response #1 to challenge "Limits"
J/I, at a remove. Spoilers only through the midpoint of S2; pre-series.
"Changing of the Guard"
During the first days of the courtship of Jack Bristow, there were no limits.
"Does he love you?" Gerard Cuvee would ask as he unzipped Irina Derevko's skirt, peeling it away from her in the privacy of their hotel room.
"Not yet." Irina would lie back for him, grinning broadly, proud of her deception and eager to please him, both in bed and in her KGB work. "But soon, I think."
"My little witch." He'd whisper the endearment in her ear and enjoy her attentions all night long. When possible, he preferred to have her the day before Bristow would; it amused him to think of the CIA agent taking only the seconds.
As the courtship continued, however, certain limits began to be imposed.
The first limitation was time; that was inevitable. As Bristow fell for "Laura," he naturally expected to spend more and more time with her, and Cuvee's meetings with Irina became more rare. That alone would not have troubled him. But other limitations presented themselves as well.
He began to notice that she never initiated sex between them any longer, and when he did, her response was -- warm, yes, even welcoming, but no longer possessed of any fire. At first Cuvee decided that her enforced sexual relationship with Bristow was wearying for her, and tried to make it a joke between them. He whispered, "Which of us knows how to love you better, hmm? Him or me?"
Irina calmly answered, "Why, you, of course." But in her eyes glimmered with a deep, private amusement that Cuvee did not like. He didn't ask her that question again.
After her marriage, Irina began to find excuses to avoid sex. Some of them made rational sense; a husband doesn't only see his wife in bed, but in the bathroom, when she dresses, so on and so forth. Fingernail marks on the back, bruises around the hips -- these would be difficult to explain. A risk to the mission.
Cuvee promised to be gentle. He took his time, conjugating verbs in Latin in his mind while he was inside her, undermining his own enjoyment so that he could extend her unhappiness. By now he knew that their sexual relationship made Irina deeply unhappy, and if she could have the audacity to feel that way about it, then in his opinion, she should be made to feel that way as deeply and often as possible.
Finally the day when she told him, flatly, that they wouldn't have sex again for months.
Cuvee traced a fingertip along her cheek. "Sometimes I begin to believe that you're fond of your Agent Bristow. Should I report this suspicion to our superiors?"
Irina lifted her chin and covered her belly with one hand. "You should report to our superiors that I'm pregnant with Jack's child."
Cuvee knew he still held the true power over Bristow -- the secrets the KGB gained were proof of that -- but sometimes, it didn't feel that way at all.
"Changing of the Guard"
During the first days of the courtship of Jack Bristow, there were no limits.
"Does he love you?" Gerard Cuvee would ask as he unzipped Irina Derevko's skirt, peeling it away from her in the privacy of their hotel room.
"Not yet." Irina would lie back for him, grinning broadly, proud of her deception and eager to please him, both in bed and in her KGB work. "But soon, I think."
"My little witch." He'd whisper the endearment in her ear and enjoy her attentions all night long. When possible, he preferred to have her the day before Bristow would; it amused him to think of the CIA agent taking only the seconds.
As the courtship continued, however, certain limits began to be imposed.
The first limitation was time; that was inevitable. As Bristow fell for "Laura," he naturally expected to spend more and more time with her, and Cuvee's meetings with Irina became more rare. That alone would not have troubled him. But other limitations presented themselves as well.
He began to notice that she never initiated sex between them any longer, and when he did, her response was -- warm, yes, even welcoming, but no longer possessed of any fire. At first Cuvee decided that her enforced sexual relationship with Bristow was wearying for her, and tried to make it a joke between them. He whispered, "Which of us knows how to love you better, hmm? Him or me?"
Irina calmly answered, "Why, you, of course." But in her eyes glimmered with a deep, private amusement that Cuvee did not like. He didn't ask her that question again.
After her marriage, Irina began to find excuses to avoid sex. Some of them made rational sense; a husband doesn't only see his wife in bed, but in the bathroom, when she dresses, so on and so forth. Fingernail marks on the back, bruises around the hips -- these would be difficult to explain. A risk to the mission.
Cuvee promised to be gentle. He took his time, conjugating verbs in Latin in his mind while he was inside her, undermining his own enjoyment so that he could extend her unhappiness. By now he knew that their sexual relationship made Irina deeply unhappy, and if she could have the audacity to feel that way about it, then in his opinion, she should be made to feel that way as deeply and often as possible.
Finally the day when she told him, flatly, that they wouldn't have sex again for months.
Cuvee traced a fingertip along her cheek. "Sometimes I begin to believe that you're fond of your Agent Bristow. Should I report this suspicion to our superiors?"
Irina lifted her chin and covered her belly with one hand. "You should report to our superiors that I'm pregnant with Jack's child."
Cuvee knew he still held the true power over Bristow -- the secrets the KGB gained were proof of that -- but sometimes, it didn't feel that way at all.