Free Man in Paris

Free Man in Paris
by Sorcha Ravenschild

Rated R to NC-17, depending on your personal squick level, for voyeurism and masturbation by a minor


"The way I see it," he said
"You just can't win it...
Everybody's in it for their own gain
You can't please 'em all
There's always somebody calling you down"


"The boy is progressing nicely," Operations commented from his position by Michael's side. They were in the observation room, watching as Seymour worked through a complicated mission sim. "I believe we'll be able to bring him on board a full year earlier than originally anticipated."

Michael only nodded; he'd been a bit surprised when Ops had requested to join him, though he hadn't shown it, of course. In all the time he'd been carrying out this assignment, over two years now, Ops had seemed content with Michael's periodic reports. Michael had to wonder if perhaps he were being evaluated, too.

"We have a small problem, however," Ops continued.

Michael stiffened almost imperceptibly. "Oh?"

Operations cleared his throat. "The surveillance of his room has been interrupted several times in the past six weeks. A few minutes at a time, here and there - the tapes fuzz out, then fuzz back in."

"Equipment failure?"

"We checked two weeks ago, when he was out for his monthly trip into the city with Walter. The equipment is functioning as it should. A search of his room turned up nothing unusual."

Michael's eyebrows lifted. "You believe the boy is doing something to sabotage the surveillance?"

Ops gave him a reptilian smile. "That's what you're going to find out. Until we discover the source of the interference, this will be your only assignment. Understood?"

Michael nodded, letting none of his dismay show. He had a feeling that this was a test of his abilities, and he was determined to pass it.

Even if it meant living in this room until he did.

***

If l had my way
I'd just walk through those doors
And wander
Down the Champs Elysees
Going cafe to cabaret
Thinking how I'll feel when I find
That very good friend of mine


Birkoff finished his assignment for the evening and switched his computer off, spinning his chair and stretching before getting up to prepare for bed. Nibbling his lower lip nervously, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small metallic disk that, to all intents and purposes, resembled an ordinary coin. Pressing the middle to activate it, he set it on his dresser, then began to undress.

He couldn't remember how old he he'd been when he'd first realized that he was monitored by surveillance cameras at every moment. For a long time, he hadn't particularly cared; it hadn't seemed out of the ordinary.

When he'd hit puberty, however, he'd become all too painfully aware of the constant unseen eyes watching his every move. It was bad enough, knowing that the camera could catch him coming out of the shower, or taking a piss... much worse to consider that it could also capture, in loving electronic detail, the times when his hormones got the better of him, as it were.

For a while, he'd solved the problem by confining his self-exploration to the shower. However, not only did he end up waterlogged, he'd discovered that his knees had the alarming tendency to give way at the moment of completion. When he'd cracked his head on the faucet, he'd decided that enough was enough.

So, when Walter had taken him for his monthly outing time before last, he'd screwed his courage to the sticking point. Once they were well away from Section and could talk in private, he'd asked Walter to do him a certain favor. Walter had resisted at first, of course, and had pointed out several good reasons why it was a bad idea, but Birkoff had eventually talked him into it.

The result sat on his dresser, a tiny device to distort and disrupt the signal from the cameras. "Don't use it for more than a few minutes at a time," Walter had warned when he'd brought it, his voice a murmur below the music they'd turned up to disguise their conversation. "And for God's sake, no more than once a week."

The first time he'd used it, he'd been trembling, terrified that at any moment, someone would burst in and drag him off to some sort of horrible punishment. He'd been so scared, in fact, that he'd barely been able to take advantage of the privacy it afforded.

When there'd been no repercussions, he'd gotten comfortable using it. Of course, there had been questions. Walter had told him, while they'd been out last month, that the mysterious Operations had ordered him to check the equipment.

"I told him there was some kind of glitch somewhere in the wiring," Walter had said, as they'd sipped tea and watched the Seine flow by. "I don't know how long I can pretend that I can't find it, though. But I'll let you know in time to get rid of the disrupter."

Birkoff had accepted all this calmly. He knew quite well that anything illicit couldn't go on long in Section, and that any day now he'd be back to jacking off in the shower. In the meantime, however, he was determined to revel in the unaccustomed luxury of privacy. He dimmed the lights until the room was almost dark, and, retrieving a damp cloth from the bathroom, undressed and lay back on his bed, eyes closing as his hand began tavelavel down over his stomach.