Bourne Legacy: "New Reality" (Aaron/Marta)
Title: New Reality
Author: Koren M. (cybermathwitch)
Disclaimer: Not mine, I'm just borrowing them for a bit.
Pairing: Aaron/Marta
Rating: Adult 17+
Warnings: sexual content
Spoilers: spoilers for the movie
Word Count: 1,642
Summary: Once the chase is over and the bullets stop flying, Marta is still struggling with her new reality.
Author's Notes:
For shell (umbo) as part of Yuletide 2012.
I loved the prompt idea of "competence" which got me thinking about how Marta must feel now, suddenly going from being at the top of her field to being completely out of her depth and anything familiar. Which also got me thinking about brain chemistry (which she would probably do).
Fair warning, I have only rudimentary, non-scientist type knowledge of brain chemistry and neurotransmitters, so I'll go ahead and apologize upfront if there are any glaring errors.
Many, many thanks to my betas: kadollan, anuna_81, and jessofthebugs". I <3 you!
I had a lot of fun with this, and I hope you enjoy it! Happy Holidays! :D
The first time they're together, they're on a narrow bunk deep in the hold of the ship, somewhere in waters she doesn't know the name for. He wasn't really conscious when she put him to bed several hours ago, and she tells herself that she stays so close to him because the bed is narrow, because she's got no other way to monitor his vital signs than to get close to him, and because now that night has fallen the light is dim. Marta Shearing doesn't cling to anyone or anything other than projects and papers and research. They're not even in a "relationship" and so she comes up with a myriad number of excuses to explain why she can't seem to keep her hands off of him.
Old biochemistry classes and snippets of research come rushing back to her in the still and quiet dark - phenylehthylamine, heightened by the previous few days' danger (had it really only been three days?) modulating norepinephrine and dopamine, lighting up her brain like the Fourth of July and making her feel... what? Attraction? Focus? The beginnings of attachment? (She reminds herself that comes later, requires oxytocin and serotonin to show up at the party.)
The truth boils down to this: she is scared (terrified) because people have been trying to kill her, and right now, he is the only thing in the world that feels safe. The only person that she thinks might be able to protect her, might want to protect her. And he's the only thing that's familiar to her anymore. (Familiar is an understatement she realizes, as random bits of chemistry and code remind her she knows him on a level few people ever know one another.)
She dozes off from too much worry and too little sleep and when she wakes up, he's looking at her. They look at one another for a long time, pupils blown wide in the near-dark trying to take in the light. The kiss she gives him is born of a combination of relief and gratitude, unplanned, and it's very easy for her to chalk what happens next up to chemistry and nature.
Her hands move restlessly against his shoulders, while his tighten on her waist. They're already tangled together in the logical outcome of sleeping so close to one another and it's nothing for her to hitch her leg just a little bit higher on his hip, to shift her pelvis just a little bit closer even as he's pushing his thigh up against her and she moans. Marta thinks she feels the edge of his teeth against her lower lip when he comes into contact with her where she's warm and wet and she's pleased when his hand snakes under her top to cup her breast and he rubs the pad of his thumb over her nipple. She has to pull away, desperate for air and trying to decide if this is what she should be doing (she knows it's what she wants to be doing).
"Marta," his voice is low and still just a little weaker than she's gotten used to - better than when he was feverish but not quite back to normal, she observes distantly. "Is this-"
"It's ok," she responds, even though part of her mind cautions her about extreme ways and circumstances, the voice that got her through both her doctoral degrees and kept her disciplined enough to be the top of her field. It's telling her all sorts of statistics about the failure rate of relationships begun this way, of the possible consequences of being reckless and even the back and forth of how will this effect whatever friendship they might be forming through all this.
She tells it to shut the fuck up. Look where all of that being responsible has gotten her so far. Involved in a ethically-questionable secret government program and at the top of some kind of shadow-ops most wanted list.
In the middle of nowhere, broken off from her entire life, with no one but herself.
And Aaron.
