TITLE: Night Visitor

AUTHOR: Mnemosyne

STATUS: complete

CATEGORY: Romance, Drama

SPOILERS: "Impetus," "The Other Invisible Man," (VERY minor) "Catevari."

SEASON INFO: Season 1

RATING: NC-17! Do NOT read if you are below 18 years of age! I'm too young to go to jail.... :)

DISTRIBUTION: You may archive it if you want, and can bear to touch it with a ten foot pole. LOL!

FEEDBACK: Kind words are always appreciated!

WARNING: Contains sexual situations, and brief vulgarity.

NOTES: I make reference to the Keeper's bedroom in this story. I am assuming that the room connected to the upstairs bathroom featured in "Impetus" is her bedroom. That is by no means a bona fide fact.

SUMMARY: Darien pays a visit to the Keeper...

DEDICATION: To everyone who likes a little bit of harmless smut. :) And to steph-- still looking for converts... ;)

MUSE-IC: "Celtic Woman, volume II;" "Temptation" by Destiny's Child

Night Visitor
by Mnemosyne

"So they gave you one, too, huh? A Keeper?... See,
you start out hating her, what she's doing to you.
But after a while, it's kind of like growing up
together. Pretty soon you realize that all you really
want to do is touch her..."

-Charles Fogarty
"Catevari", Season one


The night was dark, but darkness meant nothing to an invisible man. There was no shadow to obscure, no bootblack-smudged face to hide away in a back alley. There was only the night, and the moon, and invisible footsteps on the pavement.

He'd been to her house once before, clothed similarly in his quicksilver garb. The atmosphere of the place seemed different at night-- more solitary than in the daylight. He knew she must be lonely, dog or no dog. Lonely like him.

It was a quick and easy business to pick her lock and slip through the door. He made a mental note to tell her to update her security system, then quickly scribbled the thought away. She might get something too advanced-- something he couldn't disable.

Pavlov lay on a luxurious doggie bed near the door, and he perked up his head as the cloaked figure slipped into the room and closed the door. The small dog didn't seem to know how to react. Part of him wanted to bark and raise a ruckus at this intrusion, but the other half hesitated. He could smell an intruder, but he saw nothing. His shaggy body quivered as his instincts battled each other.

The dog let out a small yip as an unseen hand stroked its coat, and a soft, familiar voice soothed his rattled nerves. This voice meant Friend. Content that his mistress was in no danger, he lay back again on his elegant cushions, and let the invisible man pass by.

The interior of the house was dark, save for one light burning in the upstairs bedroom. The man could make out the sound of water running as he climbed the stairs, and then, softer, the sound of a woman humming.

Nothing had changed in the master bedroom since the last time he had visited her here-- the white sofa, the full length mirror. In the far corner, nearest the bathroom, stood a queen-sized, four-poster bed, with comforter and sheets already turned down in preparation for their nightly ritual.

He just stood there, staring at that bed, for well over a minute. Now that he was here, in her home, his purpose seemed to be spiralling away from his grasp. It had all been so clear earlier, when he'd left his apartment as though on the spur of the moment. Then his footsteps had led him here, leaving his mind free to concentrate on where he was going, and why. Now there was nowhere else to go, and he was lost.

In the bathroom, the shower shut off, leaving the house in silence, save for the woman's soft voice as she continued to sing. He pulled his eyes away from the bed and focused on the locked bathroom door. Briefly, he wondered why she locked it at night, yet left it wide open during the day. Perhaps it felt safer that way.

He knew he had time. He'd had much experience with women, and if there was one thing he knew, they always took a lifetime to get ready for bed. She wouldn't be out of that bathroom for at least twenty minutes.

Without taking his eyes from the door, he reached up one hand to hit the light switch, while the other shrugged off his jacket. The room went dark, and he shed his quicksilver skin.

******

//That's odd,// Claire thought, as she opened the bathroom door and stepped into her bedroom, //I'm certain I left the light on in here.// She shrugged. //The bulb must have blown.//

She crossed the room to her dresser near the mirror, wrestling with the belt to her blue satin nightrobe, which just did not want to tie. There was no real need for light, beyond the moonlight that streamed through her bedroom window. It was a soothing silvery glow, and it would be more than enough for her to brush her hair.

Abandoning the fight with her belt, Claire picked up her fine silver hairbrush and began to pull the bristles through her long, blonde hair, still frizzy from the hair dryer. Her mind wandered as she counted the strokes.

//...ten...eleven...//

The brush had been her grandmother's, and when she'd passed away, Claire had claimed it as her own. No one had argued-- no one really understood what she wanted it for, beyond its aesthetic properties. It was just an old hairbrush.

//...twenty-two...twenty-three...//

She'd never explained to them the sentimental value it held for her. Every summer, Claire would spend a month at her grandmother's home in the North Country. The animals and the countryside enthralled her as a child, giving her her first real interest in science. What made things grow? How come the baby calves learned to walk so soon, when it had taken her months and months?

