There are strict rules and regulations to being a Psychonaut. The ethical justification for going into the minds of others is already tenuous at best, and those moral boundaries become even more essential when working with a partner. A team needs a thorough understanding of one another to work effectively, but they must also respect the private spaces in each other's minds and refrain from any unwarranted mental snooping. This can be difficult for two powerful psychics, especially when in a partnership as close as the one Sasha and I share. Sometimes you just can't help but know what the other is thinking.

Sasha and I have been partnered agents together for nearly 5 years now. Right from the start I admired his mind and respected his talent. Our gifts compliment one another, and if I may boast a bit, we make quite a formidable team. He is an excellent agent and a dependable partner who makes me feel safe, supported and respected. It wasn't long before we both felt confident with our lives in each other's hands and minds. A bit later in our working relationship, I was surprised to find myself attracted to him. I was even more surprised when I realized one day that not only did I love working with him, I was actually in love with him. And so now I find myself in a conundrum: to say nothing and try to hide these obvious feelings for as long as possible (not so easy when the object of your love is a brilliant psychic…) or to come clean and face whatever changes and consequences my revelation may bring. So far I am maintaining the status quo, but I am not sure how much longer I can keep it up.

I was surprised to find I loved and wanted him because he does not fit my typical "type". His style and mannerisms had first seemed too severe and restrained – even repressed – to me, his bearing sometimes seemed cold and aloof. I tend to assume the best of people automatically, while Sasha is much more reserved. But as time went on, I found him increasingly to be sleek and sophisticated, the cool demeanor hiding a dry sense of humor. He was sexy. Lean and neat, impeccably groomed, nothing ever out of place except for that one stubborn lock of jet black hair that always falls across his forehead. I never get the chance to imagine myself pushing it gently back into place because he always impatiently flicks it away the instant it falls out of line. I know his eyesight to be relatively poor, and his higher than average photosensitivity usually ensures that he wears his prescription sunglasses both indoors and out. Which is really a shame, because beneath them are beautiful hazel eyes that I am lucky to see every so often. I like that he is only a teensy bit taller than myself when I'm in my beloved heels, and his smell…. Meu Deus have mercy, I think it may have been his scent that first made me realize that I wanted him. His clean, spicy (and perhaps excessively-used) shower products combine deliciously with his own unique masculine musk. It drives me wild, and I am often torn between equal desires to get as close to his body as possible to indulge in this scent, or to keep my distance lest his keen mind pick up on my arousal, despite the extensive mental blockades I have carefully put in place.

His skin is very pale, due to his European genetics and tendency to stay out of the sun. I recall with giggle an assignment that took us to the sunny tropics, where despite Sasha's diligence in liberally applying what must have been SPF 100 sunscreen, he still turned a startling and rather painful-looking shade of pink. Even when not sunburned, there is a hint of ruddiness on his cheekbones much of the time, and he tends to blush most delightfully with stress or exertion. Before I can stop myself, a vision of his face flushed with sexual effort flashes through my mind, and I feel my own skin warming. What would it be like to bring such a look to his face? To turn his often stern and impassive expression into one of ecstasy? I sigh and snuggle down further under my blankets and absent-mindedly run one hand over my breast, the other down between my thighs. I feel confident indulging in a little fantasy when I am far away from him. I know he would never invade my privacy by coming into my mind uninvited, and if he had to come in an emergency, I would feel his familiar presence immediately.

"Sasha, darling…" I moan his name quietly, imagining his deep baritone answering in kind. He always refers to me as "Agent Vodello" to others, but when it's just the two of us, he calls me Milla. I cup my palm more firmly against my mons and pinch my nipple a bit through my silky nightgown. I imagine that making love with him would be very satisfying – knowing Sasha, he would want to be very thorough and would focus all of his exacting scientific curiosity on determining the best ways to please his partner. I can imagine him being quite methodical and controlled, but what really turns me on is the thought of helping him lose control. I know he keeps his feelings tightly contained in that cube of his, but he can't keep that kind of intensity locked up all the time, and when one of those faces breaks open and spills forth it's contents, well, it is truly a sight to behold, baby. Thinking of all that power unleashed towards me is a potent aphrodisiac, and I squeeze my legs together a little tighter, sending a pleasurable thrill to my core.

Tomorrow we're due to fly out to what could potentially be a dangerous mission, and while I can't turn off my love for him while we are on the job, I can at least sate some of my lust before we are sharing close physical quarters. I change positions slightly, lifting my knees and spreading my legs just a bit. Closing my eyes, I picture his beautiful face and body moving above me, and I touch myself until I climax, his name on my lips.