An edge of desperation takes over her actions and she finds she's gripping his head between her hands as he works his mouth over her throat and across her shoulder. He nudges the strap of her tank top out of his way and she impatiently reaches down to tug it off over her head. She hears his breath catch appreciatively and then feels his tongue and teeth against her breast and feels his fingers slip beneath the waistband of her underwear. She moves to help him shove them down her hips but he stops her.
"I only have so much control, and we don't have any condoms."
He's the voice of reason and it steadies her, if only slightly.
"Let me," he says against her skin and she moves her hand out from under his, let him return to what he's doing, sliding under the fabric and over her damp skin. She feels more than she hears the sounds he makes when his fingers slide over her wet clit and then into her.
She's not as good at being quiet. The moan she can't stop is loud in the desperate quiet of the ocean night and he's right there, covering her mouth with his and kissing her again. Marta comes hard and fast against his hand. He lets her return the favor, and any lingering awkwardness that ought to result from getting off like a pair of horny teenagers on some kind of field trip is mitigated by the fact that the only comfortable way to sleep is wrapped around one another.
*****
The second time, remarkably, isn't until a few weeks later, once they've left the confines of the Captain's ship and have made their way deep into the heart of Bangkok. It's overrun with tourists and foreigners on business and it's remarkably easy to blend in. They've done nothing but the occasional kiss or brief touch while awake, and if they still sleep entwined despite having access to slightly larger beds, they can pass it off as habit now.
Hands stray in the middle of the night, welcomed and eager, but it feels like there are some kind of unwritten rules that they're playing by.
The odd combination of slow-burning, unnecessary, and unresolved arousal coupled with deepening attachment baffles Marta from a neurological point of view. Once they've started down that particular chemical path, it should be reinforcing and self-fulfilling. The brain is designed specifically with this in mind, to seek out and pair, attach, form bonds, to seek pleasure and to repeat pleasurable activities that will strengthen those bonds. It even occurs to her that, like with a runner's high, Aaron's more efficient system would be even more susceptible to such drives. The "emotional noise" she'd heard other researchers on the project refer to, a side-effect of both heightened cellular function from the greens and the heightened sensory activity from the blues should be at work in this, especially.
When she finds herself at what amounts to a small drug store, she sees a display of condoms and buys them before she really thinks about what she's doing. She doesn't get embarrassed about sex, but she feels surprisingly uncertain about how Aaron might react. Was it a convenient excuse? A way to keep sex out of their equation without hurting her feelings? After purchasing them she realizes just how readily available they've been since they reached the mainland, but he's never gone looking for them.
Of course, she hasn't either, and she's not sure why.
She leaves them on the makeshift table and since he probably won't be back from whatever he's been looking into until the middle of the night or later, she has a bare minimum of dinner and then curls up in their bed to sleep.
His hands wake her as they trace the lines and curves of her body with a gentle certainty and she can't help but arch into the touch. He kisses her senseless, but hands her the condom and makes her slide it over him so he's certain she's awake and that she wants this just as much as it turns out he does.
Aaron slides into her, stretches her because it's been awhile, but he feels amazing and it seems like all those weeks of touch and restraint were an intense kind of foreplay, so it doesn't take either one of them very long to climax. They rest with their foreheads pressed together and she works up the courage to ask him why they waited so long. He laughs, not unkindly, and rolls over with her still wrapped around him so that she's laying across him and he can look up at her.
"I wanted to know you were sure. I didn't want you to feel like you had to take me up on it." I have all the power here remains unspoken but true. She's learning, but still doesn't have a good enough handle on basic survival skills that he knows like the back of his hand. She's brilliant, picks up on languages and theory very quickly, but physical skills like self defense and hand to hand combat have a learning curve, and there are other skills like marksmanship that they can't very well practice in the middle of the city. Right now, right at this moment, he's as instrumental to her continued survival as she was to his when he was running out of medicine.
"I'm sure," she replies firmly and strikes another blow at the doubting voices in her mind.