//...thirty-nine...forty...//

At night, after her evening bath, Claire would sit on the floor by the side of her grandmother's bed, and the elderly woman would run the thick, soft bristles of her silver brush through her granddaughter's hair. It felt comforting to feel her grandmother's frail-looking hands smoothing out the snarls and knots that a day playing in the briar patches could create.

//Fifty-six...fifty seven...//

They would talk on those nights. Her grandmother would tell her what pretty hair she had, and how it would fetch her a wonderful young man someday. In her youth, Claire had turned up her nose at the thought of BOYS, but as the years went by, the thought became less and less repugnant. It seemed almost tangible.

//...seventy...seventy-one...//

Then her grandmother had died, and Claire had been grief-stricken. She threw herself into her studies, and all those young girl fantasies of the Prince Charming on the snow white steed disappeared, replaced by organic chemistry and bioengineering.

//...eighty-two...eighty-three...//

But this brush brought it all back. Every memory of her girlhood summers in the north of England-- her grandmother's bony knuckles; the smell of baking bread; and gilded knights on magnificent chargers who would come to whisk her away to a life of romance, like Rapunzel. A time when life hadn't been about politics and coercion and life or death struggles. When it had all been so much simpler, and the green grass had stretched for miles.

She wondered if she would ever feel like that again.

//...ninety-eight...ninety-nine...//

"You have beautiful hair," came a phantom voice from the bed behind her.

She spun around, and the hairbrush clattered to the floor, forgotten.

******

He was sitting up in her bed, cocky as a goose that had survived through Christmas Eve. Hands laced loosely across his bare stomach, he seemed to glow in the moonlight. He wore a pair of black boxers and a broad white smile, and that was all.

"Darien?" Claire yelped in surprise. Then, as the shock wore off, "Darien! What are you doing here?" She was suddenly very aware of the fact that her bathrobe was only loosely tied, and quickly pulled it tight.

"Waiting for you," he answered, his eyes locked with hers. It was an eerie feeling, as though he weren't seeing her, but THROUGH her. Claire shuddered as she realized what it must be like to be invisible.

"Why are you waiting for me?" she asked cautiously, pulling her eyes away from his to scan the room. If she hadn't been so preoccupied earlier, she would have noticed the clothes folded neatly on the sofa; the shimmery dusting of quicksilver near the door. She cursed her own distraction.

"Because I wanted to," Darien replied, and when she looked back, it was as though his eyes hadn't moved. They met hers instantly, and held her motionless.

Something was wrong-- that much was apparent. No sarcastic remarks, no flippant attitude; that dreamy tone to his voice. Almost as if he were asl-

Her eyes widened as understanding blossomed in her mind. "Of course," she murmured. "That must be it."

"What must be what?" Darien asked, and Claire jumped a little at his voice.

Recovering quickly, Claire straightened her back and held his gaze. "That must be what's wrong with you."

"There's nothing wrong with me."

"Darien, I believe your pineal gland is overacting again. That's why you came here. It was an
irresistible impulse, exacerbated by your heightened melatonin levels."

"I think you're wrong."

"I'm the doctor here. Why don't we let me determine the diagnoses?"

"I say your diagnosis is wrong."

"Oh? Really? Then what is YOUR diagnosis for why you left your apartment in the middle of the night, broke into my house, and are now lying half-naked on my bed?"

"I'm lonely."

It was uttered so blandly, the Keeper could easily have blipped over it in a normal conversation. As it was, she blinked several times before what he'd said sank in. "You're lonely?" she clarified, unsure what else to say.

Darien shrugged. "Thieves hang with other thieves. Government experiments don't hang with thieves. And government experiments don't get much of a social life."

He said it in dead monotone, as though he were explaining a simple arithmetic problem. It suddenly struck Claire that he must have been thinking about this quite a bit to be so detached. Some small piece of her twinged in sympathy, but she ignored it.

"You shouldn't be lonely, Darien," Claire said softly, taking an unconcious step forward. "Think about it. You have Hobbes."

Darien snorted, and now he looked away. It felt like a physical separation when his gaze left her's, and she had to shake away the disorientation. "Hobbes would take me out in no time flat if he thought it would best fulfill his 'duty.'"

"That's not true."

"Yes it is, and you know it."

"Well, there's the Official. Eberts."

Darien laughed openly at those names, and Claire decided to navigate around them.

"You have me," she said softly.

He looked back, and she could feel his brown eyes smoldering even across the room. "I know," he murmured. "That's why I'm here."

Claire swallowed. "Why exactly ARE you here, Darien?" she asked carefully.

He moved then; so swiftly, it made the Keeper take a surprised step back. He was perched on the foot of the bed now, hanging on to one of the posts, the tendons in his arms standing out in sharp relief. "Because I understand you, Claire," he said, and it still felt odd to her when he used her real name. So few people did.

"What do you mean, you understand me?"

Darien smiled, and relaxed a bit. "You're lonely, too," he stated simply. "I know you are. I can see the signs."

