the waves as well; each thrust was insistent, inevitable, eternal, as he surged into her again and again, crashing his body wildly against the soft sand of her shore. And, like waves, each stroke was different, some playful and teasing, some quick and tender, some slow, majestic, and deep. Each touched her in a perfect way, each moved her, with their vastness, depth, and power.

"Ahh, Michael..." she gasped out as she quivered beneath him. Her senses seemed heightened, as if she could taste him, hear him, through her skin. It was if every cell in her body responded to his nearness.

The feel of his hair-roughened thighs impacting against hers with each thrust enhanced her excitement more, even as his hard belly writhing against hers brought her closer and closer to the edge.

Her internal sheath was clamped so tightly around him, and so sensitized, that it was as if she could feel every detail, every outline of his thick maleness within her. She felt the beautifully sculpted tip with its deep ridged edge, the sensitive veins along the pulsing shaft, and the wider base that her body welcomed each time it met and ground into her, massaging her throbbingly sensitive point of pleasure.

She loved him with her whole body, as he loved her. His rasping breath moved her, as he exerted himself for her pleasure, and she watched, entranced, as a bead of sweat ran down his smooth cheek and over the strong but vulnerable column of his throat; she thought he was so beautiful she could weep.

With incoherent, high cries, she urged him to end this delicious torment as she felt her release grow close. One hand snaked its way down his sweat-sheened, muscular back to rest at just the top of one exquisitely curved, firm buttock. She could feel the hard muscles clenching under her fingers as his hips pounded against hers, gyrating and dancing in erotic, rhythmic circles.

"Please..." she begged in a breathless whimper. "Michael, please..."

Michael heeded her plea for release and obeyed her unspoken command. He wrapped his arms more tightly around her shoulders and buried his face in her neck, his body tensing in readiness for this final performance in his Lady's service.

Groaning loudly, he pulled his hips back from hers, and then slammed into her rapidly again and again, thrusts so strong and fast that she had no time to recover from the rush of pleasure that each one brought her before she was engulfed by the ecstasy of the next.

His body overcame hers, and she surrendered willingly, sliding up and over the edge of fufillment with a loud cry as she screamed his name.

Her body clenched and spasmed around him, and he surrendered in turn, as the waves of her orgasm pulled him over the edge with her.

His body arched over hers, and he writhed helplessly against her as he came, gasping out his pleasure with harsh, esctatic cries as his c*ck pulsed his seed within her.

The loud cries turned into soft moans as their shock-waves of pleasure subsided. Michael, still breathing raggedly, brushed back the wildly tousled hair from Nikita's forehead, and softly kissed her until they both came down from the heights, recovering from their sojourn in Paradise.

Still clinging to his Beloved, his manhood still buried inside her, Michael gave Nikita one last deep kiss and then moved to lie beside her on the bed, his breaths still coming raggedly and hard.

Turning his head on the pillow, Michael's eyes lifted away from his partner, companion and friend for the first time and met the eyes of another. Pedro was standing in wide-eyed wonder at the foot of the bed.

"Holy Mother of God," whispered the priest in breathless awe. "What a blessing!"

Michael and Nikita both laughed together at Pedro's sweetly reverent expression. Then both sobered quickly as the reality of their situation returned. The lovers' eyes met in a communication of unspoken understanding, silently but clearly exchanging promises and permission.

Nikita sighed softly, kissed Michael once more and then turned passion-dark eyes to Pedro. She held out her arms to the young virgin priest in a gesture of warm invitation.

"Come," she urged him with a tremulous smile. "Come lie with me...."

She held her arms out wider, reaching for him. "It's your turn now...."

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

Pedro froze, tense and suddenly confused and afraid. A swarm of conflicting emotions and thoughts fought for ascendancy inside him, his body, heart, mind, and conscience all clamoring loudly for attention, each with their own conflicting demands.

His eyes drank in the sight of the beckoning Siren on the bed, offering herself to him, promising physical splendors and fulfillment beyond his dreams. He desired her, there was no question about that, his body responding automatically and completely to Nikita's womanly charms. His manhood pulsed and throbbed with need, aching to join with her, demanding to be satisfied.

He wanted to leap on that alabaster-blonde loveliness and sink himself deep into her, and become lost in the enchantment of her sweet, temptingly passionate depths.

But his body was not the only part of him screaming to be heard. His heart cried out for him to look into the hearts of the other two people there with him, to consider the consequences if he gave into his body's demands.

Look at Michael, his heart told him. See the other human being there, the other soul who it was possible to hurt and wound by his actions. What about him? If Pedro made love to Nikita, what would that do to him? What would it do to her?

Pedro's heart, though brave, bold, and strong, had never been hardened by life, despite all the brutality, loss, cruelty, and despair he had experienced in these last few years fighting Don Carlos, and the last few months fighting for survival in Section One.

His heart remained as it ever was, soft, pliant, responsive, vulnerable, easily wounded. He did not have the protective shields in place as others in Section did- he was not able to turn off his feelings and callously "get the job done".

The tender-hearted priest was able to endure any hardship, to triumph under any circumstances, except one. To deliberately, cruelly, hurt another human being would destroy him. To selfishly take what he wanted at another's expense would be a sin; a sin that would scar his soul so deeply he didn't know if he could ever recover from it.

His gaze flickered from Nikita to Michael, who, seeing the younger man's hesitation, smiled at him and gave him his reassurance.

"It's all right," said Nikita's Beloved in an encouraging tone. "Come, take her...."

Astonishingly, Michael felt as he had before when he had offered Nikita to the priest's caresses. He felt no jealously or hurt, but he didn't understand at all why this was so. His own feelings surprised him. It was if, with Pedro, he felt no possessiveness toward Nikita, or any fear of defilement.

Perhaps, Michael wondered, it was because he trusted this gentle man above all others, or perhaps it was because of Pedro's purity, of body and soul, that made him feel instinctively that to share his own body as well as hers with the priest would not be a violation of either one of them. Or perhaps the priest's attitude of the sacredness of this moment was something Michael was realizing as well.

Whatever the reason, he had no fear, only a strange joy.

Michael's reassurrances, though welcomed, did nothing to assuage Pedro's doubts, but conflicted him further.

He remembered the vows he had taken, to remain chaste, to be honorable, to serve God. His conscience tormented him, screaming harshly inside his head of betrayal and depravity. This act, if consummated, would make him a liar, a cheat, a traitor to his Church. Could he live with such dishonor?

Pedro squeezed his eyes tightly shut and balled his hands into fists at his sides. His breath came in sharp gasps and he trembled as the conflicting voices screamed and pleaded inside his head.

*God, help me* he prayed silently, as anguished sobs shook him. *Please, please, help me*

Instantly, in answer to his prayer, the clamoring voices in his mind quieted, and he was filled with a sudden, inexplicable peace. A profound serenity engulfed him, washing all his doubts away.

He sighed deeply, and felt himself relax into the familiar, welcoming feeling. It was an experience he had had many times before. In situations of extreme stress and fear, in grief and anguish and uncertainty, this holy peace would come to him- the peace that passeth all understanding.

Here, in this moment of extreme duress and anxiety, he felt the comfort, the assurance, the warmth of his Lord's presence. God was there with him, now, in this cold, white prison room. Even here, deep in the Hell of Section One, his Lord had not abandoned him.

Relief flooded him. The peace was like a palpable presence, radiating warmth to his soul. He was here, the Lord, the Living Spirit that had guided him all his life.

*Precious Jesus,* Pedro softly greeted his Friend in his mind. He knew now everything would be all right. His Jesus was here with him now, the One whom he had vowed to follow and to serve. His was the only voice Pedro would listen to, the One who was Wisdom and Love and Truth, the one whose Words surpassed all others.

*Lord, just tell me what to do,* Pedro pleaded silently in complete trust. Even if the answer he received led to further punishment, or even death, Pedro would obey.

Whatever His orders were, Pedro knew his Lord's instructions would be correct and true, and show the way to ultimate good. Pedro would be directed on the path that would save his soul, preserving it for eternity.

