Fanfic: From the Ashes - Part One (Nikita, Michael/Nikita, M)
Title: From the Ashes (1/2)
Author: always_a_queen // Small-Wonders
Fandom: Nikita (2010)
Rating: Mature
Characters: Michael, Nikita, Birkhoff, Percy, mentions of others.
Pairing(s): Michael/Nikita
Warning(s): (highlight to reveal) Non-Explicit Sex, Mild Language
Disclaimer: I do not own Nikita; this makes me sad.
Summary: "She's a trained Gogol operative. She'll be trying to use you just as much as you'll be trying to use her. Whatever you do, don't forget that." // Or: Nikita works for Gogol. Michael works for Division. It's possible they were doomed from the start.
Notes: I blame part of the inspiration of this fic on Nikita's "You are an excellent honeytrap" line from season one.
Part One
“Her name is Nikita Mears. She’s been working for Gogol for the past two years. Currently, she’s living in the states.”
Michael studies the photograph Birkhoff flashes across the screen with the tap of a key. She’s stunning, that’s for sure. Sensuous is the word Michael thinks he would use, and all he’s seen so far is her passport photo. It takes a gorgeous woman to look alluring even on one of those.
“We’re calling it Operation Songbird. Standard Raven Protocol,” Percy says from behind him. Michael’s blood runs cold. He’s just come back from a similar assignment, the seduction of one Cassandra Ovechkin, and he’s not quite ready to jump into another romantic entanglement just yet. He’s seconds away from saying so when Percy throws in an additional incentive.
“Gogol’s been helping Kasim smuggle his drugs through Russia."
That's all Michael needs. If he had to pull out his toenails one by one to get at Kasim, he would do it in a heartbeat. Seducing an attractive woman is relatively less painful.
“So why her?” Michael motions to the picture on the screen. God, she's lovely.
Birkhoff answers, “Among other things, she’s Ari Tasarov’s mistress. We have reason to believe that their pillow talk is detailed.”
“Then why is she in the states?”
Percy says, “They need an asset on our soil, and Ari wants a comfortable distance between them.”
"What he wants," Birkhoff says, "is to keep his wife and his mistress on different continents. Not a bad strategy."
"We want you to sway her onto our side. Find out what you can about Kasim, but he is not the primary target on this mission."
"Understood," Michael says.
"And don't forget, Michael," Percy tells him before he can leave, "She's a trained Gogol operative. She'll be trying to use you just as much as you'll be trying to use her. Whatever you do, don't forget that."
Michael gives Percy a sharp nod.
"I won't."
Nikita is bored.
Ari left her at the bar over twenty minutes ago so he could go take care of the real reason they’re at this high-class event: trading a case of biological weapons for a case of money.
She's sipping from her flute of champagne when she sees him enter the room.
There’s nothing particularly special about him. He’s an average handsome, she supposes, and he wears his tux nicely. With his longer brown hair and the soft scruff along his jaw, he just doesn’t quite look like he belongs at this party. Even the way he adjusts his tie and shrugs his shoulders make him look uncomfortable.
She glances at her watch again. Ari should be in the middle of his negotiations now. Nikita's task is simply to keep an eye on things at the party, step in if something goes wrong, and play the part of Ari's arm candy when he returns to her side.
She looks back at the stranger. There's nothing in her mandate that says she can't admire the other party guests. For a moment, she scrutinizes him, and adjusts her previous conclusion as to his attractiveness. He's attractive. There's something unguarded and vulnerable about him, something good and wholesome. If he's military, or former military - and his stance tells her that he either is or was, because Nikita's never wrong about stuff like that - she's guessing he fought for the good ol' stars-and-stripes. Freedom, justice, and the American way - which hey, she herself might have done the same if a different offer hadn't come along.
She observes the way he surveys the room, the way he notes security and exits. Okay, definitely former military, and probably currently CIA. This could be fun.
Suddenly, he catches her staring at him, and their eyes meet.
The way his eyes flick over her body quickly tells her that he's interested.
Good. She can work with interested. He'll be putty in her hands in seconds.
Ari's busy, and she's bored.
When the stranger walks over to the bar, she slides up next to him and places a quick order with the bartender.
Then she turns her attention to her mark. "Hello, gorgeous."
Nikita does not consider herself a seductress, but she's certainly accustomed to men's reactions to her when she's in a evening gown, and his response doesn't disappoint. She offers him her hand and a charming smile. "My name is Nikita."