Claire felt the spell of his eyes momentarily falter as her pride took hold. "I live a very happy life,
thank you very much," she stated.

Darien shook his head, and there was a shadow of his usually cocky grin in that smile. "No you don't, Claire," he told her. "You play at it, but you're not happy." He flung out one hand to encompass the house. "You live in this big house, just you and the dog. You're a practical woman-- no way you'd ever take more than you needed."

Claire swallowed. She was beginning to get nervous, but why she couldn't tell. Maybe because it felt like he was touching a nerve she hadn't even known existed. "I like my space," she defended herself. "And Pavlov needs somewhere to run."

Darien shook his head again. "No," he said. "That's not it."

"Then by all means, what is IT?"

"You're waiting for someone."

The Keeper raised an eyebrow. "Waiting for someone? And who, may I ask, am I waiting for?"

Darien shrugged, as though it were obvious. "Someone to eat dinners with," he said. "Someone to walk Pavlov while you boil up concoctions in your secret laboratory." He raised an eyebrow and smoothed a hand over the pristine white sheet beneath him. "Someone to share this big, soft bed with."

Claire rolled her eyes, forcing herself from her reverie. "And I suppose that person is you, is it?"

He shrugged. "It could be. How can you know...until you've tried?"

To her great chagrin, Claire found herself absently nodding in agreement.

Before she could stop herself, Darien had launched himself off the bed and was standing in front of her, a breath away. She could feel the heat emanating from his bare chest, and she swallowed hard, once again aware of her state of undress. She tightened the grip on her robe.

"We're lonely, Claire," he murmured, gazing down into her eyes. His were dark brown-- very dark. Bottomless pools in which to fall and drown. "The freak and the geek."

Darien's hand latched onto the one of hers that wasn't holding her robe closed, and he studied the fine lines on her palm. "But, you see, that's the beauty of this whole thing, Keep." His eyes met hers again. "When two lonely people get together, they....aren't lonely anymore." He twined their fingers together and brought their clasped hands to his heart. Claire could feel it pounding.

She wasn't breathing. Her lungs burned for air, but all the Keeper could do was stare at their intertwined hands where they rested just above his heart. The hand holding her robe closed loosened, but did not fall away. She could feel the thrum of his heartbeat, and between their palms, the frantic, crazed throb of their two pulses mingling.

"Darien," she whispered, "we can't do...what you want to do."

He didn't look hurt, simply unconvinced. "Why not?"

She smiled then, and managed to tear her eyes away from their hands. "Because," she stated simply, "it wouldn't be seemly. The doctor/patient relationship issues ALONE are enough to keep this...kind of thing from happening."

It sounded like a hollow argument, and he wasn't buying it. "I used to be a theif, doc," he murmured. "You think I care about appearances?"

"To be honest," she told him, "yes, I do." Her smile was sympathetic, and, strangely enough, a little sad. "And even if you didn't," she continued, "I do. If the Official found out-"

"He wouldn't have to."

"You'd be surprised what that man can learn."

"You'd be surprised what I can keep a secret."

"Darien, you're not being sensible." Claire slipped her hand from his grasp, ignoring the twinge of regret that accompanied the movement, and turned away. "I think it would be best for both of us if you simply got dressed and left. I promise to never mention this incident again." She moved away from him, trying to put as much distance as she could between them, before her wall of control-- which was shaky at best-- collapsed completely.

She could see his reflection in her full length mirror-- he wasn't moving. He was just watching her, as though the very movement of her body was something wonderful and inspiring to him. Stooping, she picked up her fallen hairbrush and set it back on her dresser, and stood staring down at it.

"You haven't left yet, have you?" she finally asked.

"No."

"Darien," she said, exasperated, leaning against her dresser and letting her hair cascade over her
shoulder, "you're being obstinate."

Suddenly, Claire felt his hand trace lightly up her spine, and she stiffened. She hadn't heard him
approach. Cat burglar footsteps.

"Look at me, Claire," Darien murmured, very close to her ear, his breath dancing across her cheek and making her close her eyes with his proximity.

She shook her head. "No," she whispered shakily.

His hand reached over her shoulder to lightly pull her hair back, away from her face, and he moved closer. "Why not?"

His lean torso was pressed along her back, his heat burning through her thin satin robe. "Because I...I... I don't know," she answered, eyes still closed, as her thoughts tumbled over one another in confusion. Nothing made sense-- her conscience combatted her passion and her id fought her ego, until the world was spinning around her like a crazed tilt-a-whirl.

"I've seen you look at me," he said softly, so that his lips gently brushed her cheek. One hand slipped around her waist, curling lightly against her satin-covered stomach. "When you thought I wasn't paying attention."

"Of course I look at you," Claire argued, but her voice was feeble and sounded foreign in her ears. "I'm your Keeper."

She could almost see the grin on his face when he answered. "Not like that. Not your scientist looks. The OTHER ones."