If that Voice directed him into Hell, Pedro would follow, knowing he would be perfectly safe. Even if he did not understand all the reasons why, Pedro knew that there was a Greater Plan, a Design, and he and Michael and Nikita were a part of it. He would place his complete trust in the Grand Designer.

In his heart's stillness, from the well of his deep internal peace, the Voice spoke- warmly, affectionately, intimately, and with the gentle humor that Pedro recognized as Jesus' trademark dry wit.

"Do what I told you to do before, of course," said the Voice, tenderly chiding him.

"Silly Child," Jesus admonished him patiently. The instructions came succinctly, and in the exact words Pedro had heard before when he prayed after first entering the white room, only this time the words were even more clear.

"Honor My Gifts," said the Voice.

Tears filled Pedro's eyes at these simple, guiding words. His anguish released him, and his heart was filled with a warm, but sharp humility and a piercing gratitude.

"Thank you," he sobbed, tears flowing. "Thank you...."

The two on the bed watched the priest struggle with himself, and had remained quiet while he came to a decision. When Pedro opened his eyes and spoke, they believed his grateful sobs were addressed to the goddess on the bed, and to her consort who offered his Beloved to the priest for adoration.

They knew the ritual would go on. Father Pedro would continue and complete his worship.

Pedro gave them a tremulous smile, took a few short steps forward, and joined them on the bed.

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

The virgin blushed and trembled, meeting the deep blue eyes of his goddess/teacher with his own tear-glistened brown ones. Holding his breath, his gaze never leaving hers, he carefully knelt between her knees on the bed.

Nikita reached for him again, and Pedro slowly lowered his body over hers until his face was aligned with hers. Gently, respectfully, he softly kissed her.

Nikita wrapped her arms around the smooth brown shoulders, touched by the sweetness of the kiss. She could feel him trembling in her arms, even as the firm tip of his manhood resting on her abdomen quivered against her soft flesh.

"Take me," she whispered her encouragement again.

Pedro broke the kiss and looked from her to Michael beside them and back, his face reflecting his hesitation and bewilderment.

Nikita helped him, reaching between their bodies to encircle his hard, dark shaft with her hand and pull him toward her, guiding him to her opening.

Pedro gasped and thrust forward, and in one swift movement, his c*ck had glided all the way inside her.

"Ohhhh......" he cried out loudly, overcome by the pleasure of it.

Automatically, he thrust into her once again, and again, almost shocked that with each successive thrust the pleasure did not diminish, but escalated, each more wonderful than the one before.

In fact, there was nothing more wonderful, nothing to compare to this, Pedro thought as he eagerly made love for the first time. No, not summer sky, or flowers, or beaches.... Not starry nights, or gold and diamonds, or jewels of any kind.... not glittering temples, or castles, not even the mountains of his homeland... Nothing......

Pedro felt himself high above those mountains now, high above the stars, even, in a new realm where he had never been before. He felt closer to Heaven than he had ever been. It was as if Life itself embraced him, God/Goddess in physical form merged with him. He knew it was a holy place he had entered, a heavenly, joyous realm.

The coupling lasted only a short time, but it seemed timeless to Pedro, suspended as he was in breathless ecstasy. He hardly knew what he did, how he moved, or even where he was. He only knew he was enveloped in the arms, intertwined in the limbs, and engulfed in the depths of the the Lady, the Divine Feminine.

Michael watched from the side of the bed as Pedro thrust mindlessly into Nikita. His Nikita. Moaning. Touching her. Holding her tight...

He felt again the strange, inexplicable feeling of deep peace that he could not explain. His heart held no jealousy, or hurt, or sorrow, only a poignant, shared joy.

Michael watched as Nikita turned her face, flushed pink with passion, to look at him. Even as one hand caressed her young lover's back, she held the other out to grip Michael's hand, clutching his fingers tightly in hers.

Their gaze held, and Michael read the unspoken message in the blue depths. *I am with you* those eyes told him. *I love you* I am yours* Pedro's moans became louder, his thrusts faster, as he rapidly neared the point of fulfillment. Eyes closed, he bent his head toward her again, his mouth searching for and finding hers. He thrust his tongue into the wet depths, even as his c*ck, glistening with her wetness, plunged again and again into her soft womanly depths.

The passion-glazed blue eyes that met Michael's green fluttered closed. Her head fell back on the pillow and her body arched up against Pedro's as both convulsed in simultaneous ecstacy, shaking violently as their shared orgasm took them.

Nikita squeezed Michael's hand almost painfully tight and called out his name as she came.

"Michael... oh, God, Michael..." she moaned hoarsely.

Pedro uttered a high, incoherent cry and still thrust his body into his incadescent goddess. Breathing in harsh ragged gasps, he opened his eyes and looked at the beautiful woman beneath him.

"So beautiful..." he gasped reverently. "So beautiful..."

Nikita's eyes stayed closed, and she kissed her young lover's smooth, lean cheek and tangled her fingers in Pedro's sweat-dampened hair. But in her mind, it was Michael's cheek she kissed, Michael's auburn curls beneath her fingers, Michael's body lying sated and satisfied above her and inside her.

"Yes, beautiful..." she agreed drowsily, seeing only Michael's face before her as she drifted down from the sweet heights.

Michael, deeply moved, felt himself cherished, welcomed, and included in the other two's lovemaking. With a soft groan, he lay down beside them on the bed, draped his arm around Pedro's shoulders, pressed his face to Nikita's hair, and drowsed with them, sharing in the afterglow.

Soon there was silence in the small room, as their breathing slowed and deepened, and the threesome rested after their devoted, tenderly-shared worship.

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

The three lovers drowsed for a time, resting in that state of delicious languor, satisfaction, and complete relaxation that only comes after passionate love-making.

Pedro lay cuddled against Nikita, his head nestled against her shoulder, one hand lying lightly on her breast. Michael's head was pillowed on the other as he lay curled up next to her on her other side.

Nikita, with deep contentment, lazily caressed the silky auburn tresses that tumbled over Michael's shoulders, then stroked her hand down his smoothly muscled back. Michael stirred and lifted his head from her breast, and gave her a sensuous, sleepy-eyed smile. Then he kissed her.

Nikita hummed a throaty moan of delight as the soft lips met hers. Pedro awoke slowly then, opening his eyes to see the lovers' gentle, but thouroughly intimate, kiss. Though he knew the others did not resent his presence, still he felt he was intruding somehow on a very personal, private moment between the two of them.

Embarrassed, he sat up quickly, and went to slide off the bed. The couple broke the kiss and both turned to look at the young priest, concerned. Nikita stopped him from leaving the bed with a gentle hand on his arm.

"Wait! Where are you going?" she asked, wide-eyed.

Pedro blushed. "To the bathroom," he blurted out.

Nikita gave a relieved laugh. "O.K.," she said, with a bright smile, but did not release his arm. Pedro, I..." she began, then stopped, her words trailing off.

"Yes, Senorita?" asked Pedro anxiously, shifting to face her where he sat on the side of the bed. "You want to tell me something?"

Nikita nodded, and gave the arm beneath her hand a firm squeeze. She looked solemnly into his young face.

"I wanted to thank you," she said softly. "You are a tender, considerate lover and ..... and.." She smiled and blushed herself, then lowered her eyes.

"You made me feel beautiful..." she told him in a whisper.

She groped for the words to tell him how special he had made her feel, with his attitude of fervent adoration, and his tender reverence. The atmosphere of hushed sacredness that had prevailed while they made love had not escaped her, and she was intensely grateful.

The act that Madeleine had intended to be degrading and defiling for all of them had instead been uplifting, sweetly pure, and.... holy. She sighed again, and looked up into Pedro's face. "You made me feel....honored...." she finished softly.

Pedro blushed again and shook his head, answering her with his usual courtliness and humility.

"No, it is I who am honored, Senorita," he told her softly. He followed these gentle words with a tender, respectfully light kiss, his lips just barely brushing hers.

With one last glance at her, and a brief nod to Michael, Pedro stood up and walked with dignified steps to the bathroom door. A moment later the two lovers on the bed heard the shower running.

Nikita wriggled next to Michael again and snuggled close. Michael wrapped his arms around her, drawing comfort from her warmth and nearness.

