Date Finished: November 8th, 1998 Classification: V, A, sort of R Keywords: set during episode, Nikita/Michael Rating: NC-17 (violent sex and sexual, emotional violence) Note: Nikita fanfic. SEVERE ANGST WARNING!! (But then, I think the show deserves a Severe Angst Warning, so...) Cold Contagious By Catwoman Disclaimer: Nikita and Michael, thankfully, do not belong to me. They belong to any number of people, but none of them are me. The song 'Cold Contagious' belongs exclusively to Bush. Spoilers: Up to and including 'Hard Landing'---takes place during the episode (you know the scene ). Dedication: To Dom because...well, she's the only Net friend I know of so far who watches the show. "I put everything out of my mind...even the things I didn't want to forget."---Nikita, 'Hard Landing' Summary: 'Wherever you are you will carry always truth of the scars, and the darkness of your faith...' ***** Paint your perfect day I don't mind this I'm better off by the way Deeply grounded You will get yours ***** Cold contagious All the mighty, mighty men What you save is What you lose out in the end Cold contagious ***** The Freedom League was the catalyst for my original appearance in front of Michael, I know that. But I cannot honestly say why I answered his summons that night. I can't say why I called him to me, and I can't say why he came. I can't say why I got so frightened when I heard him, saw him, outside my temporary shelter, because I knew the sound and silhouette of him. I knew he wasn't a prowler...in a manner of speaking. After all, I had summoned him to come to me. I will never be able to explain to myself why I became so panicked when I realized that he'd answered. I don 't think I ever want to explain it. I certainly can't say why I held my gun on him, and why I held it on him for so long. In that moment, I wanted to kill him, and that impulse startled me. He didn't seem surprised at all. He was nonchalant as he strode up to me, glancing around as though he thought I might not be alone, and with one swift movement he had knocked the gun out of my hand, sending it spinning across the floor. The coldness in his eyes as he reacted to my scared attempt at defending myself was frighteningly like a balm to my soul. I knew this. This was the man I love. I was ashamed to find that I also enjoyed the violence in his grip as he held my wrists, his fingers so tight as to be bruising; as he threw me to the ground, dropping me as though I weighed nothing, as though I had never had a single moment of training in how to stop this particular maneuver from occurring at all. He pinned my wrists to the pillow beneath my head and my body to the floor, and his lips were hard and unrelenting over mine, his tongue piercing into my mouth as though I had no defenses. I fought him with my tongue, if nothing else. The only shock I felt was in that split second when I first felt his erection, strong and sure, between my legs. I didn't gasp, or shiver, but I felt the realization, both physical and emotional, run through me like the shock wave of an atomic bomb. In the ruins I became more hardened myself, coming to the much larger realization that I had both nothing to gain and nothing to lose. In that moment, I knew that I would fuck him. And I knew that it would mean absolutely nothing. And I knew that if I ever regained an ounce of my humanity, I might cry a thousand tears for this moment that I was about to throw away. His fingers had left my wrists and suddenly his hands were gentle, stroking my face, holding my neck as he looked down on me. I saw the fear in his eyes, as intense as my own had been a moment before. I saw the longing and the sadness and the love in his eyes, too, but I didn't lose myself in them. I felt nothing. I was nothing. If I hadn't died six months ago, I died in that moment, looking into his eyes. I died a quiet but violent death, in a pool of my own symbolic blood. "I thought I'd lost you," he said to me quietly, without inflection. Simply a statement. That accent, that brooding accent which I'd once found so alluring and exotic, now seemed repugnant. Despite the fact that his statement had been delivered without emotion, I knew that my response would cut him. "You never had me," I whispered, but my soft whisper was a growl of contempt, and both of us knew it. I could see the pain lance through his eyes, but he didn't react with repulsion, as I'd known he wouldn't. Instead he leaned down and claimed my mouth again, devouring it as though I were a piece of meat. It was all so sudden, but my body reacted. My legs ached and my belly purred with warmth. Every inch of my being felt as though it was in withdrawal, and Michael was the deadly and illegal drug that was right in front of my eyes, just waiting to be taken. My hands curled around him and his around me and I wrestled him upwards until we were both kneeling, and