Reconnaissance

There's a soft knock at my bedroom door. Micah's probably noticed the lack of sobs. I croak out a small word. "Yeah?"

"Can we come in?"

"If you want."

He leans in, stooped dotingly towards his toddling son, who is already charging forward to me. I scoop the little boy up, and he sits in my lap, staring. "Nini sad," he decides.

I smile through new tears. "Naw, I'm alright, little love," I tell him. I kiss his forehead and let him throw his fat little arms around my neck, and I hold in another violent sob. I miss my nephews.

"Nini looks a little sad," Micah says. I look up at him standing awkwardly in the doorframe. I pat the edge of the mattress, and he sits, leaning against the hard bedpost at the foot of the bed while his son settles down against my chest.

"Baba looks sad, too," I point out, resting my head against the pillow. "Got tears in his eyes and everything." He does, and he chuckles.

"Janelle."

"Hmm?"

"Why haven't you ever asked me to let you go?"

"Because then you and your son would be God knows where doing God knows what, hiding in forests together."

"Why do you care?"

"I'm a caring person."

I feel him look at me. "No, I want you to tell me, really."

I lightly scratch Noah's scalp and crack my eyes open. Micah looks lost and broken, his bushel of hair long enough to surround his face like a cloud, and I wonder at the contrast between the soft man I see now and the unmovable force I've gotten glimpses of.

"I value family," I say, choosing a harmless, sincere reason out of a deep well of decidedly more worrying ones. "You can probably tell from the nonstop tears." I chuckle, but he continues to watch me. "I wouldn't be too happy knowing my family's alright and yours might be ripped apart." Noah is sleepily running his fingers up and down my arm, making little trilling noises with his lips as he falls asleep. I shift him to lay across my lap and start patting his back.

"My family's already kinda broken," Noah mumbles. He's incredibly angsty, I realize. Anybody who would go out of their way to obliterate the assets of an organization that got on their bad side has to be angsty or petty. "His mother left right after she had him."

I frown. I thought she died. "Just out of the blue?"

"No, no." He runs his hand over his forehead, and his hair flops back over his eyes as usual. "She told me. I mean, she wanted to put him up for adoption, at first. She's against the agency too, and we were already planning to file for amnesty. I convinced her to stay, barely, but I know it wasn't the right thing to do for me or Noah. I pretty much shamed her into staying with me and him, in those months after she had him, but in the end she didn't want him. I couldn't understand; I still don't."

I don't say anything for a while, watching his son sleep in my lap. I understand it went sour, and I know not everyone wants a kid. But I love this little boy, even after almost dying for his sake.

I look back up at his dad, who's now sitting up, looking down at his twiddling thumbs as if to leave. I take it another step further.

"Micah."

"Yeah?" He seems to wake up out of his thoughts, eyes snapping to mine. Mine are puffy, and his are shiny with unshed tears.

I lay Noah down at my side and pat the empty space on the other side of him. Micah considers, but only for a moment before piling himself in next to his son. I turn my pillow to the other, non-tear stained side and that's how we fall asleep.

. . .

Four months later, and countless messages delivered back and forth to my sisters. We've had no further incidents with the agency, and it looks like Micah will be all set for the next launch in a couple of weeks. My family doesn't know about him, so I don't have to tell them about the exact situation I'm in either. Hell would cower if they found out.

We've been taking naps together, almost every day, for the past four months. It should be weird, and awkward, but in the absence of anybody to say so, we just keep relying on each other for emotional security. Noah is usually the first one to wake up, choosing either me or his father to crawl to and pat on the face, whispering "Nini" or "Baba, up," into our ears. He's got my entire heart in his pudgy little fingers.

However, sometimes I wake up first, and I'm glad there's no one around because I stare at the two of them for much longer than I should, wondering what would've happened if we'd met under different circumstances. A single dad with a son, maybe working as a teacher at the same school as I did, or something.

Micah is usually the most in need of sleep, so he never wakes up without some prompting. His eyes are always a flat, dark gray when he first opens them, before light flies in from somewhere and polishes them up like river stones.