He's clearly surprised by her attention, but he gives her an uncomfortable smile anyway. "I'm Michael."
The way she bites her lip is purposeful, the flutter of her eyelashes even more so. "You look very...out of place here."
"It's not exactly my scene."
"I understand completely. I have to be here. Work, you know."
"What do you do?"
Casually, she laughs, "Oh, you'd find it boring, I'm sure. How about you?"
He looks flustered for a second, then says, "I'm in sales."
"I see. So it's classified, is it?"
His jaw drops, and Nikita feels a rush of elation. Yes, he most certainly was former military, but now he's definitely in some other government position.
Casually, Nikita reaches over to caresses his wrist with her fingers. As she does, she takes his pulse. Without question, he's attracted to her. His heart is racing, and a quick glance confirms that his pupils are dilated.
She hopes that Ari's business is going smoothly so she can figure out a way to connive soldier boy here to following her up to her hotel suite. It's not that she wouldn't normally end up enjoying Ari's company, but he's been so busy working on this trip that he won't mind if she relieves her frustrations with the cute army guy - just so long as she's around when he wants her.
Nikita doesn't love Ari. Both of them pretend to be okay with that part of their arrangement.
Pushing Ari from her mind, she puts a finger to her lips. "I won't tell. I'm very good at keeping secrets."
Nikita has learned how to play people. It's all about understanding body language: slipping that sultry purr into her voice, adding a flutter to her eyelashes, touching a man's shoulder or neck casually. Pretty soon they all become putty in her hands, pliant and malleable.
She seduces Michael like a pro. It's almost too easy, except she can so plainly see that he's way out of his depth, and for some reason that makes him even more attractive, more corruptible.
Getting up to his room is ridiculously simple. As soon as Ari has confirmed - via the communications unit nestled snugly in her ear - that he has the package and the trade went smoothly, Nikita proposes spending a little time getting to know each other. He suggests his own hotel room with an awkward cough and a charming grin.
She kisses him in the elevator. It takes him a second to respond, and it's a little sloppy, but it aches of a realness that she hasn't experienced in a long, long time.
She shudders when his tongue slides against hers and practically moans when his fingers teasingly trace the neckline of her dress, slipping beneath the fabric and carefully pushing the sleeves down her shoulders.
For a fleeting moment, she almost wants to reach over and pull the emergency stop button and take care of business in the elevator, but before she can take actions into her own hands, a pleasant ding alerts them both to the fact that they're on his floor.
Nikita grabs his tie and drags him out of the elevator. They make it about ten feet down the hallway before Michael sheepishly points out that his room is in the opposite direction.
Michael doesn't mean to hesitate when Nikita first kisses him. It has less to do with his own surprise and more to do with how she just slides up against him, like it's the most natural thing in the world.
How do you seduce a woman like Nikita Mears? Master assassin and mistress to one of the most powerful men in Russia. He's been pondering it since he got the assignment, and hasn't found a clear answer.
It comes to him once they make it to his room and she pauses to step out of her heels. He blinks in surprise when she suddenly takes charge, pressing her palm against his chest and using the slightest amount of pressure to sent him careening backwards onto the bed. Whatever her arrangement with Ari, it doesn't involve her being in charge, and she needs that. She wants to be in control.
He can work with that.
Shrugging the straps of her dress off of her shoulders, Nikita shimmies out of the garment with a sensuous wiggle of her hips. Her undergarments are lace, skimpy and sumptuous. Michael lets his jaw drop slightly, lets his eyes roam her body, lets them linger on the phoenix tattoo on her hip.
A phoenix - the bird that rises from the ashes. Rebirth. Is that what Ari gave her? A new life?
He presses his fingers against it lightly.
"God, you're beautiful," he whispers, and no matter how good an agent she is, the flicker of surprise that lights up her eyes is genuine. Honesty then. He can do honest.
Using his tie to pull him in for a kiss, her fingers quickly work on the buttons of his dress shirt. When she climbs onto his lap, he feels a pang of guilt knife into his chest.
This is supposed to be an assignment; he's not supposed to be getting so much...enjoyment out of it. It feels perverted somehow. He's using her; she's using him. He knows this. Somehow, it still doesn't seem right.
"What's wrong?"
Damn it.
Gogol operative. Fantastic at reading people. Right.