Darien turned her then, and since her body felt like some new form of Claire-flavored Jello, she didn't fight. When he moved closer, so that they were now pressed front-to-front, she found herself hypnotized by his eyes again, her breathing ragged. She didn't know whether to feel elated or insulted that Darien's face still hadn't lost its steady calm.

"But did you know that I watch you, too?" he asked her, hemming her in on both sides by planting his hands on her dresser.

Claire leaned back a little, trying to distance herself from him, but he moved closer, and she had
nowhere else to go. "What do you mean?" she asked.

He half-shrugged, a movement reminiscent of the Darien she knew from the daylight. "You're the smart one here, doc," he told her, tilting his head. "I'm sure you can figure it out."

Eyes on her back. Watching her walk; following the sway of her hips. Appreciating the smooth curve of her calves, the slim hourglass of her waist. Memorizing...

"How long?" she asked.

"Long enough."

"Why now?"

"Why not?"

"This is all...very disorienting." Her brows pursed in consternation as she tried to muddle through her feelings, which had felt so steadfast earlier, and now, didn't seem very clear at all.

"Try this for a focal point," Darien told her, before leaning in to press a kiss to her throat.

She stopped breathing. Again.

His lips were warm, soft. They found the pulse that fluttered near her jaw, and he let his kiss linger there until he could feel it throb faster. He moved on, exploring her jaw, the sensitive flesh of her ear, across her cheek, until he touched her lips.

"Now would be a good time to breathe, Keep," he whispered, grinning.

She did, exhaling quickly and inhaling just as fast. Automatically Claire regretted it, as she breathed in his scent, which surrounded her in a warm, comforting blanket, made tangible by the presence of his taut body against her own.

"Oh, Hell," she murmured.

He raised an eyebrow, that smile never leaving his face. "Is that a go ahead?" he asked.

This time when she met his eyes, there was no hesitation. "If you stop now, I'm not quite sure I'd survive," she told him, eyes sparkling. "So I believe the answer is yes."

Darien's face softened, though the smile remained, and this time when he leaned forward, he found her lips as though by memory.

Claire didn't fight when he loosened the ill-tied belt of her robe and let it slip to the floor. She wrapped her arms around his neck and told propriety to take the first train headed west, because right now, she was too busy being well and truly kissed by the most handsome man she'd ever met to listen to its shrill whistle.

Thank God it was only a few steps to the bed. She could never have made it further.

Part 2


Claire knew this place. It was where the slow, sultry saxophone began its solo and the candles began to spill wax down their milky white sides. She'd never been here before, but she'd dreamnt about it enough to recognize its familiar touch, taste and smell.

His hands. Oh, God, his hands were everywhere at once. She'd never truly understood how artistic and delicate his hands were, but now she knew. He had long, elegant fingers-- thieve's fingers; the better to steal your treasures with. The better to explore the delicate flesh down your side and over the swell of your hip.

Darien's mouth found the pulse in the hollow of her throat, and he sucked there gently as his hands smoothed down her sides, over her thighs, between...

Claire gasped and arched up against him, pressing back into the pillows as he touched the damp cleft between her legs. "Ahh, Darien!" she moaned, pulling him down closer and burying her face in his neck.

The Keeper was no blushing virgin. True, her social life left much to be desired, but she'd had more than her share of boyfriends in college, and a few in her days with the Department of Defense. They'd all left her in the end, or she'd left them-- her work was her life, and she never seemed to find the man who could understand that.

Until now.

After all, wasn't her work HIS life?

But as lovers went, none had ever affected her like this. Darien's fingers worked gently but achingly quick against her, and she found her breath coming in rapid pants. Sweat already skimmed their bodies, joining them with an airtight seal. She could feel his breath come in fast puffs against her damp skin, and it cooled her shoulder.

Slowly, he drew her up into a sitting position, so that she straddled his legs as he knelt on the
mattress. Claire could feel the rigid heat of his erection, and she marvelled that it could be because of her. She never saw herself as particularly sexual. Apart from the usual satiation of her desires, and the occasional-- VERY occasional-- fling, she never perceived any kind of sensuality in herself at all. It made the experience all the more awe-inspiring-- that Darien saw something in her she'd never even noticed in herself.

"Please...Oh, God, PLEASE, Darien," she begged against him as his hand played her. "Please, just don't stop. Don't stop!"

******

Now that he was here, Darien almost couldn't believe it was happening. He was a guy, so it was a given that this kind of thing would run through his head now and then. He liked to imagine that all the other Kepts at the Agency-- he didn't know any offhand, but he knew they existed-- were jealous of his luck when it came to the Keeper. If you asked him really nicely, he'd probably be the first one to fess up to the occasional fantasy involving the lovely woman.

But that's all they were. Fantasies.

This was no fantasy. This was living, breathing, moaning reality, and it was a hell of a lot better
than anything he'd ever imagined.

"Mmmmm..." he moaned as Claire's petal soft lips whispered across his collarbone.

"Darien... Oh, God, DARIEN!"

