by Radclyffe
"This is that critical time when everything is about to come together," said Sloan, weary but starting to feel the excitement that preceded a breakthrough. "It's not something you can get up and walk away from once you start tracking these things down. Another couple of hours and I think I'll have a real handle on it. Then I can take a break for a bit."
"What about something to eat?" Michael asked.
"Another cup of coffee would be good," Sloan confessed.
Michael frowned. She didn't know what she thought would happen when Sloan showed up in the middle of the night. She had been too glad to see her, and too worried about her work and her deadlines. Now she was starting to worry about her.
"Sloan," Michael began cautiously "if I miss the deadline, it's not the end of the world. I'll manage – "
Sloan swiveled around in the chair, staring up at her in astonishment. "Are you kidding? Another ten – twelve hours, and we'll have this system running better than ever. Once we flush the little bastard and start cleaning, I can finish the security changeovers, too."
Michael looked horrified. "Twelve hours!"
"She's good for a lot more than that," a voice announced from across the room.
Both women turned at the sound.
"Heck, I've seen her go for days on caffeine and junk food. This is a walk in the park," Sarah continued, grinning as she crossed the wide office, then stooping to kiss Sloan lightly on the mouth. "Hi, Michael," she added as she fondly stroked Sloan's arm.
"And you are here how?" Sloan inquired with a grin of her own.
"Jason called me. Told me that our much-anticipated dinner and dancing date was off because you were in the midst of a crisis. I didn't want to miss the fun."
"Some fun," Michael muttered, feeling as if she were slipping down the rabbit hole. These two actually seemed to find this all amusing.
"And," Sarah added, "I brought bagels and cream cheese and assorted sinful chocolate things that are guaranteed to keep you awake."
Sloan groaned again. "Bring them here. I have to get back to this."
Sarah noted the return of Michael's worried frown, and pulled her away by the arm. Michael gave the back of Sloan's head one more concerned glance, then followed Sarah to the sitting area where Sarah had deposited several bags on the coffee table.
Sarah leaned close. "Give her another hour or so, and then we'll gang up on her and make her stop for a nap. I just coerced Jason into stretching out on the couch in that lounge down the hall. He looked like his eyeballs were going to fall out. How about you? Get any sleep?"
As she talked she fixed a plate for Sloan.
"Some," Michael admitted. "I drifted off for a while in here on the sofa. I tried to work on some sketches earlier, but I couldn't concentrate. I feel so damn useless."
Sarah shrugged sympathetically. "I can imagine. But these two know what they're doing. They love this stuff. It'll be okay. Sloan's the best."
Michael watched Sarah as she carried the plate to Sloan, who acknowledged her with a mumble and then a blazing smile. The best? Michael thought. Yes, isn't she.
Sarah turned in time to catch the wistful expression on Michael's face as she stared at Sloan, and knew it for precisely what it was. She wondered if Sloan realized that Michael had fallen in love with her. And she wondered too if Sloan would have the good sense to accept it.
* * *
"I feel like such a traitor being outside while they're up there struggling," Michael said as she took a deep breath of the crisp, clean air. It was mid-afternoon in early May with the temperatures peaking in the '60s, and everywhere that unique bright spring sun suffused the day in warm welcome.
"Don't worry. If it weren't for times like this, the two of them would be bored to tears. I think both of them miss the fast pace and high tension dramas of Washington."
They were walking across town to Sarah's apartment in what was affectionately known as Society Hill. It was an area ten blocks square replete with brownstone townhouses and historic buildings along narrow streets, many of which still retained their original cobblestones. Sarah had kindly offered to let Michael shower and borrow some of her clothes, since Michael had not been out of her office for over twenty-four hours.
Michael wanted to ask about Sloan's past because she was very aware that neither Sloan nor Sarah ever did more than allude to it. She wanted to know who JT Sloan was. She sensed Sloan's kindness and loyalty and strength, and those were the things that attracted her, but she wondered what had shaped her silences and forged the fleeting whisper of pain in her eyes. Those were the things that made her want to hold her, and more. But she could not ask, understanding it was only Sloan's secret to share. "I'm sorry about disrupting your weekend plans," she said instead.