He gives her a lopsided grin. One he would have given to Elizabeth when he was trying to get out of trouble. "Nothing."
Catching one of her hands in his, he lifts it to his mouth and presses her fingers to his lips. His other hand goes to her waist. His aim is to distract her, but it doesn't quite work. Nikita's eyes drop to his lips, but she still asks, "Who was she?"
Damn it. "Who was who?"
"The woman before me, who was she?"
He lets out a sigh, wondering how to play this. With her free hand, she fiddles with his belt buckle, and he knows that it's a ploy to get him to let his guard down.
"Her name was Cassie; she was married." It's a small lie and a small truth all at once. Even as he says Cassie, he thinks Elizabeth.
Nikita smiles and flips open his belt buckle. "I'm not married."
"Me neither." And that's when Michael figures out that he needs to gain back the ground he's steadily losing. She's playing him like a fiddle, and it's supposed to be the other way around.
She craves honestly, genuineness. How can he give that to her?
His hands roam up over her hips and he reaches for her brassiere. "She was my wife," he whispers, letting himself think of Elizabeth's face. Her eyes, her mouth. "I lost her...a little over a year ago now."
And it still aches like an knife in his gut.
Nikita's face softens. Compassion.
Interesting. Michael only has a second to wonder who it was she lost before her hands are splayed across his chest and she's pushing him onto his back, pinning his hands to the bed with her own.
He works at keeping his eyes open, at connecting. This needs to be more than a one night stand, it needs to matter to her. (It already matters to him, more than he wants to admit.)
He lets her have her way for a little while, enjoying the sensations of her kissing his neck and wriggling her hips against his.
When he finally does flip her over, settling atop her easily, lavishing open-mouthed kisses onto her neck, he hears her gasp. It's a spectacular sound; it means that she's finally giving in to him.
She breathes his name, and he's lost in her, in the taste of her breath in his mouth and her touch on his skin.
There's this moment, somewhere in between all the franticness and impatience, mixed in with all the games and the lies. There's this moment when their eyes meet - while she's shuddering and falling apart in his hands - when he thinks he sees the real her, the real Nikita. She's there and gone in the blink of an eye.
Michael kisses her gently, framing her face with his hands. Her hair tangles in his fingers and her tongue presses against his lips. She moans softly into his mouth.
And then they simultaneously return to a frantic pace, desperation and want combining into an explosive, combustive mixture.
In the aftermath, Michael is still able to hear the sound of Nikita breathing his name.
She wakes up in the morning, and she's still in his bed.
Naked.
Which should be more of a problem, but he's not there and she can hear the shower running. Her phone is sitting on the nightstand and hasn't yet lit up like a Christmas tree, so the world probably hasn't ended.
She picks it up and finds a text from Tasarov.
Long night?
Quickly, she taps out a response: I had a little fun. Sue me.
Wrapping the sheet around her body, Nikita slips out of the bed and sets off in search of her dress. She finds it draped over a sofa; her undergarments are nowhere to be seen. Not that she really needs them to get back to her room, but they'd certainly be nice.
They were lace, after all.
"Looking for these?"
She spins. Michael stands in the bathroom doorway with a towel slung low around his hips and a tiny piece of lacy black cloth dangling from his forefinger. His smirk sends heat straight to her belly, and she clutches the bed sheet closer to her chest.
It's completely stupid, because it's not like he hasn't already seen all there is to see. She happens to remember him being particularly impressed by the phoenix tattoo on her hip.
He saunters closer, twirling the undergarment around his finger.
"You weren't leaving so soon, were you?"
Oh, she is not getting distracted by that husky voice. She's just not. She does possess some measure of self-control, after all.
But - oh, hell - last night was so good. It's not like a repeat performance would hurt anyone.
There was something about him last night, something about the way he touched her, like she was a puzzle he was trying to figure out, a problem he was trying to solve, a map he was trying to memorize. He was more concerned with her satisfaction than he was with his own.
Ari pretends to care, but all he honestly cares about is what he wants from her, and what he has to do to make her give it to him.
Michael looked at her like she was a person; Michael touched her like she was precious.
"Stay with me," he whispers against her skin. His lips brush her jaw line.
In her hand, her phone buzzes again; she turns it off.
"It seems you had a good night."
Michael glares at him; Birkhoff just snickers.
