Watching	 Watching by Spikesgirl58  
 

He's watching me. 

He's always watching me. 

At first, it was hard, knowing that someone's eyes were on my every move,
but after awhile, I came to realize it was what partners did. I'd been
alone for so long, I'd forgotten that important aspect. They watched out
for each other and, likewise, I started watching out for him. 

It didn't take long for me to also come to the conclusion that he liked
it; my partner, he enjoys an audience, being the focus of attention. He
sparkles and blooms beneath it. It gives him fire and freedom, which is a
contradiction in a way, and he would argue the point if you mentioned it
to him. 

So, even while I'm dancing with this very safe woman, in a very safe
restaurant, in a very safe hotel, he watches me. I guide the woman- I
confess her name escapes me- easily. She's either taken lessons or had
considerable experience as she is responsive to my lightest touch to her
back. I shift and turn and dip and spin; and yet I can feel him watching
me, I can feel his eyes caressing me and I shiver at the thought. 

I've always been tactile, even as a child. Experts say that in adult life,
you seek what you didn't experience as a child and yet I was well loved. I
was the first born male and thusly treated with great affection by both my
parents. They loved me and I loved them back. Even though my dad was
considered uncaring by many, I knew he loved and respected me, both as a
child and as a man. It was frequently his steady hand on my back that gave
the youthful version of me confidence and strength. Later, it showed me
compassion and patient understanding. Dad's touch gave me so much and I
tried to return the favor with friends, family and my co-workers. 

My partner isn't a big man physically, but he has enormous presence. He
will stand quietly until you forget he's there, luring you into a sense of
blissful ignorance. Cold as ice, hard as a rock, uncaring as a wall or a
tree or a stoneI believed those stories, until the first time I touched
him. It had been a shock to feel that warm flesh beneath my fingers. I
could feel the muscle, honed and corded, ripple beneath my fingers. That
was when I knew his secret; it was all mirrors and smoke. My partner was
as human as I was; he was just as vulnerable, just as caring and just as
lonely. After that, I made many more excuses to touch him. Never once did
he complain. 

Then one night, everything changed, and nothing changed. We'd raced from
the building, hell on our heels as the factory exploded and collapsed
around us. We'd half climbed, half run up an embankment and towards the
woods when a blast knocked us off our feet. When I got my eyes open, I was
lying on top of him, panting, as adrenaline practically oozed from my
body. Without thinking or even considering the consequences, I leaned down
and planted a kiss on slightly parted lips. A little puff of air, surprise
and... there was something morepassion, need, acceptance? I couldn't tell
and I didn't care. 

 I let the tip of my tongue slip in between Illya's lips and suddenly his
hands were in my hair, keeping my head from drawing back, not that I had
any intention of stopping. I got a knee up between his legs and found him
as hard and as ready as I was; it had been years since a woman had had
that effect upon me and now, just a few seconds and I was ready to go off
like a proverbial Roman candle. 

I probably would have taken him right then and there, except the air was
suddenly cut by the heavy whoop, whoop, whoop of a helicopter and we were
both on our feet and running again. 

Back at the hotel that night, I stayed away, hanging out in the bar until
I was certain he was asleep. It wasn't that I was ashamed of what I'd
done, but now that the excitement of the moment had passed, I just wasn't
sure he'd appreciate a reminder. It would be hard enough in the morning. 

I slipped quietly into the room, moving quickly to the bathroom and
stripping down to my underwear. My pajamas were in the suitcase and I
wasn't going to risk waking Illya up for them. My tee shirt and shorts
would have to suffice. I snapped off the bathroom light and made my way to
the bed, delighted that I didn't kick anything in the process. 

I slipped into the narrow twin bed, happy that, for once, we'd managed to
swing a double room. UNCLE's budget cuts were just this side of sweeping
and to get two beds was almost a luxury these days. 

"Are you ashamed of what you did?" In the darkness, I could only hear the
voice, not see the face that accompanied it. "Is that why you stayed
away?" 

"No." And it was the truth. I'd been with men before, for the good of the
organization, for my own personal needs, or just because a man happened to
be handy. Mentally, I kicked myself for thinking I could fool my Russian
partner. He always did see me more clearly than anyone else. 

"Then why?" 

"I... ah... didn't want to force the issue. What we did was because of the
moment; I wasn't sure how you'd feel when cooler heads prevailed." 

I could see a shape, as familiar as my own, moving in the darkness and a
moment later felt his lips on mine. He continued to kiss me as he
stretched out alongside me, his hands skimming over me. He kissed me until
I thought I would pass out from sheer neuron overload. 

"Does this tell you how I feel? Not that my head is any cooler now, mind
you." 

Cool was not anything either of us had to concern ourselves with after
that. We trashed my bed, leaving the rumpled and semen-stained sheets to
sleep in his. Then when we woke, we made short work of his bed as well. 

That was a lifetime ago; that was seconds ago. It's impossible to know
which. So I dance with this woman, feeling his gaze upon me, his eyes
studying and memorizing each of my movements. I feel safe and secure, just
as I did growing up. I can fly and soar above an uncaring world because I
know, no matter what, he's watching me.  


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