Title: Remix

Author/pseudonym: Tinnean

Fandom: La Femme Nikita

Pairing: Birkoff/Davenport

Rating: NC-17

Email address: Tinneantoo@aol.com

Disclaimer: They belong to Fireworks and WB, who treat them so shabbily
they’d be much happier with me. No money being made; this is what I did for
love.

Status: New/Complete

Date: 5/01

Series/Sequel: This is part of The Air That They Breathe/ You Belong To Me
universe

Other Web Site: https://www.angelfire.com/ny4/tinsel/

Archive: OK, I surrender. Yes to all the list archives. (I’m so easy!)

Summary: Davenport really wants Birkoff, only he isn’t gay. Or is he?

Warnings: m/m

Notes: The idea for Walter having been Michael’s mentor comes from It Can’t
Happen Here. // Denotes Birkoff’s thoughts.

Thanks to Silk, who wanted something for a new list. I still owe you that f/f,
sis, but soon, I promise!

*****

Remix
Part 1/1

Christopher, the head chef of Section One, sat alone at his table in the
commissary, sipping a cup of coffee. Not even Madeline knew of this private
stash. Like everyone else who worked for the most covert antiterrorist
organization on the planet, she had to make due with the atrocious brew that
Christopher served up to the peasants.

Pensively, he touched the tip of his pencil to his tongue, and then began
scribbling a menu designed to tempt the most jaded of appetites. Operations
had seduction planned for this evening, and it was up to Christopher to
provide the food to assist in it.

A shadow fell across the paper, and he frowned and glared at the individual
who dared to disturb him. When he realized whom it was, his frown faded into
a welcoming smile. "Davenport, mon vieux! Comment-ca va?"

The burly cold op shrugged and picked up his friend's mug, taking a sip from
it. "Not well, Christophe."

"Ah. Le petit is not amenable to your advances?"

"Fuck amenable. He doesn't even know I'm alive!"

Two pairs of eyes followed the compact body of the head of Comm as Birkoff
joined Walter and smiled at something the older man said.

"Are you sure he sails our side of the lake, mon ami?"

Davenport scowled across the room.

Birkoff chose that moment to look up and intercepted the hard glare. He paled
and shoved his plate away from him. "Uh, I gotta go, Walter. Hillinger..." He
left the rest of his excuse hanging.

Walter nodded to indicate his understanding, but the Comm op was gone.

A tight grin creased his craggy face. Walter knew well enough what the
youngest member of Comm was like. Lately, though, rumor had it that someone
high up in Section had taken Hillinger as his toy boy. Someone with a
penchant for discipline.

He remembered fondly the feel of a paddle wielded in a knowledgeable hand. He
sighed and went back to regretting the state of his love life, or severe lack
thereof.

"Walter."

"Hmm? Oh hi, Davenport. How's it going, amigo?"

"It could be better. Tell me something. Have you ever heard anything to
indicate that Birkoff might prefer his lovers on the hairy side?"

The senior munitions op looked thoughtful, then shook his head. "Nope. As far
as I know, he likes his women, on those rare occasions when he has one, to be
smooth-skinned."

"That wasn't what I meant, Walter! Does Birkoff like men?"

The light went on and Walter's jaw dropped. "You mean as in *liking* men?
*Birkoff*?" He began to sputter. "Well...well...Jeez, Davenport, that's a
hell of a question to ask a fella!"

Davenport tapped his foot impatiently. "But does he or doesn't he?"

"Birkoff's *gay*?"

"That's what I'm asking you!"

"Who's gay?" Michael dropped down next to his former mentor and took a sip of
his own coffee, grimacing at the taste. "You'd think Christophe would produce
something drinkable after all these years."

"Davenport says Birkoff's gay!"

Michael began choking on the sip of coffee that he had just taken.  
"*Birkoff*?"

"That was my reaction!" Walter nodded in satisfaction.