They go through two more condoms before the sun comes up and they have to face the day.
Author: Koren M. (cybermathwitch)
Disclaimer: Not mine, I'm just borrowing them for a bit.
Pairing: Aaron/Marta
Rating: Adult 17+
Warnings: sexual content
Spoilers: spoilers for the movie
Word Count: 1,642
Summary: Once the chase is over and the bullets stop flying, Marta is still struggling with her new reality.
Author's Notes:
For shell (umbo) as part of Yuletide 2012.
I loved the prompt idea of "competence" which got me thinking about how Marta must feel now, suddenly going from being at the top of her field to being completely out of her depth and anything familiar. Which also got me thinking about brain chemistry (which she would probably do).
Fair warning, I have only rudimentary, non-scientist type knowledge of brain chemistry and neurotransmitters, so I'll go ahead and apologize upfront if there are any glaring errors.
Many, many thanks to my betas: kadollan, anuna_81, and jessofthebugs". I <3 you!
I had a lot of fun with this, and I hope you enjoy it! Happy Holidays! :D
The first time they're together, they're on a narrow bunk deep in the hold of the ship, somewhere in waters she doesn't know the name for. He wasn't really conscious when she put him to bed several hours ago, and she tells herself that she stays so close to him because the bed is narrow, because she's got no other way to monitor his vital signs than to get close to him, and because now that night has fallen the light is dim. Marta Shearing doesn't cling to anyone or anything other than projects and papers and research. They're not even in a "relationship" and so she comes up with a myriad number of excuses to explain why she can't seem to keep her hands off of him.
Old biochemistry classes and snippets of research come rushing back to her in the still and quiet dark - phenylehthylamine, heightened by the previous few days' danger (had it really only been three days?) modulating norepinephrine and dopamine, lighting up her brain like the Fourth of July and making her feel... what? Attraction? Focus? The beginnings of attachment? (She reminds herself that comes later, requires oxytocin and serotonin to show up at the party.)
The truth boils down to this: she is scared (terrified) because people have been trying to kill her, and right now, he is the only thing in the world that feels safe. The only person that she thinks might be able to protect her, might want to protect her. And he's the only thing that's familiar to her anymore. (Familiar is an understatement she realizes, as random bits of chemistry and code remind her she knows him on a level few people ever know one another.)
She dozes off from too much worry and too little sleep and when she wakes up, he's looking at her. They look at one another for a long time, pupils blown wide in the near-dark trying to take in the light. The kiss she gives him is born of a combination of relief and gratitude, unplanned, and it's very easy for her to chalk what happens next up to chemistry and nature.
Her hands move restlessly against his shoulders, while his tighten on her waist. They're already tangled together in the logical outcome of sleeping so close to one another and it's nothing for her to hitch her leg just a little bit higher on his hip, to shift her pelvis just a little bit closer even as he's pushing his thigh up against her and she moans. Marta thinks she feels the edge of his teeth against her lower lip when he comes into contact with her where she's warm and wet and she's pleased when his hand snakes under her top to cup her breast and he rubs the pad of his thumb over her nipple. She has to pull away, desperate for air and trying to decide if this is what she should be doing (she knows it's what she wants to be doing).
"Marta," his voice is low and still just a little weaker than she's gotten used to - better than when he was feverish but not quite back to normal, she observes distantly. "Is this-"
"It's ok," she responds, even though part of her mind cautions her about extreme ways and circumstances, the voice that got her through both her doctoral degrees and kept her disciplined enough to be the top of her field. It's telling her all sorts of statistics about the failure rate of relationships begun this way, of the possible consequences of being reckless and even the back and forth of how will this effect whatever friendship they might be forming through all this.
She tells it to shut the fuck up. Look where all of that being responsible has gotten her so far. Involved in a ethically-questionable secret government program and at the top of some kind of shadow-ops most wanted list.
In the middle of nowhere, broken off from her entire life, with no one but herself.
And Aaron.