He felt her quiver slightly in his arms and Michael knew they were both thinking about the same thing. The afterglow had faded, and reality was again hitting them hard.

They both knew that soon Pedro would have another lesson in love-making, this time with a man. With Michael.

"Michael, will you be all right?" Nikita whispered against his broad, hard-muscled chest. "Are you O.K.?"

He tightened his arms around her, touched at her concern.

"I'll be fine," he said automatically, giving his usual stoic answer. "I just hope Pedro will be."

She nodded her head against his chest, her hair tickling the underside of his chin. Her presence comforted him, as did her softly spoken words.

"Pedro is strong," she answered him with conviction. "I think maybe he is even stronger than...." She leaned up to whisper in his ear.

"...... stronger than Madeleine," she finished.

Michael laughed. "I hope so," he said with a smile. Then, quickly sobering, his smile faded and his green eyes filled with sorrow. "I hope so...." he said again, like a fervent prayer.

They held each other in silence then, Michael drawing her close and Nikita burrowing against him, each both giving and receiving strength from the other.

A short time later, they heard the water in the bathroom turn off and stop. A few minutes after that, Pedro emerged, a towel wrapped modestly around his lean waist, hair damp and tousled, a few beads of water from his shower glistening on the warm brown skin of his chest.

He hesitated, and almost went back in the bathroom when he saw the couple tangled in their intimate embrace on the bed.

Nikita stopped him with a smile, breaking away from Michael and sliding to the side of the bed. She stood up and walked toward him.

"It's O.K," she said with forced cheer. "My turn for the shower."

Pedro nodded, and Nikita threw a glance over her shoulder at the man on the bed and entered the bathroom, sliding the door firmly closed behind her.

The men were alone together.

Pedro lowered his eyes to the floor, suddenly tense, where a few moments before he had been blissfully comfortable. He wished for that langourous, trouble-free state again, for that happy, mindless post-coital sleep...

But he knew there was no escape from what lay ahead. He clenched his jaw, the peace of earlier deserting him, the voices inside his head clamoring again. The Lord had given him his instructions, and Pedro was determined to carry them out. But not until he had was very, very sure.. And right now, Pedro wasn't sure of anything at all.

On the bed, Michael sat up, hugging his knees to his chest, and broke the awkward silence between them.

"Sit down, please," he invited politely.

Pedro obeyed, perching on the opposite corner of the bed, his back to Michael. The awkward silence resumed, both of them anxious to talk but neither man quite sure of what to say.

Finally, Pedro could contain his words no longer. "I'm... I'm afraid," the younger man blurted out. "So very afraid....." he confessed.

Michael's first impulse was to reach out his hand to touch Pedro's shoulder, but then he thought better of it, and pulled his hand back before his fingers reached him.

"I know," soothed Michael. "I promise, I'll be very careful. We'll go slow. I won't hurt you..."

Pedro turned around to face him, eyes wide. "I know that," the priest quickly assured him. "I trust you, Michael..."

Pedro shook his head, trying to explain. "You do not understand. It is not physical pain I am afraid of.." the priest licked his dry lips.

"There is a pain much greater than that to be feared..."

"What do you mean?" asked Michael softly, not sure he wanted to hear the answer.

Pedro leaned forward, voice low and urgent. "I am afraid it is *I* who will hurt *YOU*. Here..." The priest tapped his fingers hard on his own chest, indicating his heart. "In your soul..."

"I am afraid you will be harmed, humiliated.... scarred... " the young Father went on. He looked away from Michael, staring at the far wall, and swallowed hard.

"That's what this is about, isn't it?" he said grimly. "That's what Madeleine wants, isn't it?"

He turned his compassionate brown-eyed gaze back to Michael. "She wants to destroy us. She wants us to feel pain, humiliation, degradation." The priest nodded his head somberly. "This.. assignment is not just to hurt me. She wants to ..... damage all of us. Me, you, and Nikita...." Michael did touch him then, reaching out to rest one hand gently on Pedro's brown shoulder.

"She won't," Michael quickly assured him, even though he doubted his own words. "Everything will be fine," he lied.

Pedro met the green eyes. "You are very brave, my son," Pedro told him solemnly.

Michael, stunned, did not know what to say to this. He could only stare at the priest in amazement. It was Pedro who was brave, fearless and wise beyond his years. Nikita had been right about him. The young Father had a formidable strength of character; he was a definite match for Madeleine.

For his part, Pedro's was savvy and intelligent enough to know better than to take Michael's assurrances at face value. He knew Michael's surface blank stare and apparent calm hid a deep, sensitive nature and, he suspected, a vast well of pain.

Pedro was tuned in enough to know there was so much more to Michael than what he let show on the surface, and the priest was determined to make very sure that nothing he did today would add to that well of pain.

Gently, he would pry open the locked door to Michael's heart, and see if he could help heal the pain inside. Or at least, try to understand it, Pedro decided, folding his hands in hsi lap and cocking his head toward Michael.

Despite what Madeleine wanted, for him to stop being "Father Pedro", the young priest knew that was impossible. The role was instinctive with him, an identity ingrained deep in his soul.

Now, with tender sympathy, he offered himself to Michael not as lover, but as counselor, brother, confessor, and friend.

"Tell me about it, my son," Pedro coaxed him gently. "Talk to me..."

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

Michael stared at Pedro, who sat watching him with such sympathy and trust, asking him to open up.

The young priest had surprised him, shocked him, even, with his loving acceptance of their situation, and his bravery. Michael was astonished that, instead of being resentful and afraid, or rightfully angry and repulsed, Pedro trusted him, and seemed to want to understand him, to be his friend.

A phrase from scripture drifted through his mind. "To the pure, all things are pure." It was a particulary appropriate passage for Pedro, who seemed to look at their ugly situation with innocent, fresh eyes. The priest saw everything from a different perspective, a higher viewpoint.

Still, Michael, being a naturally cautious person, and who, from years of Section training naturally kept his own personal feelings hidden, responded carefully, not wishing to offend or frighten the younger man, who, however accepting, could have had little experience with same sex sexuality.

"It can be beautiful, too," Michael began gently. "Between a man and a man, just like between a man and a woman...." Michael said, remembering the one good experience, thinking of Brian.

Pedro surprised him again with his innocent wisdom. "I know," he answered, nodding. "I have seen many couples of the same sex who were just as in love, just as tenderly devoted to one another, as husbands and wives..."

"Love comes in many forms," continued the priest in an awestruck voice. "The Creator expresses Himself in many ways, revealing Himself through His many gifts..."

Pedro tilted his head at Michael, seeming to look through him with his soft, but piercingly perceptive brown eyes.

"But what I need to know now is this....." he stated firmly. "This way of expressing love may be right for some, and wrong for others. But it is NOT other people's way of loving that we are talking about. It is YOURS."

I must know if this-- what we will share here----," Pedro said, gesturing toward the expanse of bed between them," is the right form of expression for YOU...."

Pedro folded his hands in his lap, and fell silent, calmly waiting for Michael's answer. The peace had returned to him, and the feeling of Jesus' warm presence. He knew deep inside, with sure conviction, that he had said the right words, the words the Lord had given him to say.

The outcome was no longer up to him, but to a higher Decision Maker. It was in Gods's hands. Depending on what Michael answered, Pedro would know if making love with Michael would be an act of violation, or another gift, that he was determined to honor, as Jesus had ordered him.

Michael closed his eyes and swallowed hard, as a swirl of memories and emotions assailed him. He had tried to get himself into machine-mode for this part of the mission, to turn his feelings off, as he always did on Valentine assignments.

To feel nothing- that was his usual way of coping with the sense of disgust and loathing he felt, especially toward himself. And the sorrow. But Pedro's words had made that impossible. Now he felt it all; he felt everything, as the memories flooded him full force.

He raised his face to Pedro's, who was still there, calmly waiting for an answer, still carefully listening.

Michael knew he couldn't lie to the priest. Couldn't just say yes, that everything was fine. The feelings surged to the surface, and he knew they had to come out. He knew he had to tell Pedro the truth.

"I don't know..." Michael confessed softly. "I'm not sure..."

Pedro nodded understandingly. "I see," he said, not surprised that Michael was confused by their bizaare situation. "Could I ask you something?" he asked deferentially.

