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

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

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

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

They could never be unaware of each other again.

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

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

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

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

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

"Hell, yes."

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

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

"The surveillance—"

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

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

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

"What makes you think I'm afraid?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Do what?"

"Whatever the Hell I say."

Greg snorted. He couldn't disagree with that.

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

"Hey! No marks!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Good."

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

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

"Oh, my God!"

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

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

"…I told you I wouldn't mind."

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

Birkoff.

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

The man Hillinger knew as Jason nodded.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Fuck."

"I'd love to."

"Is the room secure?"

Greg nodded.

"Let's do it."

"Umm…"

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

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

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

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

"Birkoff…" Hillinger answered huskily.

"Seymour…" Birkoff corrected.

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

"I changed my mind."

"When?"

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

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

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

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

Birkoff nodded, his dark eyes somber.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Forever, if you'll let me."

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

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

Hillinger frowned. "I don't understand."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…you'd still be dead.

"Love me."

"I do."

"Touch me."

"I am."

"Fuck me," came the last hoarse exhortation.

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

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

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

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

A whispered but heartfelt "Seymour" came in reply.

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

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

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

"Seymour?"

"Hmm?"

"Where do we go from here?"

Birkoff frowned. "What do you mean?"

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

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

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

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

Hillinger was silent.

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

Hillinger nodded.

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

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

Birkoff didn't answer.

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

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

"But you expect me to—"

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

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

Well, you're wrong.

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

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

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

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

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

Birkoff is dead. Long live Birkoff!