his hands were on my hips and pulling and he was still kissing me, his tongue deep in my mouth while my own tongue curled around it convulsively. His erection pierced any illusions I might have had left and I felt pain, distinct and beautiful pain. Oh God, it was exquisite, the feel of him hard against me. I had felt it before, if only briefly. But now I could enjoy it, if enjoyment is the correct term for what was happening to me. I know it was ecstasy. Pure, sweet, angry ecstasy. I remembered one of our first cases together, posing as married couple Peter and Sage. I remembered the lull of slow-dancing with him, and the heat of strip-teasing him in front of a camera, an audience. The thrill of his arms strongly lifting me, curling me around himself, slamming me down into the bed and digging his tongue into my mouth while bombs exploded around us. We hadn't had the time or the inclination to finish at that point. We did now, and all I felt was numb. I wondered if that was a good or a bad thing. Surely the safest thing. I actually felt some strange sense of joy in gradually peeling off his dark, melodramatic clothing while his fingers brushed over the backs of my hands and his eyes watched me, hooded and darkened with lust. Not desire, nothing so simple. Lust, pure and evil. He disposed of my clothing for me too, tossing it away in his sudden rush to have all of me in his mouth, under his tongue. His teeth left marks on my shoulder and neck, his fingers left purple bruises almost everywhere he touched---on my arms, my legs, my waist and back. His lips were so harsh that I felt swollen for hours afterwards. He didn't even attempt to ask me before his mouth was over my core, his tongue deep within me, pulsing. His fingers held my legs apart but I was stronger and I gripped his hair with my hands and his head with my legs while I arched and writhed, panting but not allowing him the pleasure of any words or even any significant sounds. This was my time. I really didn't care what he got out of it, not then. I came once and before I was finished he parted my legs again and plunged himself inside of me, burying himself completely, until I could feel him against my cervix. It hurt like hell, and I gritted my teeth and growled, closing my eyes as I arched my neck back. My hands left deep scratch marks on his back and shoulders. He tried to kiss me but I turned my head, and he dropped his face into my neck, gasping as he pulled out and pushed in, creating a rhythm which I matched quickly, gripping his buttocks in my palms as I pulled against him, increasing friction. He came so quickly I didn't even have time to feel pride. I came right after him and he held onto me through it, as though suddenly he cared what I thought. As we began to settle his hands were on my face again, tracing over my cheekbones, my eyes, my nose, my lips. He watched me while I kept my eyes closed and opened my mouth to heave several calming breaths, trying to control my intense reactions to the gentleness in his fingertips. I was reacting to them more than I had reacted to anything previous, and that was disturbing to me for some reason, so I didn't want it. I let him watch me until I felt him hardening again, still within me. He was ready quickly, and I knew we had a long time before we'd be able to quit. This had been too long coming, and there was too much anger left to quit now. I have never felt so much rage or violence in my entire life. It was wonderful. I will never understand. ***** Slowly move on How did we get to here It all went wrong Gravity claiming all your tears Everything looks So much better now You will get yours ***** You have no right to ask me now You were never that around And I have missed ***** He slept fitfully, spending most of the night curled around me as though I sheltered him from his terrors. The cold contagion of what we had shared kept me awake until the early morning, when I slept a little, only to wake up and discover him standing by the nearest window looking out on the docks around us, majestic and naked. He was so gentle with me in the morning that I did cry. I wasn't embarrassed. We'd gained so much that night, but lost so much more. ***** Reality day trips And your suit me suit me ways Turn out the light switch We've been awake for days And no one's coming 'round here no more You will get yours ***** You have no right to calm me down You were never that around And I have missed ***** THE END-Dark and dreary, I know. (sigh) 'This isn't freedom.' ***Feedback is always appreciated*** "You have to put yourself in Love's place and ask yourself the question: what do I want? Companionship? Revenge? Once you know the answer to that, you can predict what Love will do."---The Director, 'Drive, She Said', Once A Thief (Love is a person in the episode, but we'll just ignore that small fact for conversation's sake. )