She was begging his name, and if it was possible, he felt himself grow even harder. Hobbes had been right-- the exotic accent was definitely a turn-on. As was the hair, the lips, the eyes, the walk...

Then, her fingers were closing around his, pulling his hand away from her, and he gazed at her in confusion.

Claire didn't look happy to be stopping him in his ministrations, but she managed a smile. "Not too soon," she panted, pressing closer to him. "We've got all night."

Darien's eyes widened suddenly, as he felt her hand close around his erection, and he stiffened. She grinned at him, and began moving her hand in quick, stroking motions.

"Gahh...ahhhh.....Claaairre..." He stretched out her name as he felt his closely bound tightrope of control begin to snap. "Claaaire, stop. Oh, hell, stop!"

She silenced him by covering his mouth with her own, her tongue dipping between his lips to taste the cavern of his mouth. It was all he could do to keep from pulling her so close, he chipped a tooth. His OR her's.

That familiar tingle was spreading all over his body, as his quicksilver created an invisible mosaic. His arms, his legs, across his left shoulder....

//Aw, crap,// he thought. //Here we go again.//

*******

Claire felt him stiffen, but it wasn't a passionate tension. It was...embarassed. And cold.

She pulled back, and her hand froze as she was confronted with...nothing. "Darien?" He was still there-- she could feel him, against her, touching her. He was just...invisible.

"I'm sorry," she heard his voice, and he sounded mortified. "Aw, hell, why does this always happen to me?"

"The adrenaline?" Claire asked, her scientist mentality taking over for a moment.

He didn't answer, and she took that for an affirmative.

Taking her hand from his ice cold erection-- those were two ideas she'd NEVER thought to put together-- she reached up to caress his cheek. It was easy enough to find his face, despite his invisibility.

"All you have to do is relax," she soothed. "Here, let me help you."

Smiling to show that she wasn't angry, Claire bent forward and pressed a kiss to his chest, just above his heart. She could feel its triphammer rhythm through his taut bronze skin. A pleased sigh escaped Darien's transparent lips.

"I think its working," he said.

She pulled back and gazed at the general vicinity of his eyes. "Shall I continue?"

"Hell yeah."

Claire giggled, and wrapped her arms around his neck again, pulling herself closer. She trailed her fingers through his hair as she sucked lightly on his earlobe. The quicksilver flaked off on her fingers, as his arms tightened around her.

She moved down, tracing feather-soft kisses across his chest, from shoulder to shoulder, then further, taking a second to play around his flat nipples with her tongue. He moaned.

Straightening up, she leaned in to whisper near his invisible ear, "Lay down."

He did it, and brought her with him, making her laugh with his obvious eagerness. "You're supposed to be RELAXING, Darien," she scolded playfully, "not getting more excited."

She could feel him shrug. "You haven't seen the view from where I'm lying."

Claire laughed again. He always knew how to make her laugh. "Flattery will get you everything."

Not waiting for a reaction, she bent down again and began kissing down his chest, from throat to navel. Every now and then, she would dart out her tongue to wet a track along the sculpted line of his abs, and blow lightly to cool the path she'd made. His hands burrowed into her hair, holding her gently. She could hear the quicksilver falling away with a metallic rustle.

Drawing herself back up his body, Claire was pleased to see that virtually all of the quicksilver had dissolved. There was a smudge of transparency across his cheek; a trace on his shoulder. She kissed them away.

Darien's eyes were closed when she finally brought herself up to hover above him. "Feeling better?" she asked.

When he looked back up at her, his gaze was dreamy, enraptured. "Did you used to do that for a living or something?" She punched him in the arm, and he laughed. "I'm kidding, Keep! Geez."

"You're going to have to pay for that, you understand."

"I am yours to command."

"You have to make me positively writhe with pleasure."

He raised an eyebrow. "I'm not sure I deserve that kind of punishment."

Claire trailed a hand up his body. "Then I guess our time together is at an end," she teased, watching her fingers trace the outline of his bicep.

Quickly, making her shriek with surprise, she found herself flipped over onto her back, so Darien hovered above her. His eyes were sparkling, and he flashed her his patented grin. "Then again, I can always appeal later," he told her.

She giggled.

"Writhe with pleasure, huh?" he clarified. She nodded. "Well, I think I can do that. Let's see. I
think it starts something like this..."

He bent down, and sucked her right nipple into his mouth. Claire gasped, and stiffened beneath him. He suckled gently, and she whimpered.

When he released her, she moaned with the loss, then sucked in another quick breath as he laved her other nipple with his tongue before pulling it into his mouth as well. His hand came up to roll her other nipple between his fingers, and she tunneled her fingers through his hair to pull him closer, arching up against him.

"D-Darien..." she panted. "Oh, yes..."

A searing white cord of pleasure coursed through her with each pull, and she felt her body jerk reflexively in response.

When he let her go, Claire moaned-- half in agony for what he'd started, half in anticipation of where she knew this was headed.

"Is it working?" he whispered against her stomach, circling her navel with his tongue.