Green eyes met brown. "Of course," Michael answered, with open trust.

"Have you... did you ever.... do this before?" said the Innocent softly. "Yes," Michael whispered, pain flickering in his eyes. "The first time was in prison..." Michael began, words coming out in a rush, like a dam that had been released. It felt so good to tell someone....

Nikita, standing on the other side of the barely-opened bathroom door, closed her eyes and caught her breath. She held perfectly still and went on listening to the men's conversation, unwilling to interrupt them now that Pedro had coaxed Michael into unburdening himself.

Hot tears squeezed out from beneath her tightly-shut eyelids as she listened to Michael's next words.

"They raped me," he confessed softly. "They raped me...."

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

The words came tumbling out, as if once the floodgates of his memories were opened, it was impossible to stop. Michael had held it in so long, and had never told a soul. Only Nikita, and then he had just told her the bare facts, not the graphic details.

He had held back from telling her all of it, wanting to spare her from the full impact of his degradation. It was his shameful secret. He was sure Madeleine and Operation knew, but neither of Section's leaders had ever brought up this particular part of his past with him.

Now, for the first time in fourteen years, another human being would learn of all his pain. And that human being was Pedro. Father Pedro. A man who Michael knew instinctively had shoulders broad enough, a heart large enough, and a soul strong enough to bear his burden with him.

The priest listened solemnly while Michael brokenly told him the rest. How he had arrived in prison, an idealistic, passionate, twenty-year old, and had been instantly targeted by the most hardened and cruel of the inmates. Like a pack of ravenous wild dogs, they had circled their prey, almost salivating over their young victim. To them, Michael was nothing more than fresh meat.

Pedro heard how the inmates had cornered Michael in his cell that first night, how he had been held down by laughing inmates while the rest, one after the other, took their turns, roughly pentrating him, delighting in his screams of pain and his helpless shouts of rage, and finally, his hopeless tears.

Nikita, still hidden and listening through the crack in the bathroom door, bit her lip to keep from sobbing out loud. Tears flowed down her cheeks as Michael's soft voice went on, telling Pedro the rest.

It went on like that for weeks, until at last the rapes had stopped, only to be replaced by a degradation of a different kind. A powerful inmate, a gang leader, had "acquired" Michael as his own personal plaything, seducing him and instructing him in all the ways of pleasure and service.

Michael became not a lover, but a slave. A well-treated, even affectionately regarded, slave, but a slave nevertheless. He endured it; it was the price he paid to stay alive. His "owner" protected him from the others, and in return, Michael surrendered his body to the other man.

After a while the sex became not a torture anymore, but something Michael guiltily, shamefully enjoyed. He found himself actually looking forward to his servicing sessions with his owner -Michael never called it love-making- anticipating the feel of the other man's touch, his hands and mouth on his c*ck, his body filling his, sliding into him...

Michael's new desires and feelings disturbed and confused him, although he knew logically that his natural desires for women had been distorted by the sexual conditioning of the anything -but- normal environment of prison.

Still, he felt somehow dirty for enjoying what little pleasure there was to be derived in the squalid prison-hell. Emotionally, his self-torment and doubts were almost as painful to bear as the rapes had been.

Finally, after several months that seemed like an eternity, his captivity had come to an end. Michael woke up one morning to find himself in an even more brutal jail than the one he had been taken from- Section One.

And Section One proved to be no less interested him as a sexual plaything than the inmates had been. He was not indiscriminately raped, this time, but rather selectively ordered to seduce. It was part of his training, part of his duties. And again, Michael had submitted to be treated this way, because he once more had no choice. It was either be used, or be killed.

Fortunately, the assignments to seduce men had been infrequent, and there were only a handful of times over the years that Michae had had to do anything more than flirt with his targets. He tried not to think about the times he had allowed himself to be touched by greedy hands and eager mouths, and submitted himself to being penetrated again...

Michael went on speaking, barely aware of the room around him, or even where he was, lost in the darkness of his past. Trance-like, his eyes were fixed unseeing on the far wall, and he was completely unaware that he was trembling, and totally unconscious of the fact that he was crying, tears falling unheeded down his face. Michael did not seem to notice them, making no effort to wipe them away.

Pedro sat compassionately, respectfully silent. He only listened as before, offering no comments and making no judgements. He was just THERE, a strong, sympathetic presence, letting Michael's words wash over him, receiving them into his open, empathetic heart.

Michael's wrenching confidences he considered as gifts, giving them the reverence and hushed respect they deserved. Pedro felt honored to receive them, knowing of their preciousness, and what it cost Michael to bestow these words on another.

To Nikita, however, each word was not a gift, but a blow. She ached for the innocent young man that Michael had been, realizing that for him sex was not the simple act of adoration and sharing that it was for her.

Prison and Section had distorted and twisted all that for Michael, making love-making now for him something hopelessly tangled, dark, painful, and complex.

She prayed that Father Pedro would have the words to heal Michael, to let him see sex as the priest did, as a simple gift, a thing of clarity and purity, as Love in one of its many forms.

Still praying, she rested her head against the cold metal door, closed her eyes, and wept.

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

Pedro listened and found himself growing angry on the other man's behalf. He was angry at how first the inmates, and then Section One, had used Michael, dishonored him, how they had perverted and disrespected the Creator's gifts. These experiences had left deep wounds, and Madeleine was obviously using the priest and their situation to wound Michael further.

It seemed to Pedro that it would be impossible now for him to attempt any physical union with Michael, or to accept any overtures of intimacy from the other man. To do so would only damage Michael further, adding to his feelings of violation and disgust. Apparently, there had been no good experience for Michael in bed with a man.

"Michael," the priest began softly, but with great determination. "Every encounter you have told me of so far has been an ugly and painful one, and I refuse to add myself to the list of men who have used you ...."

"I will not do this," stated the priest firmly, getting to his feet. "I will not dishonor you this way."

Michael blinked sharply and aroused from his trance. The catharsis of confession had brought him an unfamiliar, but welcome, sense of peace, but now that peace was rapidly evaporating into fear.

He had never intended to push Pedro away with his words, or to persuade him to refuse Madeleine's assignment. To do so meant the end of everything, the ultimate punishment - cancellation.

"Pedro, no!" Michael shouted, alarmed, clambering off the bed to stand by the priest. He gripped him firmly by the wrist and leaned his face close, hissing out his emphatic warning.

"Refusal is not an option," Michael insisted, staring into Pedro's defiant brown eyes. "You have to stay and complete the assignment..."

A stubborn expression came over Pedro's face, and he tried to pull his wrist free from Michael's tight grip. "Let go of me," the priest demanded with fulsome dignity.

Michael couldn't allow the other man to walk out and commit suicide. Both knew that's what it would be. If Pedro knocked on the door of the room and told the guards on the other side that the session was through, no doubt Madeleine would have the disobedient recruit cancelled. And Michael couldn't live with himself if that happened.

"No," countered Michael, just as stubbornly. "You're not going anywhere..."

Pedro again tried to pull away toward the direction of the door, and this time Michael still held on to the younger man's slender wrist with an almost crushing grip.

The men struggled, and Pedro, though young and strong, was no match for the powerful, Section-trained Michael. The older man flipped him easily, pushing him backwards to land on the bed, where Michael followed, climbing on top of him and pinning him easily by both wrists to the mattress.

"Let me go!" Pedro yelled again, his Latin temper flaring.

"No," answered Michael, struggling to keep a wriggling Pedro flat on his back while the priest bucked and writhed beneath him. The younger man was determined to get away, and almost succeeded in squirming out from under his powerful opponent.

Michael was breathing hard and felt like crying again. He knew he could overcome and subdue the priest easily if he used some of the dirtier fighting moves that he had been taught in Section, but he couldn't bring himself to use them. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt Pedro.

"Please, Pedro," Michael begged him. "Please, don't fight me...."

Nikita awoke as if from a dream, realizing the time to leave the men their privacy was past. Michael and Pedro both needed her help. She suddenly stirred to action, wiping her tears from her eyes, and sliding the bathroom door roughly open.