"Dude, there are security cameras in the elevators - and the hallways."
Michael smacks him upside the head.
Author: always_a_queen // Small-Wonders
Fandom: Nikita (2010)
Rating: Mature
Characters: Michael, Nikita, Birkhoff, Percy, mentions of others.
Pairing(s): Michael/Nikita
Warning(s): (highlight to reveal) Non-Explicit Sex, Mild Language
Disclaimer: I do not own Nikita; this makes me sad.
Summary: "She's a trained Gogol operative. She'll be trying to use you just as much as you'll be trying to use her. Whatever you do, don't forget that." // Or: Nikita works for Gogol. Michael works for Division. It's possible they were doomed from the start.
Notes: I blame part of the inspiration of this fic on Nikita's "You are an excellent honeytrap" line from season one.
Part One
“Her name is Nikita Mears. She’s been working for Gogol for the past two years. Currently, she’s living in the states.”
Michael studies the photograph Birkhoff flashes across the screen with the tap of a key. She’s stunning, that’s for sure. Sensuous is the word Michael thinks he would use, and all he’s seen so far is her passport photo. It takes a gorgeous woman to look alluring even on one of those.
“We’re calling it Operation Songbird. Standard Raven Protocol,” Percy says from behind him. Michael’s blood runs cold. He’s just come back from a similar assignment, the seduction of one Cassandra Ovechkin, and he’s not quite ready to jump into another romantic entanglement just yet. He’s seconds away from saying so when Percy throws in an additional incentive.
“Gogol’s been helping Kasim smuggle his drugs through Russia."
That's all Michael needs. If he had to pull out his toenails one by one to get at Kasim, he would do it in a heartbeat. Seducing an attractive woman is relatively less painful.
“So why her?” Michael motions to the picture on the screen. God, she's lovely.
Birkhoff answers, “Among other things, she’s Ari Tasarov’s mistress. We have reason to believe that their pillow talk is detailed.”
“Then why is she in the states?”
Percy says, “They need an asset on our soil, and Ari wants a comfortable distance between them.”
"What he wants," Birkhoff says, "is to keep his wife and his mistress on different continents. Not a bad strategy."
"We want you to sway her onto our side. Find out what you can about Kasim, but he is not the primary target on this mission."
"Understood," Michael says.
"And don't forget, Michael," Percy tells him before he can leave, "She's a trained Gogol operative. She'll be trying to use you just as much as you'll be trying to use her. Whatever you do, don't forget that."
Michael gives Percy a sharp nod.
"I won't."
Nikita is bored.
Ari left her at the bar over twenty minutes ago so he could go take care of the real reason they’re at this high-class event: trading a case of biological weapons for a case of money.
She's sipping from her flute of champagne when she sees him enter the room.
There’s nothing particularly special about him. He’s an average handsome, she supposes, and he wears his tux nicely. With his longer brown hair and the soft scruff along his jaw, he just doesn’t quite look like he belongs at this party. Even the way he adjusts his tie and shrugs his shoulders make him look uncomfortable.
She glances at her watch again. Ari should be in the middle of his negotiations now. Nikita's task is simply to keep an eye on things at the party, step in if something goes wrong, and play the part of Ari's arm candy when he returns to her side.
She looks back at the stranger. There's nothing in her mandate that says she can't admire the other party guests. For a moment, she scrutinizes him, and adjusts her previous conclusion as to his attractiveness. He's attractive. There's something unguarded and vulnerable about him, something good and wholesome. If he's military, or former military - and his stance tells her that he either is or was, because Nikita's never wrong about stuff like that - she's guessing he fought for the good ol' stars-and-stripes. Freedom, justice, and the American way - which hey, she herself might have done the same if a different offer hadn't come along.
She observes the way he surveys the room, the way he notes security and exits. Okay, definitely former military, and probably currently CIA. This could be fun.
Suddenly, he catches her staring at him, and their eyes meet.
The way his eyes flick over her body quickly tells her that he's interested.
Good. She can work with interested. He'll be putty in her hands in seconds.
Ari's busy, and she's bored.
When the stranger walks over to the bar, she slides up next to him and places a quick order with the bartender.
Then she turns her attention to her mark. "Hello, gorgeous."
Nikita does not consider herself a seductress, but she's certainly accustomed to men's reactions to her when she's in a evening gown, and his response doesn't disappoint. She offers him her hand and a charming smile. "My name is Nikita."