She nodded, then realizing the stupidity of that since he wasn't looking at her, she said, "Y-yes."

She found herself focusing on the stupidest things. How soft his spiky hair was. How hot he felt between her thighs. The way she could never quite anticipate where his next kiss was going to be placed, and how incredibly thrilling that was.

Darien's lips had now moved from her abdomen to her inner thigh. Starting at her knee, he placed slow kisses-- so...slow...-- down the sensitive, ivory flesh. This was an experience altogether knew to her-- none of her previous boyfriends had ever been so ardent in their exploration of her body. A few kisses, one or two intimate caresses, then the act, and that was that.

She must have been quivering with anticipation as he neared the juncture of her legs, because he paused and looked up at her face. "You all right, Claire?"

There was honest concern in his voice, and it made her smile, even as she forced her eyes open so she could look down at him. "Fine," she assured him warmly. "This is just...more than....I've never...DONE this before."

Darien's smile was spontaneous and dazzling, and she felt the butterflies in her stomach explode in triplicate. "I'll take good care of you," he told her. "I promise."

She reached out to stroke his cheek with a trembling hand. "I believe you," she whispered.

He paused and rested a kiss in her palm as she drew her hand away, then held her eyes as he trailed his fingers down her thigh. She trembled.

"You ready?" he asked.

She nodded. Speech seemed beyond her.

He smiled again, leaned forward, and touched her with his tongue.

******

Claire's reaction was immediate and animal. Her back arched away from the bed as one hand clawed at the sheets. "Oh...Oh, God...Oh, GOD!"

Darien was gentle, circling her swollen clit with his tongue as he held her hips with his long-fingered hands. Her fingers gripped his hair, holding him to her as her body quaked under the onslaught.

"Yes....ahhh, yes...YES, Darien, please!"

He was enjoying this. True, Claire was not the first woman he had done this with-- Casey had, after all, been the love of his life for a lengthy period of time. But there was something different about the beautiful Keeper-- something about being the first to give this to her. It was almost like the first time for the both of them. Two teenage virgins in the back of her parents' Cadillac on Lookout Ridge on a Saturday night. They didn't know how they were supposed to act, so they let their reactions come from what they felt, and where the moment took them.

Bringing one hand down from her hip, he slipped a long finger inside her moist warmth, and heard her sob above him. Not a pained sob, or fearful-- one of a woman who was standing on the threshold of something beautiful, but couldn't bear to step across.

Darien took his mouth from her, and she gasped at the loss of stimulation, then purred-- actually PURRED-- when his thumb took up the steady rhythm.

He stretched himself out beside her, and she cleaved to him, gasping against his throat, her nails digging into his flesh. "Let it happen, Claire," he murmured against her ear, all too aware of his own painful erection. "Let go."

He slipped another finger inside her, and she groaned as she wrapped her legs around him, pushing him deeper.

"Come on," he murmured breathlessly, stroking her back. "Let it happen."

She was nodding against him-- short, jerky nods in time with her breathing. "Yes...yes...now...Oh, GOD, now!" she begged.

In answer, he rubbed his thumb across her clit one more time, slightly harder than before, and covered her mouth with his own.

Claire screamed into his mouth as she came against his hand, her body bucking forward as if she could somehow have more, and draw him within her completely.

******

She could taste herself on his lips, and long after the spasms within her had eased, she held his mouth to her own, savoring the sensory memory.

Eventually, they broke apart, and Claire lay gasping against his chest.

"Oh. My. God," she gasped. "That...that was..."

"Good?"

"I don't believe good is quite strong enough, but it will have to do for the moment. My mental thesaurus appears to be dysfunctional."

She took a deep breath and opened her eyes, craning her neck to look up into his eyes. "Thank you," she murmured. "That was wonderful."

Darien smiled. "My pleasure."

That triggered a thought, and she propped herself up on one elbow as she glanced quickly down his body. She blushed.

He tilted her chin up so she was looking at him again. "Why the red face, Doc?" he asked. "You're not... embarassed, are you?" he joked.

She smiled shyly, and rubbed her cheek against his palm. "No," she answered, and to her amazement, that was the truth. "I just...everything was for ME. And you..." She glanced down his body again, blushing for the second time.

"I'm sorry," she apologized. "I appear to have been... very greedy."

Darien propped himself up beside her, so they were facing each other. "No," he scolded her gently. "No you were NOT." He cupped her cheek again, and she leaned into the touch. "Trust me, it was pretty damn good just watching you." He passed his thumb over her lips, and her eyes fluttered closed at the featherlight touch.

Claire could feel the hot throb of his erection against her thigh, and to her amazement, her core was beginning to ache again. When she opened her eyes, she found his gaze immediately.

Her hand smoothed up his chest, to cradle the back of his neck. "We're still not done, Darien," she murmured, pulling him nearer, so her lips brushed his.

She rolled them so he lay atop her, her legs wrapped securely around his waist, and trusted that he would know what to do from there.