In seconds she had crossed the room and leapt on the bed, sitting on Pedro's towel-covered knees to pin his lower body, and then holding down one shoulder and arm of the priest while Michael got control of the other.

Michael shot her a grateful glance and then looked back at their prisoner. Pedro, helpless now, let out a sigh of mixed frustration and sorrow.

"Please," he begged in an anguished voice. "Just let me leave..." He turned his head to the side and squeezed his eyes shut to stop his sudden tears. "I can't stay here and dishonor you...." he groaned. "Please..."

"Shhh, Pedro, it'll be all right...." Nikita soothed him, lifting one hand from his shoulder to capture his chin in her palm and turn his face toward her. Tear-glistened brown eyes met hers.

The priest shook his head. "No......" he protested, and tried to sit up again, futilely struggling once more.

Nikita pressed her fingers to Pedro's soft lips and shushed him again, this time her words were more firm, though no less gentle.

"Shhh, no one will be dishonored," she promised him. "No one will be hurt...."

She leaned down and gave him a soft, light, almost reverent, kiss. "The only way you could hurt us is if you leave now, without letting us honour you...."

Both men stared at her, mesmerized. Both felt the palpable presence of Spirit in the room, filling the hushed silence between them. Nikita felt the warm presence, too, as if a warm blanket had been laid across her shoulders, a blanket of comfort and peace.

She sighed, and into the stillness the words came to her, sounding loudly in her heart. The Voice filled her with serenity and conviction, and something that was beyond happiness--- a trembling joy.....

She knew without a doubt that everything would be all right. She knew exactly what words to say to save Pedro. To save all of them.

"You're afraid you will destroy Michael with your touch," she whispered softly. "But you're wrong...." She went on, speaking the words as they came to her as if from a diferent source than her own mind. These words were from a deep place in her heart, a heart she shared with the Heart of the universe.

"Your touch, your gentleness, your tender, adoring love-making---- that is what will heal him, Pedro....." She smiled at the astonished, wide-eyed priest. "That is what you can give him, this healing, this blessing...."

She turned her head and touched her lips gently to Michael's cheek. He was frozen, holding his breath, green eyes wide with awe.

"Please," she said turning back to Pedro. "Please... You are the only one who can give him this Gift...."

Pedro let out a gasp, and stared up into the face of the naked Goddess, for he knew that's who Nikita was, who she represented, whose words she had spoken. He felt humbled, and a little ashamed that he had let his anger at Michael's abusers and his own stubborn pride get in the way of hearing the request of the Voice. To honor the Gifts. That was what he would do.

He would honor the Gifts that the Goddess had presented to him. He would cherish them, accept them, tenderly adore them. The Gifts called Michael and Nikita.

"Si," he whispered, surrendering. "Si..."

He had no other words, only this simple, quiet agreement, although his heart was singing loudly inside him. The slender brown body relaxed, the others feeling him go limp and compliant in their grasp.

Michael released him, sitting back on his heels on the side of the bed. Nikita shifted her grip to Pedro's hand, and helped him sit up. He knelt on the bed between them, and turned to Michael first, who sat watching him with solemn green eyes.

Reaching out slowly, Pedro carefully placed his hand on the crown of Michael's head, fingers resting lightly on the silky-textured auburn hair, in a familiar gesture of blessing. The brown eyes that met Michael's were equally as solemn, filled with the knowledge of the seriousness of the new ritual upon which they were embarking.

"I will honor you, my friend," Pedro vowed. "I will take part in this sacrament. I will ... love you...."

He turned to look at Nikita, asking her for guidance. "Will you show me how, My Lady?" Pedro pleaded softly.

Nikita nodded, and, eyes blazing with tenderness for both men, but particularly for Michael, she answered Pedro's request.

"Yes, I will show you how to love him," she whispered softly. "Like this..."

She reached out to embrace Michael, who trembled in her arms. She kissed him once, very softly, then slowly, tenderly, lowered him down on the bed.

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

As Nikita and Michael kissed, soft lips meeting and tasting hungrily, Pedro lay down on Michael's other side, fascinated at the sight of Nikita's long hair brushing silkily across the hard-muscled chest, tickling one of Michael's flat nipples.

Tentatively, carefully, Pedro touched his finger -tips to the other, surprised when the light- brown nub hardened instantly, quickening to life under his caress.

Pedro let his mind go free, and opened himself to to the directions of the Goddess. Michael had not flinched away at his touch, but rather had responded eagerly to Pedro's searching fingers.

The priest dared to go further, and carefully bent low to take the hard, sensitive peak in his mouth. With soft licks, he suckled it as he had Nikita's. Fleetingly Pedro was aware of the salty, but appealing, taste of Michael's skin, and how, though different, the experience was somehow the same- Michael was hard where Nikita was soft, but their instant, unmistakeable response was the same.

Michael arched his hips off the bed and groaned. Breaking the kiss with Nikita, he turned to Pedro and drew him into a soft, sweet kiss. Pedro tensed at first, then relaxed as Michael gently offered his hot depths and wet tongue to Pedro, without force, letting the young student take the lead in this new dance.

Pedro dipped his own tongue inside, exploring at first tentatively, then with more confidence and boldness, until the men were eagerly thrusting tongues into each other, tangling and twisting their twin firmnesses together...

Again, Pedro couldn't help making comparisons. Michael's full lips were as soft as Nikita's, yet firmer. The inside of his mouth was as hot, and as sensitive, and tasted as wonderful. Like Nikita, he felt so good.... Soon, however, Pedro was unable to think at all, giving himself up to the sensations of the kiss.

Nikita watched them in fascination, both men so beautiful, so tender with each other. She found the sight of them kissing intensely sensuous and erotic. She grazed her hand across Michael's nipples, feeling her own harden in response.

Michael moaned again at her touch, and broke the kiss with Pedro to look at her. He saw the deep need in her eyes, and reached out one hand to fondle her breast, even as she fondled his.

"Mmmmm," she growled low in the back of her throat and threw her head back, arching up into his hand. Michael pinched the soft pink tip into hardness, and cupped the small, perfect mound in his palm as if weighing it, then tweaked her nipple again, pulling gently. Nikita groaned and responded by rubbing the nipple under her fingers more firmly, plucking insistently.

Pedro, seeing them touch each other, desired to touch both of them. He bent his mouth to suckle Michael's nipple again, even as his hand reached for the other breast that Michael had ignored. He drank in Michael's sweet taste again, and deftly aroused Nikita's velvet peak under his hand, marveling again at how both could be so hard, yet so soft, at the same time.

The others both gasped in reponse to his touches, which doubled their stimulation, and their arousal. Their moans filled the air, Pedro's joining theirs as well.

Michael's c*ck was tumnescent and growing, bobbing up higher and higher between his thighs with each caress. Nikita's thighs, in turn, glistened with the delicate dew of her arousal.

Knowing that his lovers were excited by his touch excited Pedro as well. He gasped in surprise against Michael's chest, feeling his manhood harden and spring to life between his legs.

Pedro's loud groan alerted the others to his need, and Michael and Nikita both looked up at the same time, eyes meeting, exchanging a glance of instant understanding.

Michael pulled his chest away from Pedro's lips, and gripped the younger man by the shoulder. Nikita clutched his other arm, removing his hand from her breast and holding his fingers firmly still in hers.

Pedro raised his head and looked at both of them. Despite their smiles, he was unsure, returning their smiles with a hesitant one of his own.

"Why did you stop me?" he asked uncertainly. "Did I do something wrong?"

Michael gave him a tender look. "No," he said softly, shifting his positon on the bed. He still held Pedro firmly by the shoulder. "You didn't so anything wrong..."

"You were wonderful," Nikita assurred him, taking his arm. "You just need to let us worship you now..."

Then, together, the two operatives deftly flipped Pedro back down on the bed, again pinning him on his back between them.

The priest's eyes widened, in anticpation, not in fear. "What's going on?" he asked breathlessly.

Nikita gave him a warm laugh, and an even warmer kiss. "Shhhh," she told him with a smile. "It's your turn again..."

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

Pedro tensed as his two lover/teachers lay down on either side of him, his eyes wide and his lean abdomen rising and falling rapidly with each excited breath.