I start potty-training Noah, and after his fourth time wetting my bed, Micah goes out and buys him a little race-car bed with a plastic-lined mattress and several sets of sheets. He's mostly set after the first two weeks with telling us when he needs to go, but he usually stays in his race car mattress for naptime, content to have his own bed.

Micah and I still share the regular bed, though, and though Noah occasionally wakes us up in the same sweet way, he's going through a growth spurt and is napping for hours at a time. I fully understand the situation I'm letting myself tumble into, sleeping next to this man and his son, and I wonder how bruised and battered my heart is going to be when time is up.

I always watch Micah for a few moments when I wake up first, his resting face damn near angelic and his mouth hanging slack, emitting not-so-soft snores that I endure for a while before getting up and shutting the door behind me, busying myself somewhere else.

I'm about to leave in such a fashion one day when his eyes suddenly aren't closed anymore. I find that they're wide open as my eyes travel up from observing the deep hollow in his throat. They fix on mine, having already come to life. I blink rapidly, caught in the act. How long has he been watching me watching him?

"Hey," I say, trying to look away, but completely captured by the slight smile hovering at the corners of his mouth.

Micah doesn't say anything. He props himself up on his elbow and stares back, and I feel my pulse rise from that alone. He then maneuvers himself to lay right next to me, up in my face and asking another silent question. I want to just touch his hair; it looks as soft as his son's. His son who's sleeping in his little race car bed right next to us.

"We don't have to make any other moves if you don't want to, Janelle," he whispers, lifting long fingers to gently grasp the hand not under my head. "But I think we've got a sort of thing going on."

His hand is warm, wrapped around mine. "I think it has something to do with being the only two adults in a sequestered area," I offer, but I grip his hand firmly and let my gaze just briefly fall to his lips.

I end up moving first, pressing my lips full and warm against his, eyes wide open and probably more than a little cautious. His tongue slides against mine and I feel my lashes flutter, and he does it again, mirth playing across his features as I brace against the quiver in my stomach.

He breaks away from me and lifts himself up further, half-leaning over me, and I turn onto my back to be kissed properly.

Lights dance in his eyes as he lifts a hand to play against my neck while our tongues explore each other. I hear him sigh into my mouth as he spreads his other hand over my rib cage, barely cupping the curve of my breast. I feel like a million silk threads are winding around my mind, making me explore sluggishly and lazily when I really want to take what he's offering as fast as possible.

I finally secure a hand against his wild curls at the back of his head, bringing his face down to mine and my chest against his.

He moans against my mouth and presses me further into the bed, shifting to line himself up against me. Noah sighs and flips over fitfully in his sleep, and we freeze, the outline of Micah's bulge obstinately prodding at my thighs through his sweatpants.

"To your room?" I suggest, rustling my fingers through his hair like I've dreamt about too many times to count. He lifts himself off of me and kisses his son's forehead, looking up at me promisingly, before walking out. I follow him, closing the door behind me after looking down at Noah one more time.

Creeping down the hall behind Micah, I reason that I don't know what I'm getting myself into. I really, REALLY have no idea. I'm not at all surprised that we're adding a physical component to whatever we are, and I'm looking forward to releasing half of a year's tension, but after? What's going to change? Whatever's happening is undeniably more emotionally-founded than I'd ever admit, and that's harder to control than just sex.

I find I don't care much at all when he closes his door behind us and strips off his shirt, tossing it over to the already-burdened chair by his bed. He's carelessly built, lean muscle running under white skin and a soft smooth belly dipping at the navel. I want to see the contrast of him laying stark against me. I start to undress, but he stops me.

"Can I do this part?" he murmurs, eyes boring into mine as he steps toward me, causing everything in my body to brace against the coming storm.

"Yeah," I say, dropping my arms at my sides. He slides a hand up under the back of my shirt and the other over my breast, cupping and unhooking while resuming the dance of his tongue against mine. When he gets to the last hook my breast falls into his hand. He takes his mouth off of mine to kiss his way down my neck, breaking contact to slide my shirt over my head and my bra off my arms. He leans away to throw these into the chair, too.

"So beautiful, Janelle," he says, lifting my arms out to my sides before running his hands across my body, encouraging me to do the same.

"Let's just do what feels good. We don't have to think about what anything means right now, but I know you need this," he husks. "Am I right?"

