Some day, some way, oh very soon
You'll live long nights, chasing the moon
           Troubled Child - Journey

Authors Note:
More slashy stuff. Don't read if you don't like.
This is a sequel of sorts to 'Virtuality', also by me.
 

Heat pounded through his veins, burning through his mind and soul. The fire of intense arousal evoked by soft but demanding touches on heated skin. He reached out with one sweat-slicked hand to touch his lover...

And his hand encountered only the cold wall.
Michael moaned in frustration and disappointment as he opened his eyes to find himself alone in his bedroom. His breathing sounded heavy in his own ears, and his shorts felt very uncomfortable just now.
But worse than all that was the feeling of being alone in his bed.
"Kitt..." Michael whispered into the darkness.
With a frustrated sigh he turned back the covers and hauled himself out of his bed. He padded toward the window, and stared forlornly out into the night. A steady drizzle ran down the windowpane, obscuring his view as he peered outside. It was very peaceful tonight and Michael briefly glimpsed the pale moon as it peeked through the dark clouds. His breathing was still heavy, and his body still covered with a fine sheen of sweat in mute testament to the sheer intensity of his dream.
It hadn't been the first he'd experienced since his experience in Henderson's VR world. They had become increasingly frequent and more erotic in the weeks since then. Sleep had become difficult, especially when he was on a mission. When on assignment, he had routinely slept in Kitt's cabin. He considered Kitt's cabin to be a warm safe haven against the dangers of his day-to-day life. But since he had realized his love for the AI, Michael had often awoken with an almost painful erection and Kitt's name on his lips, making sleeping inside the car difficult at best.
And every time Kitt spoke to him, God that _voice_. How on Earth could he have missed noticing how sensual Kitt's voice was? Even when speaking about the most mundane of matters, Kitt made it sound like an invitation into the bedroom and Michael had a hard time controlling his reactions.
With a shudder, he closed his eyes and tried without much success to control his shivering. Reaching out blindly, Michael groped for one of his rare indulgences, a bottle of very old Scotch that had been a gift from Devon. The crystal decanter clinked against the glass as he poured himself a generous measure and sipped it.
He wasn't sure how well Kitt was coping wit this, better than he was, Michael was sure. But sometimes, just sometimes during their usual quiet times after a mission, Michael thought he could detect the strained undertones in Kitt's voice.
Those quiet, contemplative times had become a necessity for both of them; it gave them both a measure of stability in their crazy universe. Often, they would sit mostly in silence soaking up the sense of each other's presence. Sometimes, they would talk constantly, reviewing the mission, planning their next vacation, engaging in general banter, and affirming their love for each other.
It was most often during those times, and during these times late at night, when Michael wondered if they would ever again share the intimacy they once had.
His head drooped down onto his chest, and a single crystalline tear rolled down his face and plopped into his glass of Scotch.
Knowing what you were missing, and to be so close to it, that was the true torture.
His life was a long night, and he was chasing the moon.
He wondered if he would ever catch it.

The End
By Dark Xena