"Don't even give it a thought. With any luck, it won't be the last time something disrupts my plans with Jason. I only hope we get to that point someday."
Michael glanced at her in mild surprise. "You're really very serious about him are you?"
Sarah nodded. "I really am. It wasn't something I ever expected to happen again, but now that it has, it feels exactly right. We were going to spend the evening together, and I think we both sort of knew it would mean spending the night together. I have to say that if we don't do something pretty soon, I'm likely to implode."
"Well then, I'm doubly sorry," Michael said with a soft laugh. "I don't think I've ever really appreciated that sensation before."
Sarah looked up sharply. "Before?"
Michael colored, suddenly realizing what she had said. Her first instinct was to dismiss it as a meaningless comment, but in the next instant she appreciated that for perhaps the first time in her life she actually had someone she trusted enough to confide in.
"I've never felt that way about anyone, I mean -- the way you feel about Jason. The attraction, and the – wanting," she said finally, hoping her keen embarrassment wasn't obvious.
"Your husband?" Sarah asked gently.
Michael shook her head. "Jeremy was my friend first, and then he was my business partner, and somewhere along the way he became my husband. I didn't have any friends, really, because I was different than most of the people my age. It was a kind of salvation when he seemed to understand what was important to me and shared the things that I loved. But it wasn't a union of the senses; it was an intellectual connection. I was never really aware of -" she stopped, struggling for the words. "Sex."
"Sex," Sarah laughed. "If there is anything more irrational and less explainable than that, I can't imagine what it is. There are a lot of reasons to stay in love, but why we fall in love remains a mystery to me. The best we can hope for is that we fall in love with someone we can continue to love." For a moment, she remembered her last relationship, and she continued sadly, "And sometimes there's nothing we can do except fall and wait for the crash."
"Are you frightened?" Michael asked quietly, suddenly needing very much to know.
Sarah heard the apprehension beneath the question and impulsively took Michael's hand. "A little bit. I try not to think too much about what might happen. It's hard not to, but since we can never really predict, I'm trying to enjoy how alive I feel when I look at him, and how incredibly exciting it is to imagine being with him."
They had come to the stone stairs of the townhouse, and as if prearranged, they'd both sat on a step and leaned back, faces turned to the sky. It was one of those gifted moments when the world seemed to recede, street sounds and sights growing muted, and all that was real was the seductive soothing heat of the sunshine. It was a moment made for confession.
"I'm having a bit of a problem with Sloan," Michael stated, staring up at the soft white clouds in the blue, blue sky. "I can't stop thinking about her."
"Mmm, I noticed," Sarah said, tilting her head back to catch the slanting light against her neck. "I'd be willing to bet she's having a bit of a problem with you, too."
Michael's voice was rough with disappointment. "No, she isn't. She's not interested."
Sarah turned her head, wondering why Michael seemed so certain. "What happened?"
Michael blushed, but continued determinedly. "Last weekend, in my hotel room, we -- well I guess – " She shrugged helplessly, pushing her left hand through her already tousled blond hair. "It sounds like it should be so simple when I say it. She kissed me, but then she made it clear it had been a mistake."
"Ah," Sarah nodded, suddenly understanding. "Not surprising."
Michael turned to her, her eyes questioning. "I'm sorry?"
"Michael, there are things Sloan needs to tell you. Things you need to know to understand her better. She's my oldest friend, and I love her dearly. She's the strongest and most honest person I've ever met. But she's also the most stubborn and she’s been running from something for a long time, and until she stops, she's not going to be able to let anyone close."
Michael didn't understand exactly what Sarah was trying to tell her, but in some ways she thought she did. There had been times when she was with Sloan that she felt so connected, and then in the next instant Sloan would pull away. She didn't know why, but she wanted to.
"Does it bother you, that she's a woman?" Sarah asked quietly.