I place one of his hands over my chest again, loving the warmth of his hand searing the edges of my nipple. I sigh, and my breath catches as he strokes the skin there. "Yeah," I admit. "Come here." I want more, now.

He resumes kissing my neck and I feel his other hand running across my waistband, probably teasing himself. I lean into him, running my hands over the unexpected dusting of blonde fur over his chest and back, up into his hair to hold him close to me.

He suddenly stoops lower and traps a nipple between his teeth, and I rub my thighs against the hard dick I can feel through the cloth.

"Micah, I'm ready," I begin to pant, hearing my voice plaintive and breathy in the silence of his room, zeroing in on the feel of his mouth hot and dark against my chest. "Let's go."

"What's the rush?" he mumbles against my neck. He switches to my other nipple and rolls it under his tongue, slipping fingers into pants that he at some point got open while I focused on the heat of his mouth. He traces a finger against my wet lips and walks me back against the wall, a hand braced above my head, and he watches me shake. "You do feel ready, though," he comments, and my eyelids grow heavy as he dips a finger shallowly into me, then darts it back out to run along my lips.

He doesn't look angelic at all anymore. His eyes are wild with excitement, and determination; he looks like he could drive me crazy. His finger idly circles my clit. "Spread your legs," he suggests, and when I do he runs two fingers right into my passage, wriggling and scissoring at the hilt of his knuckles, with his thumb rubbing furiously over my bundle of nerves. My eyes widen and train on his in confusion and betrayal as I come violently, wrapped tightly around his fingers and pressed between his long body and the stiff door. It comes so suddenly I don't have time to quiet myself, and I emit a halting, gasping moan as he looks on, completely delighted. He waits until I come down before thrusting his fingers a few more times, looking hungry now.

"Micah, just-" I'm cut off by his lips crashing down on mine; his mouth stifles my moans, his body absorbs my tremors, and he begins to pump steadily. I flutter around his fingers and try to turn my head to the side to breathe through another miniature wave, but he guides my face back to his and watches me crash into it, a wide smile on his face.

"I could watch that forever," he tells me, and I feel my legs tremble. He plants another light kiss on my cheek before pushing up off of me and gesturing to the bed. I step out of my remaining clothes and feel his eyes devouring me as I situate myself on the bed, legs splayed open. He saunters over, grabs them and wraps them around his waist, the hard outline of his dick rocking against my sensitized core and making me close my eyes against the sensation. He lays me down and slides the rest of my clothes off, his gaze regularly switching between my face, body, and the mess between my legs as he eases his waistband down over his length and begins to stroke himself.

"Condoms," he reminds himself, pacing around to his nightstand and appearing over me after a brief bout of ripping and cursing. He holds himself above me, just watching my face.

I spread my legs as wide as they'll go and dip my fingers into myself, wetting my hand and rubbing it along his shaft. It's hot, pulsing, and generously thick. He grunts and lowers his hips down, letting me guide him to my entrance before bearing down into me.

I roll my hips on the tip of him, not daring to let my legs close even an inch until he's inside. It might as well be a water bottle between my legs. He watches my face as he sinks in and slowly presses down on the remainder, groaning as he disappears inside. I grip down on him in pleasure and pain, eyes going hazy and feeling him jump within me while he runs his hands over my body in the interlude.

"Janelle, I'm gonna fuck you good, baby," he informs me then, hands finding purchase on my hips and grinding himself into me. I draw in quick breaths, biting back a moan and a grunt as he thrusts forward to slightly knock the headboard against the wall. "You don't have to be quiet, sweetheart, you sound so pretty."

"I'm... gonna wake the baby up," I remind him, twisting my head to the side against the reactiveness of my body but again being corrected by Micah's firm hand on my jaw.

"You're not," he pants, thinking for a moment before almost bending me in half to hook my leg over his shoulder. My body strains against him against my walls, and I keen softly, breath hitching and gasping when he delivers a barrage of long, stuttering thrusts into me. "You're going to come on my dick, Nelle," he tells me. "You're gonna keep your eyes open while you do it."