He's clearly surprised by her attention, but he gives her an uncomfortable smile anyway. "I'm Michael."
The way she bites her lip is purposeful, the flutter of her eyelashes even more so. "You look very...out of place here."
"It's not exactly my scene."
"I understand completely. I have to be here. Work, you know."
"What do you do?"
Casually, she laughs, "Oh, you'd find it boring, I'm sure. How about you?"
He looks flustered for a second, then says, "I'm in sales."
"I see. So it's classified, is it?"
His jaw drops, and Nikita feels a rush of elation. Yes, he most certainly was former military, but now he's definitely in some other government position.
Casually, Nikita reaches over to caresses his wrist with her fingers. As she does, she takes his pulse. Without question, he's attracted to her. His heart is racing, and a quick glance confirms that his pupils are dilated.
She hopes that Ari's business is going smoothly so she can figure out a way to connive soldier boy here to following her up to her hotel suite. It's not that she wouldn't normally end up enjoying Ari's company, but he's been so busy working on this trip that he won't mind if she relieves her frustrations with the cute army guy - just so long as she's around when he wants her.
Nikita doesn't love Ari. Both of them pretend to be okay with that part of their arrangement.
Pushing Ari from her mind, she puts a finger to her lips. "I won't tell. I'm very good at keeping secrets."
Nikita has learned how to play people. It's all about understanding body language: slipping that sultry purr into her voice, adding a flutter to her eyelashes, touching a man's shoulder or neck casually. Pretty soon they all become putty in her hands, pliant and malleable.
She seduces Michael like a pro. It's almost too easy, except she can so plainly see that he's way out of his depth, and for some reason that makes him even more attractive, more corruptible.
Getting up to his room is ridiculously simple. As soon as Ari has confirmed - via the communications unit nestled snugly in her ear - that he has the package and the trade went smoothly, Nikita proposes spending a little time getting to know each other. He suggests his own hotel room with an awkward cough and a charming grin.
She kisses him in the elevator. It takes him a second to respond, and it's a little sloppy, but it aches of a realness that she hasn't experienced in a long, long time.
She shudders when his tongue slides against hers and practically moans when his fingers teasingly trace the neckline of her dress, slipping beneath the fabric and carefully pushing the sleeves down her shoulders.
For a fleeting moment, she almost wants to reach over and pull the emergency stop button and take care of business in the elevator, but before she can take actions into her own hands, a pleasant ding alerts them both to the fact that they're on his floor.
Nikita grabs his tie and drags him out of the elevator. They make it about ten feet down the hallway before Michael sheepishly points out that his room is in the opposite direction.
Michael doesn't mean to hesitate when Nikita first kisses him. It has less to do with his own surprise and more to do with how she just slides up against him, like it's the most natural thing in the world.
How do you seduce a woman like Nikita Mears? Master assassin and mistress to one of the most powerful men in Russia. He's been pondering it since he got the assignment, and hasn't found a clear answer.
It comes to him once they make it to his room and she pauses to step out of her heels. He blinks in surprise when she suddenly takes charge, pressing her palm against his chest and using the slightest amount of pressure to sent him careening backwards onto the bed. Whatever her arrangement with Ari, it doesn't involve her being in charge, and she needs that. She wants to be in control.
He can work with that.
Shrugging the straps of her dress off of her shoulders, Nikita shimmies out of the garment with a sensuous wiggle of her hips. Her undergarments are lace, skimpy and sumptuous. Michael lets his jaw drop slightly, lets his eyes roam her body, lets them linger on the phoenix tattoo on her hip.
A phoenix - the bird that rises from the ashes. Rebirth. Is that what Ari gave her? A new life?
He presses his fingers against it lightly.
"God, you're beautiful," he whispers, and no matter how good an agent she is, the flicker of surprise that lights up her eyes is genuine. Honesty then. He can do honest.
Using his tie to pull him in for a kiss, her fingers quickly work on the buttons of his dress shirt. When she climbs onto his lap, he feels a pang of guilt knife into his chest.
This is supposed to be an assignment; he's not supposed to be getting so much...enjoyment out of it. It feels perverted somehow. He's using her; she's using him. He knows this. Somehow, it still doesn't seem right.
"What's wrong?"
Damn it.
Gogol operative. Fantastic at reading people. Right.