"I guess it's supposed to," Michael said thoughtfully. She couldn't prevent an image of Sloan from entering her mind. She saw her, in her faded blue jeans and scuffed brown boots and tight white T-shirt, and something turned over deep in her belly. "I think she's gorgeous. In fact," she said with a small tight laugh, very aware of exactly what that heavy pulsating sensation signaled, "if I don't stop thinking about her touching me, I'm going to implode."
Sarah burst out laughing, and after a few seconds, Michael joined her. They leaned close together, shoulders touching, each of them thinking how good it was to share the moment, and each of them hoping that dreams could come true.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
WHEN MICHAEL RETURNED to her office shortly after five o'clock, she discovered Sloan stretched out on her back on the sofa, eyes closed, a leg dangling part way over the edge, one hand resting on her thigh and the other open palm-up by her side. Michael knew she should simply turn away and let her rest, but she found she could not avert her gaze. It seemed as if every facet of Sloan's face and body were miraculous discoveries, precious details to savor again and again. She had never noticed before how sensuous the slight rise of a woman's breast beneath a cotton tee shirt could appear, nor how alluring faded denim might look stretched over a long, lean thigh, nor how the flat planes of the abdomen and gentle slope of hip begged for a hand to brush along them. She stepped closer, one hand lifting as if to stroke the sleeping woman, her breath suspended in anticipation. That was when she realized that she needed to escape, because any second she was going to do something very embarrassing.
Before she could move, Sloan's eyes opened, caught hers, and held. Shimmering violet embers merged into swirling blue flames, bringing Sloan to a sitting position as Michael leaned down, a force beyond volition or even thought drawing them near. Before their lips could meet, somewhere in the deep reaches of Michael's consciousness, she heard Sloan's quick intake of breath, almost a moan. At the same time she remembered Sloan's words from only a week ago, We'll both regret this tomorrow.
"Sloan", Michael whispered, her voice so thick with need she did not recognize herself, "please tell me that it's all right to kiss you, please. I don't think I can stop."
Sloan blinked, appeared to come fully awake, and collapsed back into the cushions. "Fuck, Michael, I don't know."
They stared at one another, breathing hard, skin flushed, bodies shuddering with strain. The air between them hummed with tension.
Michael closed her eyes, hands clenched at her side. She couldn't look at her, not without touching her. She was stunned and a little frightened by what she had almost done. She knew she had never wanted anyone so much - so badly, in fact, that she scarcely knew what she was doing. This was not her, and yet she had never felt more alive. She sat down on the corner of the adjoining chair, letting her hands fall into her lap. "Well, it seems like we've been here before," she said, her voice quivering. "This time, it was clearly I who was responsible. I'm sorry."
Maybe it was the forlorn regret in Michael's voice, or perhaps it was only because Sloan had wanted her since the first time she saw her, but Sloan's resistance finally crumbled. She moved swiftly, knelt before Michael, and kissed her. Firmly, surely, thoroughly. She kissed her the way she had wanted to kiss her for far too many days, the way she had dreamed of kissing her for countless nights, the way she had always known it should be. She thrilled to the soft brush of Michael's lips against hers, shivering when Michael's tongue searched gently for her own. She kept her hands securely pressed to the chair on either side of Michael, knowing that if she moved them to Michael's body, she would be lost. Already her heart was pounding and her head was light. There was a roaring in her ears that threatened to drown all reason. Every fiber of her being wanted to feel Michael's skin under her fingers, to delight in Michael's body yielding to her hands, to exult in Michael's cries rising to her touch.
Her fingers cramped from holding them tightly closed. She would not do that now, not here, not like this. A kiss was just a kiss and she just needed this one simple kiss, just this one kiss to assuage the fire of longing that had been consuming her whole. She ignored the demanding ache that tightened like a fist in her gut, so heavy she could barely breathe. When she could no longer bear the tender sweetness of Michael's mouth, nor contain the searing pressure that streamed down her thighs, spiraled into her spine, and hammered into her belly, she drew away.