*******

Thankfully, he did.

It was easy enough to remember how to find her waiting passage, how to ease himself gently, inch by inch, within her, her warmth accepting him as her body curved with pleasure. His eyes closed as he let her wrap herself around him.

And then he froze.

Shit, it had been a long time since he'd done this. REALLY done this. What if he forgot what to do? What if he did it wrong? God, if there was one thing he couldn't stand, it was the thought that she might "fake it," right after he'd watched her cum so perfectly only minutes before.

He felt the tension beginning to run hot and cold through his body, and that infuriating cling wrap
tingle as his quicksilver gland began to work overtime. He could feel it beginning to course across his skin already.

"It's all right, Darien."

His eyes snapped open, and Claire was looking at him. Her eyes were warm and soft, her hair splayed across the pillow in a wild golden mane, so different from its usual orderly appearance. There was nothing reflected in her eyes. He was gone again.

"I trust you," she murmured, and caressed his cheek, though God alone knew how she ever found it.

Darien felt the quicksilver melt beneath her hand, and slowly, in a chain reaction, it began to slide from his body, showering her in its shimmering silver dust, until she glittered like a fairy tale princess.

He began moving again, slowly, then gaining speed, more sure of himself than when he'd first entered her. She closed her eyes and bit her lip as her fingernails dragged down his back, clawing into his flesh.

"Yes...yes, Darien..!"

Spots of color danced before his eyes, and he wanted to tell her how it felt to be moving with her like this, but his throat wouldn't work. So he bent his head forward and kissed her-- long and hard-- to mask his silence and leave her breathless, like she'd already left him.

They moved together like a purring engine, rising and falling in tandem. Eventually their lips separated, but only by a hairsbreadth, allowing room to breathe each other's air.

"Cla....Claire!" he finally managed to gasp her name, already feeling the familiar tightening as he teetered near the edge.

She was already there. He could feel her growing still beneath him as her legs tightened around his waist. A sound like a moan caught in her throat, then exploded as a full-fledged cry as he felt her body spasm around him, and she bucked hard against him, stroking him deep.

It was all he needed to send him over that same cliff, and he let out a shuddering groan as he came.

They stalled there for a moment, and anyone who might have been watching would have thought they were a Greek sculpture-- the perfection of the human form, captured in the moment of ultimate release.

Then they fell back to the bed, Darien's body covering Claire's in a warm, breathing blanket. She held him close as they melded together, like two halves of a whole.

*******

It was a few minutes before either one moved. Then Darien began to roll to the side, and Claire clutched him.

He chuckled. "I'm going to suffocate you if I stay there," he told her softly, separating their bodies.

Claire moaned as he withdrew, and quickly curled up against his side, cushioning her head on his shoulder. "That doesn't mean I have to like it," she reminded him.

"True." His voice was already growing drowsy, and for once, Claire didn't mind. In fact, she felt rather exhausted herself.

He wrapped his arms around her as he turned onto his side, pulling her loosely against his chest and settling his chin lightly on top of her head. He sighed contentedly, and she could feel his breathing beginning to even out.

"Claire?"

"Mm?" she mumbled, already beginning to doze.

"Are you glad we did this?"

She shifted against him, repositioning her hip into a more comfortable position. "Of course I am," she told him, snuggling closer. "Do you think you'd still be here if I wasn't?"

"Mmm...That's good."

She stroked his arm absently as she listened to him slowly drift off into sleep.

It was the pineal gland. She knew it, sure as her name. But there must have been something there, right? Something to trigger this need to be with her? It couldn't have just been a fluke? She didn't think she could bear that.

Banishing such unhappy thoughts from her mind, she closed her eyes and breathed deeply, inhaling his scent, and in the background, the smoky essence of their intimacy. It made her smile, and she let the slow drumbeat of his heart lull her to sleep while she tried to forget that he wouldn't remember any of this when morning finally arrived.


Part 3


When Darien awoke the next morning, the first thing he noticed was that his bed was much softer than he remembered. Normally when he woke in the morning, there was a spring digging into his back, or an unexplained lump under his hip. Today, there was nothing. The bed simply seemed to cradle him, and it took him a long time to open his eyes, it was so comfortable.

The next thing he noticed was that his apartment smelled a hell of a lot better than usual. He wasn't much of a cook, and the few things he did whip up usually turned out horrible or burned, though more likely than not, it was both. But there was no hint of charred beef or rotten tuna fish in the air this morning. In fact, it smelled fresh and pleasant, like flowers. He smiled.

The last thing he noticed was the warm figure curled up beside him. This made him pause and think. //Did I get totally smashed last night?// he asked himself, though he was pretty sure he hadn't. At least, he didn't REMEMBER getting drunk...

Of course, that was the point of a drunk blackout. You didn't remember it happening.

Still, he considered himself an honorable kind of guy. One night stands were just not his thing. So whoever this warm person was....this small, warm person...this small, FUZZY, warm person...

"What the hell?" he muttered, opening one eye and wincing against the bright sunlight.