"Your reaction to what, Walter?"

"Hi, Sugar." He smiled at the blond operative who slid into the seat next to
his. 'I just found out that Birkoff is gay!"

"Oh, c'mon, Walter. You mean to tell me it never crossed your mind?"

"You mean *you* knew?"

"Doesn't everyone?" She snagged Michael's cup away from him and took a sip
from it, smiling at him over the rim. "Hey, where's Davenport going?"

****

The only person in Comm was some nonentity of a woman who Davenport had never
seen before. Birkoff was not there. Neither was Hillinger.

The woman looked up, and suddenly she was no longer someone who could be
overlooked. "Yes?" she asked, her brown eyes frigid.

"I'm looking for Birkoff."

She shrugged dismissively. "Not here." She went back to loading a profile on
the PDAs for the team waiting in the ready room.

"No shit!" Davenport curled his lip at her and strode out of Comm, determined
to track down the smaller man. He'd try his quarters.

Birkoff had his rooms in the part of Section that housed all its senior
operatives. Davenport's were just a corridor over from his. The cold op took
the lift that stopped at that level.

When he reached Birkoff's door, he tapped gently.

The door opened. "Yes?" Behind his tinted glasses, the head of Comm's eyes
widened, and he tried to slam the door shut.

Davenport grinned and pushed. He advanced. Birkoff retreated. "You should
have checked before you answered the door, Birkoff."

The smaller man nervously licked his lips. "What do you want, Davenport?"

The big operative was calmly peeling off the padded vest he had on. He tossed
it aside and went to work on his tee shirt, revealing his muscular chest.

"I understand you like your lovers hairless."

"Huh?" Birkoff couldn't take his eyes off Davenport's smooth torso.

"Good thing I fill the bill."

"Huh?" Birkoff seemed to be having trouble stringing together enough words to
comprise a complete sentence.

Davenport shoved his mission pants down off his lean hips and stood before
the other man, naked. His Native American heritage was visible in the sparse
amount of hair that covered his body.

But what riveted Birkoff's eyes was the proudly jutting arousal that sprang
from Davenport's groin.

"I want you, pretty boy!" Davenport backed him into the bedroom.

"Hey, wait a minute!" Birkoff exclaimed, offended. "Don't I have any say in
this matter?"

"Not this time," the burly op informed him. He laced his fingers with
Birkoff's and drew the smaller man to him, placing Birkoff's hands on
Davenport's taut buttocks. "You're a little overdressed for this hoedown,
Birkoff."

//I'm going to step away from him, right now!// Birkoff told himself. //I'm
going to tell him why this really isn't a good idea.//

But the lips above his were so tempting, and surely just one taste would not
be a bad thing.

The head of Comm freed a hand and wound it around the bigger man's neck,
drawing his face down to his.

"Just...just one kiss, Davenport. Then you get dressed and go!"

He felt the cold operative's lips smiling against his mouth. A warm, moist
tongue traced the seam of his lips, and helplessly, he parted them, expecting
his mouth to get fucked.

Instead, Davenport slid his tongue in almost delicately, testing the
different textures of Birkoff's mouth: the ridges of his teeth, the roughness
of his tongue, the smooth tissue of his inner cheek.

Tentatively the smaller man began sucking on the burly operative's tongue,
and Davenport moaned into his mouth. From some distant place, Birkoff felt
fingers undoing his trousers, and then they slid down his legs, and he stood
there trembling while blunt fingers explored the crevice between his
buttocks, finding the tight ring of muscle that guarded his opening.

"Are you going to surrender to me, pretty boy?"

Birkoff nodded breathlessly. "Umm, Davenport, I'm not really sure how to do
this."

His hands already reaching for Birkoff's growing arousal, Davenport froze.
"You mean I'll be the first?"

Birkoff nodded again.

"I'm going to be the first one to slide into your delectable ass? To brush
against your prostate and set you on fire?"