He gives her a lopsided grin. One he would have given to Elizabeth when he was trying to get out of trouble. "Nothing."
Catching one of her hands in his, he lifts it to his mouth and presses her fingers to his lips. His other hand goes to her waist. His aim is to distract her, but it doesn't quite work. Nikita's eyes drop to his lips, but she still asks, "Who was she?"
Damn it. "Who was who?"
"The woman before me, who was she?"
He lets out a sigh, wondering how to play this. With her free hand, she fiddles with his belt buckle, and he knows that it's a ploy to get him to let his guard down.
"Her name was Cassie; she was married." It's a small lie and a small truth all at once. Even as he says Cassie, he thinks Elizabeth.
Nikita smiles and flips open his belt buckle. "I'm not married."
"Me neither." And that's when Michael figures out that he needs to gain back the ground he's steadily losing. She's playing him like a fiddle, and it's supposed to be the other way around.
She craves honestly, genuineness. How can he give that to her?
His hands roam up over her hips and he reaches for her brassiere. "She was my wife," he whispers, letting himself think of Elizabeth's face. Her eyes, her mouth. "I lost her...a little over a year ago now."
And it still aches like an knife in his gut.
Nikita's face softens. Compassion.
Interesting. Michael only has a second to wonder who it was she lost before her hands are splayed across his chest and she's pushing him onto his back, pinning his hands to the bed with her own.
He works at keeping his eyes open, at connecting. This needs to be more than a one night stand, it needs to matter to her. (It already matters to him, more than he wants to admit.)
He lets her have her way for a little while, enjoying the sensations of her kissing his neck and wriggling her hips against his.
When he finally does flip her over, settling atop her easily, lavishing open-mouthed kisses onto her neck, he hears her gasp. It's a spectacular sound; it means that she's finally giving in to him.
She breathes his name, and he's lost in her, in the taste of her breath in his mouth and her touch on his skin.
There's this moment, somewhere in between all the franticness and impatience, mixed in with all the games and the lies. There's this moment when their eyes meet - while she's shuddering and falling apart in his hands - when he thinks he sees the real her, the real Nikita. She's there and gone in the blink of an eye.
Michael kisses her gently, framing her face with his hands. Her hair tangles in his fingers and her tongue presses against his lips. She moans softly into his mouth.
And then they simultaneously return to a frantic pace, desperation and want combining into an explosive, combustive mixture.
In the aftermath, Michael is still able to hear the sound of Nikita breathing his name.
She wakes up in the morning, and she's still in his bed.
Naked.
Which should be more of a problem, but he's not there and she can hear the shower running. Her phone is sitting on the nightstand and hasn't yet lit up like a Christmas tree, so the world probably hasn't ended.
She picks it up and finds a text from Tasarov.
Long night?
Quickly, she taps out a response: I had a little fun. Sue me.
Wrapping the sheet around her body, Nikita slips out of the bed and sets off in search of her dress. She finds it draped over a sofa; her undergarments are nowhere to be seen. Not that she really needs them to get back to her room, but they'd certainly be nice.
They were lace, after all.
"Looking for these?"
She spins. Michael stands in the bathroom doorway with a towel slung low around his hips and a tiny piece of lacy black cloth dangling from his forefinger. His smirk sends heat straight to her belly, and she clutches the bed sheet closer to her chest.
It's completely stupid, because it's not like he hasn't already seen all there is to see. She happens to remember him being particularly impressed by the phoenix tattoo on her hip.
He saunters closer, twirling the undergarment around his finger.
"You weren't leaving so soon, were you?"
Oh, she is not getting distracted by that husky voice. She's just not. She does possess some measure of self-control, after all.
But - oh, hell - last night was so good. It's not like a repeat performance would hurt anyone.
There was something about him last night, something about the way he touched her, like she was a puzzle he was trying to figure out, a problem he was trying to solve, a map he was trying to memorize. He was more concerned with her satisfaction than he was with his own.
Ari pretends to care, but all he honestly cares about is what he wants from her, and what he has to do to make her give it to him.
Michael looked at her like she was a person; Michael touched her like she was precious.
"Stay with me," he whispers against her skin. His lips brush her jaw line.
In her hand, her phone buzzes again; she turns it off.
"It seems you had a good night."
Michael glares at him; Birkhoff just snickers.
"Dude, there are security cameras in the elevators - and the hallways."
Michael smacks him upside the head.