An edge of desperation takes over her actions and she finds she's gripping his head between her hands as he works his mouth over her throat and across her shoulder. He nudges the strap of her tank top out of his way and she impatiently reaches down to tug it off over her head. She hears his breath catch appreciatively and then feels his tongue and teeth against her breast and feels his fingers slip beneath the waistband of her underwear. She moves to help him shove them down her hips but he stops her.
"I only have so much control, and we don't have any condoms."
He's the voice of reason and it steadies her, if only slightly.
"Let me," he says against her skin and she moves her hand out from under his, let him return to what he's doing, sliding under the fabric and over her damp skin. She feels more than she hears the sounds he makes when his fingers slide over her wet clit and then into her.
She's not as good at being quiet. The moan she can't stop is loud in the desperate quiet of the ocean night and he's right there, covering her mouth with his and kissing her again. Marta comes hard and fast against his hand. He lets her return the favor, and any lingering awkwardness that ought to result from getting off like a pair of horny teenagers on some kind of field trip is mitigated by the fact that the only comfortable way to sleep is wrapped around one another.
*****
The second time, remarkably, isn't until a few weeks later, once they've left the confines of the Captain's ship and have made their way deep into the heart of Bangkok. It's overrun with tourists and foreigners on business and it's remarkably easy to blend in. They've done nothing but the occasional kiss or brief touch while awake, and if they still sleep entwined despite having access to slightly larger beds, they can pass it off as habit now.
Hands stray in the middle of the night, welcomed and eager, but it feels like there are some kind of unwritten rules that they're playing by.
The odd combination of slow-burning, unnecessary, and unresolved arousal coupled with deepening attachment baffles Marta from a neurological point of view. Once they've started down that particular chemical path, it should be reinforcing and self-fulfilling. The brain is designed specifically with this in mind, to seek out and pair, attach, form bonds, to seek pleasure and to repeat pleasurable activities that will strengthen those bonds. It even occurs to her that, like with a runner's high, Aaron's more efficient system would be even more susceptible to such drives. The "emotional noise" she'd heard other researchers on the project refer to, a side-effect of both heightened cellular function from the greens and the heightened sensory activity from the blues should be at work in this, especially.
When she finds herself at what amounts to a small drug store, she sees a display of condoms and buys them before she really thinks about what she's doing. She doesn't get embarrassed about sex, but she feels surprisingly uncertain about how Aaron might react. Was it a convenient excuse? A way to keep sex out of their equation without hurting her feelings? After purchasing them she realizes just how readily available they've been since they reached the mainland, but he's never gone looking for them.
Of course, she hasn't either, and she's not sure why.
She leaves them on the makeshift table and since he probably won't be back from whatever he's been looking into until the middle of the night or later, she has a bare minimum of dinner and then curls up in their bed to sleep.
His hands wake her as they trace the lines and curves of her body with a gentle certainty and she can't help but arch into the touch. He kisses her senseless, but hands her the condom and makes her slide it over him so he's certain she's awake and that she wants this just as much as it turns out he does.
Aaron slides into her, stretches her because it's been awhile, but he feels amazing and it seems like all those weeks of touch and restraint were an intense kind of foreplay, so it doesn't take either one of them very long to climax. They rest with their foreheads pressed together and she works up the courage to ask him why they waited so long. He laughs, not unkindly, and rolls over with her still wrapped around him so that she's laying across him and he can look up at her.
"I wanted to know you were sure. I didn't want you to feel like you had to take me up on it." I have all the power here remains unspoken but true. She's learning, but still doesn't have a good enough handle on basic survival skills that he knows like the back of his hand. She's brilliant, picks up on languages and theory very quickly, but physical skills like self defense and hand to hand combat have a learning curve, and there are other skills like marksmanship that they can't very well practice in the middle of the city. Right now, right at this moment, he's as instrumental to her continued survival as she was to his when he was running out of medicine.
"I'm sure," she replies firmly and strikes another blow at the doubting voices in her mind.
They go through two more condoms before the sun comes up and they have to face the day.