I'm falling apart under him. "Micah, fuck... damn it, shit," I whimper brokenly, his thrusts supplying and robbing me of breath. He sneers devilishly, almost maniacally, absorbed in his task, tilting my hips upward to bang full force against the line of nerves against my front, before pressing his thumb into my clit.

I come then, juices splattering down around him as he pounds into me and finally seats himself comfortably in the rippling tunnel he created, groaning long and loud as he comes. His dick jerks and throbs against my walls and I soar again, knowing my eyes are rolling back in pleasure. He fuses his mouth to mine, and explores as I try to semi-recover from his onslaught. It feels like electricity is rolling through my veins, sparking little shocks along my limbs.

"A fucking work of art," he breathes over my lips, drawing himself out of me, always watching, this time in wonder. I stare up at him, his eyes bearing down on mine, and it feels like he's breathing all the air in the room and not leaving any for me. I get the nagging impression that he sees something I don't want him to.

"I should check on Noah," I say as he slips the condom off his shaft, unable to keep my eyes from drifting to the several other unopened ones on his nightstand.

"Don't think about anything yet," he reminds me. "I'll check on him, and I'll be right back. I want to be inside of you again, very soon." He dizzies me with another kiss and pulls his pants back up before hustling out of the room, leaving me pliant and waiting for round two.

. . .

He finds me leaning over the dryer downstairs while Noah is watching cartoons in my room. He fits every curve of his body against mine like he's been doing it forever instead of the week and a half that it's actually been. I instinctively bump back against him, feeling him gradually rise against me as we grind together over the next few quiet moments.

The past ten days have been a replay of the first, feeling myself heat up to an unbearable point and seeking him out to help me quench the fire, if he doesn't find me first. When I'm trying to take care of Noah I can feel his eyes tracing my body from across the room, making me melt a little on the inside with the inability to act on it.

"I want you wet around my dick," he says now, casually, "bent over this machine. You think we can manage that?"

I don't answer, and I don't need to think about what I do next, turning around and dropping to my knees to release him from his pants.

"Janelle," he whispers, and I remember to fasten my eyes to his as I suck firmly on the mushroom head of his dick. His hands rest on the top of my head as my jaw strains to contain the bulge of him, and I grip his thighs to ease myself down. He grunts above me, and I figure I can do one better as I creep a finger around to circle the tight bud exposed by his stance.

He curses and grips my skull more firmly, and I pop my head off of his dick to wet my finger in my mouth, watching his eyes water as I press knuckle-deep into him, mouth wrapped around him almost innocently.

"Shit, baby, fuck me," he says approvingly, and I swallow around him as I pump my finger softly in his hole. He palms the back of my head and I open my jaws as wide as I can, but it's still a tight squeeze as he forces my mouth on and off of him. He comes in a rush, salty and still half-rigid in my mouth. I let my lips pop off of him, and suck at his balls until his shaft rises again.

"That was incredible," he tells me, snatching me off of the ground and heaving me on top of the warm dryer. "Open your legs."

I'm wearing a dress today. He lifts the hem around my waist and cleanly slips my underwear off my legs, stuffing them into his pocket and running his hands over my brown cheeks, spreading me open and forward. My skin squeaks wetly against the warm metal and a groan escapes me. He chuckles and swivels my hips over the flat surface again, prompting a gasp from me, but I guess he grows impatient and wastes no more time in sliding himself into me to the point where our hips meet.

I close my eyes. "Mmm."

"Nell, I keep telling you you better look at me," Micah huffs, wrapping my arms around his shoulders and running his hands down my back as he thrusts.

I do open them, but I can't see anything, gazing off into nothing and feeling every ridge of his dick strike my entrance.

"Shit," he grunts. He hooks his chin over my shoulder and slams into me, his body wetly slapping into mine. "Shit, not yet."

He draws out of me and before I can protest, he's on his knees, stuffing three fingers onto my hole and hammering them soundly so that his palm smacks against my lips. His tongue laps frantically at my clit, and I come almost screaming. "Oh fuck, fuck, oh FUCK!" He gapes my legs away from him and uses just his mouth for a while, thoroughly wetting me before bringing me over again. I'm at the point where it feels like every muscle in my pussy is cramping for relief, and all I can do is groan.