When his vision cleared, he turned his attention to the warm body next to him, and found himself with a faceful of doggie tongue.

"Ach! Stop! Pavlov, stop!" Darien spluttered, sitting up quickly as he fended off the furry canine, which seemed intent on licking every inch of his face before he had a chance to scurry away.

Wait a minute....

Pavlov?

"Aw, crap," he muttered.

Pushing the dog away, not unkindly, Darien finally took the oppurtunity to look around the room. Yep, definitely the Keeper's place. He remembered every detail-- the sofa, the mirror, the bright, effusive light. The dog. Everything. All that was missing was...

The bathroom door opened, and Claire emerged. She was wearing a pale blue satin bath robe, and nothing else. He'd been around enough women to realize THAT.

"Good morning," she said cheerily. "Sleep well?"

"I...uh....I don't know. Did I?"

Claire shrugged as she crossed to her dresser and picked up an ornate silver hairbrush. It was a nice thing-- his robber mentality made a mental note of its price on the street before he quickly banished the thought. "I have no complaints," she told him. "Thankfully, you don't snore."

"Well, that's nice."

"Yes, it is."

"Um, Claire?"

"Mm?"

Darien swallowed. "What the hell am I doing here?"

She glanced over her shoulder and gave him a shy grin. "You're an intelligent man, Darien," she said, her accent smoothing out the harsh vowels of his name. "I'm sure you can figure it out."

Great. Well, that was no help. Only way to see... He lifted the blankets which still covered him, looked down his body...

"Aw, CRAP," he muttered again.

He heard the Keeper giggle, and looked up quickly. "What?" he asked.

Claire was smiling at him. "I've never gotten that reaction before," she told him. "It was oddly
refreshing."

Darien blushed deep red, and tried to sink down into the bed. "How the hell did I get here?" he asked, trying to steer the conversation in a less embarassing direction.

Claire shrugged, and turned to lean back against the dresser. "It would appear your pineal gland took you on a little adventure," she told him, eyes dancing.

Darien swallowed again, though his throat was dry. "So you and I...?" he asked, unable to put it into words.

She nodded.

"Last night?"

"Yes."

"Together?"

"That is the generally accepted method, yes."

He fell back against the pillows, covering his eyes with his arm and groaning. "Aw, crap."

When he looked up again, she was still watching him. There was no fear or embarassment in her face-- she was just contemplating him. It felt like...like almost... she was memorizing him.

"You couldn't have said, 'No, Darien. You're being controlled by your libido. Please go home and take a long, cold shower?'" he asked.

Claire shrugged, and fingered the hairbrush. "I tried," she told him. "But you're very stubborn, and quite persuasive when you want to be." She chuckled, and looked up again. "But then, you knew that already."

There was something about her easy-going, non-accusatory manner that set Darien at ease. At
least she wasn't glaring at him and ordering him out the door.

"So," he asked, drawing out the question, "was I any good?"

She cocked an eyebrow, and that devilish grin had returned. "I'm sure you'd love to know," she
answered. "But a lady never speaks of such things."

There was an invitation there. It was plain as day. He could spend his time cursing the fact that his damned pineal gland wiped his memory every morning, or he could go about making new memories to replace the old. He decided to go with door number two.

"Never SPEAKS, huh?" he asked, sitting up straighter.

She stood up and took a small step towards the bed. "Certainly not," she replied, smiling.

"Would a lady be completely adverse to a little demonstration?"

She took another step. "She could be persuaded."

Darien could feel his old, self-assured attitude reasserting itself, and he nodded to the hairbrush in her hand. "Are you planning on doing anything with that?" he asked.

Claire glanced down at the hairbrush, and she studied it thoughtfully.

"Actually," she said, looking up with a broad smile, "no. No I'm not. I don't think I need it anymore."

He didn't quite understand that, nor the pleased smile which accompanied the statement, but it was still the answer he'd been hoping for. "So you think you could make some time for a brief dramatization of last night's events?" he asked.

Claire set the brush back on her dresser and crossed the space between her and the bed, kneeling on the mattress beside him. "That doesn't sound like such a terrible idea," she answered, smoothing her hands up over his bare chest as she lowered herself over him. "Though if last night means anything, it won't be particularly brief."

He raised an eyebrow, but before he could ask her to clarify, she was kissing him, and anything resembling a question flew his mind, until all he could feel was her.


The End

*wiping brow* Phew! Ok, this is long. I don't know WHAT it is with me and NC-17, but it ALWAYS comes out long! LOL!

I hope this fit the bill for all of you out there who asked for it. If not, then wait a bit, and I'm SURE I'll come up with another one. LOL! Feedback is, as always, appreciated, and damn well drooled over. Lemme know what you thought! (Unless you hated it. To that I say, "Then why the hell did you read it?" LOL!)

:) Melissa (off to daydream yummy dreams about Darien Fawkes...about Darien Fawkes in a towel...about Darien Fawkes OUT of a towel...;)