"Well," Michael breathed, her eyes hazy, "that was nice."
"Yeah," Sloan grinned shakily. She too was having trouble focusing.
Neither of them moved, lest the spell be broken. Sloan leaned forward, still on her knees, her outstretched arms braced on either side of Michael’s body. Michael slowly brought her fingers to Sloan's wrist, and Sloan turned her hand until they touched. The light pressure of Michael's fingertips circling in her palm was enough to make Sloan's stomach clench. When Michael caressed her arm, then her neck and shoulder, finally bringing her palm against Sloan's chest, Sloan gritted her teeth to hold back a moan. She feared she might orgasm without even being touched.
Michael was oblivious to Sloan's plight. She was mesmerized by the feel of Sloan's muscles under her hand, and the soft promise of breast just beyond. Her thumb brushed unintentionally against Sloan's painfully taut nipple.
Sloan groaned. A pulse beat between her legs -- once, twice. She was losing it.
"Michael," she exclaimed, "Stop!"
Michael froze. Oh god, not again.
Had she been more certain of the signs, and less hurt by the recent rejection, Michael would have done what her instincts were crying out for her to do. She would have taken Sloan's face in both hands and kissed her with all the abandon of fifteen lonely years; she would have driven a possessive hand down that long flat abdomen with all the ferocity of a hunter claiming its prey; and she would have answered the simmering want between Sloan's thighs until she satisfied both their hungers. Even as she forced herself to be still, she could see the liquid need in Sloan's eyes. She could almost taste her desire.
"My god, what is it?" Michael cried. "Sloan! Tell me!"
"Please," Sloan whispered urgently, "I can't take it. You're killing me. Just -- give me a second." When she could control her unsteady legs, she forced herself to stand, took a step away, jammed her hands into her pockets to hide their trembling. "Sorry. I – sorry."
"Are you always this hard to seduce?" Michael said softly. Her own hands were shaking.
"My god, Michael, you could seduce me with a smile! In fact, you did seduce me with a smile, that very first day in the office. I've done nothing except think about you since then!"
"Then what?" Michael persisted, confused and hurt.
Michael's pain was palpable, and Sloan hated knowing that she was to blame. She spoke without t
hinking. "Christ, I practically came just from you kissing me!"
Secretly pleased, Michael nevertheless responded just as heatedly. "Is that supposed to make me feel better?"
"Yes! No -- oh, hell, I don't know!" Sloan grimaced in frustration, sweeping her arm in a circle to indicate the rest of the room, "I'm supposed to be working here, not bedding you!"
Michael ignored the edge of anger in Sloan's voice. Whatever the cause, she knew that she wasn't the target. "But that's not it, is it?"
Sloan was silent. She needed to clear her head, make some sense of what was happening. She needed to tell her. Jesus, tell her what? That I'm scared to death?
"Just give me a few more hours to get on top of this, and then we'll take a walk, talk," Sloan finally said. Something, anything, as long you don't touch me again right now.
"Deal," Michael nodded wearily, still reeling from the staggering realization of how much she wanted her. She had never dreamed it possible. She longed to say, as long as you don't go away, but she didn't dare. She didn't have the right. She would simply have to trust Sloan to come back to her.
"I'm going to find Jason and see how he's doing with the data retrieval. I might be awhile," Sloan said hesitantly. She didn't want to leave her.
"I understand," Michael said reasonably, though she was loathe to let her out of her sight.
When Sloan returned just a few moments later, Michael looked up from her desk in surprise. "Did you find him?"
"No," Sloan said with an odd expression. "Not exactly."
Sloan was still trying to dispel the image of Sarah and Jason entwined on the sofa in the lounge, very unaware of her presence. She was well beyond the point in her life when any form of sexuality could disturb her, but there had been no doubt that Sarah's hand was on Jason's fly, and that at any moment her hand would be inside his pants. While Sloan applauded their spontaneity, she had no desire to witness this degree of intimacy between her friends. She had hastily retreated.