Nikita smiled at him and soothed him again. "Shhhh, relax...." she whispered to him softly, and nestled herself into his arm and leaned her face up to his to be kissed.

Pedro's arm came around her shoulders and pulled her close, his mouth eagerly joining hers. Eyes closed, he molded her body to his and moaned softly in the back of his throat. Nikita's hand strayed upwards to tease the dark brown nipples on his muscular chest. The young, passionate student writhed with pleasure at her caresses, and plunged his tongue into her mouth more fiercely than before.

Nikita let her hand wander lower, over the smooth, warm stomach and down over the ridged abdomen past Pedro's flat navel. His muscles rippled in the wake of her touch, and his manhood, already hard and full against his thigh, pulsed in anticipation.

When her fingers finally reached him and encircled him, Pedro gasped loudly, breaking the kiss. His head fell back on the pillows, neck arched up, veins pulsing visibly in his throat. He bucked his lean hips as she slowly, tantalizingly, stroked him, thrusting up into her hand, all the while moaning softly.

Michael watched from Pedro's other side as Nikita expertly aroused the young priest. In the back of his mind, he realized that if this had been a mission to coldy seduce a target, then this strategy could not have been designed any better.

What simpler way to seduce Pedro was there, than to have Nikita arouse him, stimulate him in a way that was familiar to him, and then, when he was frenzied with excitement,and so turned on he didn't know what was happening, for Michael to move in and take over the process, exchanging one partner for another.

But this wasn't that kind of mission. Michael felt surprise at himself, that somehow, this time, he felt no shame, and no revulsion, at the idea of what intimacies were to come. Somehow, the hard, cold, heavy lump of shame that lived in the pit of his stomach was dissolving, softening, as he realized he desired Pedro, with a genuine warmth and affection, and tender caring. And above all, he desired to please the young innocent, to make it a beautiful experience for him.

Michael wriggled closer to Pedro, and reached out to touch the erect, manly nipples, gently squeezing them. His touch was as reverent and tender as Pedro's had been on him. The younger man turned his head on the pillow, and his passion-glazed brown eyes met Michael's, gleaming with desire and an innocent, warm trust.

The priest reached for Michael eagerly, and drew him into a tender kiss. As the soft, young lips met his, Michael closed his eyes and felt the last of the cold lump of shame that he carried inside him melt and dissolve away.

He moaned out his joy at the release of pain against Pedro's mouth, and let his own frenzied desires sweep him away, catching him in the undertow of the crashing waves of passion.

He broke the kiss and lifted his eyes to meet Nikita's tender blue gaze. He gave her a sweet, dazzling smile, and, with a little laugh, reached across Pedro's body to caress his hand down her soft curves until his fingers found and entered her soft womanhood.

Nikita gasped and let go her grip on Pedro's hard length, falling back against the young man's firm shoulder as Michael's probing caresses overcame her.

Pedro watched breathlessly, as Michael relentlessly aroused the woman beside him. He could feel her hip writhing against his, and the touch of Michael's arm brushing against his abdomen as he stroked his fingers inside her. All this aroused Pedro further.

"Ay, que linda..." he gasped out. "How beautiful...."

Michael, guided by heart and instincts and not cold calculation, laughed happily and removed his fingers from Nikita, urging Pedro to replace Michael's caresses with his own.

"Touch her..." Michael whispered softly.

Pedro's eyes widened, but he eagerly obeyed, aroused even further by the feel of her warm wetness as he carefully slipped his fingers inside her and began thrusting into the tight depths.

Nikita snuggled closer, mindlessly moving her hips against his hand, moaning softly. She lay cradled, spoon-fashion, up against Pedro, his manhood pressing firmly against the curve of the small of her back.

From behind him on his other side, Pedro felt Michael's lips on his shoulders, and the older man's warm, lean length pressed up against him. The priest felt a sudden shock of desire mixed with fear as Michael's c*ck nestled itself quivering, between Pedro's buttocks.

Michael felt the younger man twitch and tense against him, and again he moved to reassure him and arouse him at the same time. "I'm not going to enter you yet..." Michael promised in a sensuous whisper. "We're going to play more first...."

He brushed his fingers lightly across Pedro's lips, using the hand that had been inside Nikita just minutes before. Pedro moaned, inhaling the honeyed-woman scent and a brushed his tongue across Michael's finger to taste and lick the sweet dew that lingered there.

Michael felt his c*ck leap in response as Pedro, with a soft groan, gently engulfed Michael's finger into his hot mouth and suckled it.

"Ahh, oui.. oui...." he gasped out sharply, closing his eyes. "Mon Dieu...."

The next thing he knew Pedro had moved on the bed and was now facing him, gripping him by the shoulders. Michael opened his eyes to look into the priest's smiling face.

"What are you doing?" Michael asked.

"Shhh.." said Pedro with a laugh, glancing at a laughing Nikita behind him. The younger man pushed Michael down in the center of the bed and knelt beside him.

"Just relax...." Pedro said huskily. "Your turn next...."

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

It was Nikita's turn to teach Pedro then, even though he somehow instinctively knew what Michael wanted, what Michael needed. On an unconscious level, male to male, human to human, they communicated, and the continued deep peace in his soul told Pedro that what he was doing was right.

The Voice told him that no healing would take place unless it was Michael, not Pedro, who surrendered himself to be taken - Not as before, in a cruel rape, or a cold exchange of favors, or in a calculated ploy to seduce a target, but in love- There would be no healing unless Michael knew it could be like that, until he experienced that love first-hand.

Nikita's blue eyes met Pedro's, and she knew instantly that he was as determined to cherish Michael as much as she was. With a sweet smile, she began the lesson.

She leaned down to kiss a trembling Michael on the mouth, but her lips did not linger there. She slid her mouth sensuously over his face to his strong jaw, pausing to bite him there, then nibbled her way down the smooth column of his neck and lower, licking her way across his chest. Michael closed his eyes and moaned, muscles tensing as her mouth moved lower still on his quivering body. She lapped him with long flicks of her tongue down the ridged abdomen, until she found his navel. She darted her tongue inside, and swirled it teasingly around the small opening.

Michael lifted his head up and caressed his hand down her silky blonde hair until he reached her shoulder and pressed on it almost frantically, nudging her to go lower. He squirmed under her, thrusting his eager manhood toward her, aching to be touched.

"Nikita, please..." he groaned. "God, please..."

The blonde beauty laughed. "Patience," she teased, but then she did not make him wait long for what he wanted.

A moment later, she bent her head and engulfed his entire hard length in her mouth.

"Ahhh...." Michael groaned sharply, his head falling back on the pillows. "Ah, oui..... oui...."

She slid her mouth slowly up and down him, inch by delicious inch, then nibbled and licked down each side, tongue flicking light and quick over the thick, pulsing shaft. When her lips reached the the swollen head of it again, she swirled her tongue around the sensitive underside, then once more engulfed him in her mouth.

Pedro watched, mesmerized and wide-eyed, and felt his own c*ck throb and harden in response to the sight of her intimate, playful caresses, and the sound of Michael's ragged moans in response.

Nikita lifted her head up then, and smiled at her student. She gripped Michael's thick hardness by the base, holding it vertical, and gave the tip on more quick kiss before nodding to the young priest.

"Now you..." she said, offering the Gift to Pedro.

Michael's eyes fluttered open, and he tensed, waiting for Pedro's response.

The younger man hesitated, and his two teachers held their breath. Pedro stared at the hard, thick shaft in Nikita's hand, fascinated by the tiny bead of clear fluid that glistened at the tip, like a dew drop on a rose.

He took a breath, closed his eyes, and bent forward to lick off the drop of dew, tasting the Goddess' gift for the first time.

Michael let out his breath in a sharp gasp, as Pedro's mouth moved lower, his lips parting to suck in first the swollen head of his manhood and then the rest of his hard length, one inch at a time, in slow increments, mimicking Nikita's movements in slow motion.

Michael writhed and bit back a groan. He fought for control, afraid he would explode before he was ready if Pedro went on savoring his flesh the way he was doing any longer.