Birkoff's mouth had gone dry. "Don't hurt me, Davenport," he pleaded.

"Pretty boy, I'm going to make it so good for you!" He scooped up his mission
pants and withdrew a tube of lubricant from his pocket. "Lucky for you I
never leave home without it, baby. Now lay down on the bed."

The head of Comm did as he was instructed, shivering a little. He had
suspected this aspect of his nature, but had been reluctant to explore it.
The cold operative's hands were spreading his thighs, stroking the soft skin
of his balls and the sensitive area just behind them.

Something cool touched his hole, and he jumped. "Relax, baby. I promise I
won't hurt you!"

Davenport leaned forward to scatter kisses over Birkoff's back, then began
working the lube into the virgin opening. He ran his nails over the muscles
of his back, distracting the smaller man from the initial discomfort.

The burly op had never had a virgin before, but he remembered his own first
time, and the care his older lover had showered on him. Carefully he withdrew
his finger, squirted more lubricant into his hand, and inserted two fingers.
This time he found Birkoff's gland, and the Comm operative moaned and thrust
back.

"That's it, baby. Enjoy what I'm doing to you!" Davenport ripped open the
condom packet with his teeth and rolled in on with one hand, while he
continued stretching his lover.

"Davenport, will you tell me before you put it in?"

"You'll be the first to know, pretty boy!" Davenport pressed a kiss to the
sweet curve of Birkoff's ass, and then bit it gently. The smaller man jumped
and moved his hips restlessly.

The big operative got Birkoff's knees up under him and positioned his cock at
the puckered opening. "Rest your head on your arms, and don't forget to
breathe, baby. We're gonna rock and roll!"

The broad head pressed steadily against Birkoff's hole, and then the muscle
gave way before it. Davenport reached around him and took his weeping
erection in his hands, rubbing the drops of pre come that oozed from it along
the sides. Birkoff wasn't sure if he liked the feel of the big man's cock in
his ass.

It hadn't looked as if Davenport had a baseball bat between his legs, but
that was what it felt like.

And then the big op found the angle he was searching for and stroked across
Birkoff's prostate. And Birkoff yelped.

Davenport stopped, the effort causing sweat to drip down to his chin.

"Davenport! What are you doing?"

"Baby, I'm not doing anything! I don't want to hurt you!"

"Well, piss on that! Don't you dare stop just when it's starting to get
interesting! Start fucking me!"

Davenport grinned and began thrusting harder. Birkoff matched his rhythm, and
soon they were both approaching critical mass.

"Davenport!"

"Soon, baby!"

"Davenport! I can't wait!" Birkoff's balls tightened, and he felt as if the
top of his head was about to explode. And then he was pouring himself into
the hands that were holding him safe.

With one last, hard thrust, Davenport began to come, and Birkoff shuddered at
the heat that was filling him.

Davenport collapsed on the smaller man, and they both went down to the
mattress. He licked the comm operative's shoulder.

"Davenport?"

"Hmm?"

"One question."

"Hmm?"

"When can we do this again?"

****

Birkoff and Davenport walked into the commissary and looked at the selections
that Christopher was offering for dinner. Davenport held the tray, and
Birkoff placed their choices on it.

Michael and Nikita were sitting with Walter, who waved the two operatives
over to join them.

"All right, Sugar." Walter's voice was sterner than they had ever heard it.

"What's up, Walter?" Birkoff asked, sitting gingerly.

"You okay, amigo? You look like you picked up a limp somewhere."

The smile Birkoff gave his old friend was dazzling. "Not a problem, Walter."

"Um, Birkoff, Davenport, I owe you both an apology," Nikita said, unable to
meet their eyes.

"How come?"

"Um, I was just teasing, and I hope I didn't cause any problems between the
two of you." She slanted a glance at Walter, as if to ask how she was doing.
He nodded and she continued. "You see, Davenport, Birkoff isn't gay."

~End~