Pedro licked him eagerly, intoxicated by Michael's sweet taste, a combination of musky male flesh, traces of Michael's own salty semen, and one other unexpected flavor--- that of warm, sweet woman.

Pedro lifted his head in surprise and looked wide-eyed at Nikita. "He tastes... like you!" the young student blurted out.

The three of them laughed, and Nikita felt suddenly, joyously happy. Her concerns were gone, knowing with certainty that none of them would be harmed by their continued love-making, knowing that everything would work itself out for the good.

*Let go* the Voice said in her mind. *Everything will be all right.*

"He feels like me, too," a relaxed Nikita responded. "See, I'll show you..."

Nikita took a startled Pedro by the hand and brought his fingers to her mouth. She suckled one long, slender brown finger, wetting it with her saliva, licking the digit all the way down to his palm. Pedro shivered at the sensations her caresses roused in him.

Then with her other hand she gently nudged Michael's knees apart and then slipped her fingers between his thighs and under him, searching for the cleft between the firm, shapely buttocks.

Panting hard, Michael trembled as she guided Pedro's hand to the entrance of his inner depths.

Michael writhed, and let out a high cry, when Nikita surprised him by lowering her mouth down on him again at the same instant that Pedro's finger slid deep inside him.

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

Michael was unprepared for the shock of desire that went through him at Pedro's intimate touch. He hadn't expected things to go this way, hadn't planned on being the one who was entered and penetrated, but he knew that was what would inevitably come next.

Instead of feeling apprehensive, or violated, or even uncomfortable, he felt nothing but keen, sweet passion and an overwhelming sense that things had come right again.

For once, he didn't flash-back on the rapes, or any of the shameful horrors that occurred thereafter. For once, it didn't hurt: his body did not ache with pain, his soul did not ache with regret. He only felt a rising, escalating need, a raging passion to join with his lovers, a need that was spiralling out of control.

His body tensed and writhed under Nikita and Pedro's caresses, her mouth and his hand nearly bringing him to the limits of his control.

"God, please..." he moaned. "Oh, please...."

Pedro slowly stroked his finger inside Michael, like he had done with Nikita. He couldn't help making comparisons again, between the two dualities- male/female, dark/light, soft/hard, giver/receiver, body/spirit.

It was as Nikita had said- Michael did feel like she did inside- hot, tight, velvety. To touch Michael this way excited him as much as it had when he had touched Nikita, and he felt an overwhelming desire to experience his body merged with the male aspect of God as much as he had desired union with the Divine Feminine.

They were twin gifts, both two sides of the same coin, and he wanted nothing more than to lose himself in the paradox, to dive in between the dualities and experience them at the same time, in the place where Divinity and Humanity touched.

Michael lay shuddering on the bed, thrusting urgently, wantonly up into Nikita's mouth and against Pedro's hand. He couldn't wait any longer.

He opened passion-glazed green eyes and looked beseechingly at his two tormentors. "Now," he growled low in his throat. "Now. Take me now...." he pleaded.

Pedro met the desperate green gaze with a desperate look of his own. He wasn't sure what to do, and he turned once more to his lovely blonde teacher for help.

She lifted her head from Michael's manhood and beckoned to Pedro. "Come here," she whispered. "I'll get you ready...."

Before the young student knew what was happening, his hard swollen maleness was inside Nikita's hot mouth. She licked him along his whole length, making sure to cover his shaft to the base, wetting every dark inch of him, lubricating him with her saliva.

The young priest groaned, and threw his head back in ecstacy, his hand still thrusting convulsively inside Michael's secret depths.

Nikita trembled as well, as she moved away from Pedro and reached for Michael, to turn him on his side to face her on the bed, his back to Pedro. She kissed Michael softly, their eyes meeting in a look of love and understanding.

Then, pressing herself against Michael and reaching around behind him, she pulled Pedro down by the arm to lie on the bed against Michael.

Pedro's brown eyes met hers, over Michael's shoulder, again asking for guidance.

She smiled at him reassuringly and then her hand found and held the priest's hard shaft again, and slowly, she guided him into Michael's inner core.

Both men bellowed at once, harsh groans of pleasure torn deep from their throats, as the full length and thickness of Pedro's c*ck slid all the way into Michael's tight rear.

Pedro held still, afraid to move for fear he would lose control right then. He rested his head against Michael's broad shoulder, and put his arm tenderly around the other man's chest, his body pressed all along Michael's warm length. He was too overcome for speech, this moment as holy and exhilarating as his first time, with Nikita, had been.

It was like the first time for Michael, too. The first time, like it should have been. Somehow he felt an overwhelming sense of completion, as if some deep need of his had been fulfiled, some cycle completed, coming full circle.

It was as if this merging with Pedro had obliterated all mergings that had come before -- All of it---the weeks of rape, the months of slavery, the years of being a Section whore- were gone, from the memory of his body and from his soul. It WAS the first time. There was no pain, there were no scars, there was no shame. There was only this sacred moment of sweet healing.

Overwhelmed with emotion, Michael sobbed against Nikita's shoulder, hot tears of relief and joy spilling onto her hair. She bit back a sob of her own, her breath catching in her throat. She was overcome with tenderness for him, as well as an all-consuming need to be joined with him, to once more feel his body deep within hers.

With a soft laugh, she held his head in her hands and kissed him. Then she lifted one slender leg up to lie over his lean hip, and slowly, tantalizingly, lowered herself down on his manhood.

Michael moaned and quivered, and Pedro felt Michael's inner muscles tense around his c*ck buried deep inside him. With a low groan, Pedro began to move, thrusting at first gently, and then more wildly, into Michael's hot depths.

Each thrust fueled another, Pedro to Michael, Michael to Nikita, and back again. Each thrust brought a moan, the three sometimes keening out their pleasure in unison, other times alone, as they took turns interpenetrating each other.

It was beyond bliss for all of them. Michael and Nikita joined in the wonder and newness, the fresh awe that Pedro brought to the encounter. They, too, felt renewed, restored, blessed, honored by the touch of the others. What was intended to be something wounding, ugly,and imprisoning was not. Their joining was a thing of healing and beauty, and above all, incredibly freeing.

But it was also brief. It was impossible to sustain the level of intensity for long. Nikita did not want to sustain it, feeling the pleasure was almost too beautiful to bear. She pressed herself tightly against Michael's hard chest and reached around him to slip her hands down the sides of Pedro's narrow hips, pulling him deeper into Michael and encouraging him to quicken the pace of his thrusts.

The priest's passion flared higher at her touch, and he ground himself frantically against the sweet, firm curves, thrusting rapidly into Michael's hot depths. Michael, in turn, gripped Nikita's shapely rear, lifting her hips up and down, fiercely plunging his manhood deep inside her.

She shuddered, and buried her face in the silky auburn hair, screaming out his name once more as she came convulsively against him, her womanhood spasming strongly around him.

One orgasm triggered the next, Michael collapsing against her with a high cry as her inner muscles milked his seed from him, sending him over the edge. He thrust rapidly, almost violently, into her, bucking against her in time with the ecstatic, powerful rhythm of their quickening come, crashing over them like waves.

Pedro was unable to withstand the wave, either. When Michael began shuddering against him, he too, was lost in passion. He felt his organ swell inside Michael to an incredible, achingly joyous fullness, then empty itself powerfully into the spasming depths. He came, quivering helplessy against Michael's broad back, and then rested there, spent and sated with sweet love-making.

Michael, panting, was spent as well. But he used the last of his energy to turn his head to tenderly kiss first Pedro, then Nikita. His soft lips were still joined with hers when sleep took them, all their dreams peaceful and sweet.

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

Operations approached Madeleine's office, intent on checking on the status of the new recruit, Pedro Alejo. Madeleine had told him she would take care of it, would find a way to stop the priest's activities, counseling, consoling, and comforting the other operatives.

He was curious to know just how she planned to do that. Somehow, he sensed that crushing this particular recruit's spirit, even though destroying souls was something she did every day, would not be as easy as she thought.

He keyed in the numbers on the pad and the office door slid open. He flinched, and almost turned to leave, at the sounds that assailed him. Low moans and panting cries, soft groaning, and harsh, keening screams of pleasure...

"Come in," Madeliene invited him calmly, lifting her head from contemplating her monitor screen to look at him.

Operations stepped in and the door whooshed closed behind him. "What are you doing?" he asked cautiously.

Already the sounds of passionate love-making were arousing him, and disturbing him at the same time. He marveled at Madeleine's abilities to coldly observe such activities and not be moved in some way by them. He supposed that's what made her so good at her job- her ability to disconnect from her emotions, something he himself was never able to do.

She flashed him a brief, satisfied smile. "Monitoring a valentine training session," she answered. "It's going quite well."

She swiveled the monitor on its base so that the screen was facing Operations. He gasped when he recognized the three bodies writhing together on the bed.

"Pedro?" he spluttered angrily. "With Michael and Nikita? What is this?"

Madeleine folded her hands calmly in her lap and regarded him thoughtfully.

"We already discussed the need to break him from considering himself a priest," the brunette answered cooly. "Taking his virginity in as many diverse ways as possible seemed the most direct approach..."

She turned the screen around and studied it intently. "I believe this approach might be effective. I may even want Pedro to become a Valentine op later," she said in a professional, analytical tone. "After he has much more training, of course..." she added.

Operations glowered at her, speculating on what that further training might entail. Madeleine seemed, despite her cold manner, to be taking quite a keen personal interest in the handsome young latino. Perhaps she planned to train him herself.

He also found himself strangely offended by the idea of the priest being subjected to such violation and loss of dignity. He never cared about his recruits' dignity before, but for some reason he couldn't fathom, he did care now.

Before he had walked in the door, Operations had had no idea how he had wanted to solve the problem of the Pedro's presence in Section. But now he knew instantly that this was definitely not IT.

"Pull him out of there, NOW," demanded Operations, temper flaring.

Madeleine tilted her head at him, unperturbed by his outburst. "Are you sure that's what you want to do?" she said, trying to reason with him. "Don't you think...."

"No! I don't THINK...." he retorted angrily. "Pull him out now and then have him report to my office."

He took a deep breath and calmed himself, continuing on in a tone almost as cold as hers. "I'll deal with him myself," Operations told her with an icy glare.

Madeleine smiled again with false sweetness. "Fine. He's yours," she replied politely, giving up the battle for Pedro's soul.

Inexplicably relieved, Operations smiled genuinely for the first time since entering her office when she reached for the phone to carry out his orders.

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

"You wanted to see me?" asked Pedro solemnly.

Operations turned from contemplating the scene below his glass- tower office window and looked appraisingly at the material before him.

Pedro was dressed all in somber black, his expression calm and carefully blank, his hands folded quietly in front of him. If it had been any other new recruit, Operations would have guessed that the attire and the demeanor was an attempt to imitate and hero-worship Michael. He had seen that so many times before.

But Pedro was different. Pedro was his own person, and above that, Pedro was that rare type of human being who had so much personal integrity that nothing could change his basic nature- not hardship, not captivity, not death-threats, notforced sex, not Madeleine, nothing--- not even Section One. Pedro stayed true to himself, and to his God.

Operations recognized in him the same thing Madeleine had seen- that Pedro was a catalyst. The priest was an element that would stay unchanged, but would have the effect of changing everything around him. The short time he had been here had proven that.

Hardened Section operatives, trained killers, trusted him, confided in him. The fact that Michael had surrendered himself to the priest, and beyond that, had surrendered Nikita, showed just how much power this slender, unassuming cleric really had.

Operations and Madeleine had disagreed on whether having such a catalyst in Section was a good thing. Madeleine thought not. Perhaps the young man's personal power was a threat to her own. And perhaps that power was why Operations felt compelled to do what he was doing now.

"I'd like to give you something," said Operations, breaking his trance-like contemplation of the priest. He reached into his coat pocket.

Pedro tensed, not sure what was coming, or why he had been summoned to Operation's office. He knew they were deciding his fate, and whatever that decision was, he had no choice but to accept it. Now here was Section's most formidable leader, reaching for what might be a gun. He knew there was the strong possibility he might be canceled right here, in the next minute.

Pedro was prepared, as he had had to be, for Death, and he did not fear it. Only regreted he could not have had had more time to serve his Lord, to stay on the earth, enjoying and respecting its Gifts, and perhaps helping others to do the same.

But now those chances were over. "Take me Home, Lord, please," Pedro prayed silently, closing his eyes.

But no gunshot came. No bullet ripped through his chest and stopped his heart. Instead, there was only a voice.

"Here," said Operations.

Pedro opened his eyes to see the other man holding out his hand, two familiar items resting on his outstretched palm --- a small, well-worn prayer book, and a delicate gold cross on a chain.

The priest lifted soft brown eyes from his most cherished possessions to meet Operations' icy blue gaze.

"I don't understand," he said with calm dignity. Was this yet another kind of test? Did they want to taunt him before he was killed? thought Pedro.

"Then let me explain," answered Operations dryly, with a crooked wry smile. He pressed the items into the priest's hand, and Pedro accepted them, wide-eyed. Operations reached into his pocket again, this time pulling out a cigarette. He lit up and puffed, blowing smoke in the air, then turned to Pedro again.

"I 've come to a decision about what I want you to do for Section," he stated flatly.

Pedro blinked, and let out the breath he was holding. He recovered quickly from the shock of learning he would live after all. "And what exactly is that?" asked the priest. "What do you want me to do?"

Operations took another drag from the cigarette and smiled once more. "The same thing you have been doing all the time you've been here," he answered. "Healing people." He paused and puffed again, sobering. "Being a priest," he added in a whisper.

Pedro swallowed hard, and clutched the cross and prayer-book to his chest, saying another silent prayer of thanks.

"I... I don't know what to say," Pedro gasped, breaking into a wide smile of is own. "Thank you...."

"There will be no official acknowledgement of your role, of course," Operations warned. "You're still technically an operative, like any other. You'll be assigned to Systems as an analyst/profiler, but you realize your duties will involve more than that."

Pedro nodded, speechless.

"I trust you will exercise discretion in carrying out these orders," Operations went on, his smile returning. "Don't wear your collar, don't say Mass at the briefing table...." He grinned. "As long as you are not too obvious about it, I think you'll be fine."

Pedro tilted his head and looked thoughtful. "And don't let Madeleine know about this conversation, right?" he asked with a smile of his own.

"Right," said Operations with a grin. "I see you understand the situation perfectly."

"Why... why are you doing this?" Pedro asked softly.

Operations took another puff of cigarette and stared out of the window for a long moment, watching the buzz of activity in Section's heart below him. Whatever people thought of him, he did care about the human condition. It did matter to him that the world was saved- that was his job, after all. And maybe, just maybe, he could save not just the world, but Section, too.

"Because I remembered something I learned long ago in Vietnam," Operations answered at last. He exhaled all the smoke from his lungs and turned to face the young priest again. "I remembered that every army needs a Chaplain."

Father Pedro nodded, and stepped toward the other man. He placed his hand gently on his leader's shoulder.

"May God bless you, my son," he said softly.

Operations froze, then stepped back, disconcerted by the sudden flood of warmth he felt in his heart. "Uh, yes, well..." the older man stammered.

"That will be all," he said, dismissing the priest to cover his embarrassment.

Pedro, heart light, bowed solemnly, and then turned on his heel and left, eager to resume his duties in the service of God and his fellow man.

From the window, Operations watched the priest walking across the cold section floor below, and sudden doubts assailed him.

Had he done the right thing? he asked himself, panicking. Would such innocence and purity survive? Would Pedro's shining, bright soul be tarnished by the darkness that was Section One? Or perhaps the question, even more daunting, should be, would Section survive the presence of such purity and light? Could Section withstand so much nobility? So much innocence? So much humanity?

"Silly child," chuckled a Voice clearly in Operations' head. "You must trust your own heart. Everything will be all right."

Operation's blinked, and then stared hard at his cigarette. "Damn," he muttered to himself. "I'm going to have to give these things up. I'm starting to hear things...."

A sudden peace flooded him, his anxiety leaving to be replaced by a deep calm. He relaxed, took a long puff of his cigarette again, sighed deeply, and went back to surveying his secret underground world.

The End

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