Fic: Spies Do It Better 10 of 25
Title: Spies Do It Better
Authors: rufferto and kitty_trio
Fandom: Bourne Supremacy
Characters: Jason Bourne/Kirill
Prompt: #20 Protection
Word Count: 6708
Rating: NC-17, Slash
Disclaimer: It’s Fiction! Never happened. All lies from troubled minds. We do not own Jason, Kirill or any characters from the Bourne universe. Other characters are figments of vivid imaginations, any similarity to persons real or fictitious is merely incidental. No money made from this fantasy.
Author's Notes: Two young guns in spy school will not only learn to become lovers and assassins, but 'do it' against a backdrop of fluffy snags along the way.
This came from Karl’s comments about a running joke on the set that Kirill shot Jason’s girlfriend in Goa because the two had a ‘thing’ whilst in spy school together. Written for the 25fluffyfics Challenge.
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Banner manip as always, made lovingly by rufferto
Prompt 20: Protection
Jason is still busy packing a small duffle bag while he glances at Kirill in the kitchen and grins. "What's wrong? It's just a routine assignment. You taught me well how to use the sniper. It'll be fine."
“Smells bad,” is all the dark youth says. Something about the assignment definitely has a ‘hinky’ (as their C.O. means the term) feel to it. Bourne was called on specifically. Yet the assignment was close to the former Iron Curtain. The agency wasn’t even using Kirill’s familiarity with the region. Granted he’s just come off a long assignment and is overdue some downtime, but that hasn’t stopped the agency in the past when certain skills were needed.
The Russian swipes again at the clean counter, “Is not you that worries, smells,” he emphasizes.
Jason shrugs. He bends down to look under his bed and pull out his favorite pair of camouflage pants. "There they are." He wonders. "How'd they get under there? Kirill." He tosses the article into his bag and zips it up. The smaller man approaches the darker youth and puts a hand on his shoulder. "Everything's gonna be fine. Hey I get to stay in one of the fanciest hotels in Moscow. Ain't such a bad deal. Now. How’s my Russian?" He starts to speak in Kirill's native tongue. "I'll miss you too, Kirill, but you need the rest. You're still hurt from the last mission."
“Is nothing,” Kirill brushes off Jason’s concern with a flick of his bandaged arm. The knife wound is not deep, only bothersome as the stitches itch. He steps closer to the smaller man, breathing in his sun and sand scent. “Mission is ‘hinky’. Smells wrong,” he can’t explain his conviction that this is a set up of some sort. He can’t even explain to himself why he’s reluctant to let Bourne walk out the door.
“Be safe, return.” Kirill whispers, in his native tongue. He crowds Jason against the wall and lowers his dark head to steal a heated kiss.
Jason drops his bag on the floor and raises his hands to thread through Kirill's hair as his body responds to the kiss. He slides his tongue against his lovers, tugging at it, winding with it. His body fits easily to Kirill's and he’ll never get enough. When he parts for a shaky breath he smiles. "I'll miss my plane if we keep this up."
In fact the car is waiting outside. Jason's driver is Russian.
Reluctantly, Kirill steps back. He tosses the hank of hair Jason had pulled from the confining bands out of his eyes. Dark eyes watching Bourne’s every move, his tongue sweeps within and without his lips, savoring his lover’s taste.
Kirill remains motionless for long minutes after Bourne exits. Only when Percy jumps to the windowsill and parts the curtain, does he move. Instinctively standing out of sight from below he hungrily watches the blond speak with his driver and climb into the car.
A chance glance up as the driver opens the trunk, and Kirill’s heart stops. He’d know those features anywhere. A steely glint turns his eyes nearly black and all expression is wiped from his face as his mind races.
The plane trip was uneventful, and Jason's Russian passed him easily through security checks. His weapon he would pick up from his contact. It was the real thing finally. He was going to prove that he was worth of the name Jason Bourne. When his car arrived, Jason stepped into it confidently. He drove to the hotel flawlessly and checked in. All of his training had prepared him for this moment. He could find nothing wrong in the lobby of the hotel. His assignment was clear. A very influential Russian was going to be showing up in a few days and it was his job to eliminate the ruthless murderer. He only found it strange that Treadstone hadn't contacted him directly for the mission. They had made it clear that Jason's first solo would be their operation.
The commander of the training facility had explained that this was his test towards graduation, that because the operation was going to take place in Russia, the KGB would be his contacts. Jason hadn't liked it, but he really wasn't in a position to argue. Not yet. Kirill was worrying for nothing, his aim was now near perfect and his professionalism had greatly improved under his lover’s guidance. Jason takes off his jacket and looks around the hotel room. Plain and simple, nothing out of the ordinary. As far as anyone is concerned he’s a businessman. He closed the curtain, sweeps for bugs and sits down to go through the top secret file.
It took two days to make the needed arrangements. Moving silently through the darkened streets the slim figure was only noticeable when it crossed to the delivery bay. The bowels and back stairways of the old hotel were easily navigated on the route to the targeted room.
No one saw or remembered seeing the shadowy figure. No one could have kept him from his goal. Moving with a singular determination, the assassin used the housekeeping master key with nary a sound. Only a tiny sliver of light spilled in as the shadow slipped inside. Blending into the wall at his back, he took stock. The bed was empty, tangled covers turned back. A tiny noise from the bathroom brought his head around and gave away the occupant’s location. Two long strides and the figure had his target in sight. Two more and one gloved hand covered the other’s mouth while an arm bound in black leather slid around the target’s bare waist.
“Caught with pants around knees, not good.” Kirill tsked in Jason’s ear.
Jason -had- heard something, but at the last minute. He'd been reaching for his knife just when the hand closed over his mouth. He'd been about to jab his elbow back in his assailant's ribs until he heard Kirill's voice. "What?!" Jason swears angrily wrenching to get out of Kirill's hold. "What the hell are you doing here? Someone could have seen you. ...Kirill, let me go!" The strong arms keep him pinned, however and he doesn't want to try and hurt Kirill. He has no idea what the other is doing there. "What are you doing here?"
“Shhh,” Kirill purrs in one ear. “Thin walls. No one saw.” He breathes deep of Jason’s neck burying his nose in the soft dark blond hair behind that same ear. The arm pinning Bourne’s to his sides tightens and the other coasts down the angles of jaw, throat, and collar bone. The glove’s thin leather heating from contact with Jason’s skin.
“You inflame me,” the Russian breathes on a sigh. Avoiding any of Jason’s questions, the taller youth gives in to his desire to taste. Wetly his tongue rasps from ear to the clenched jaw and up to the corner of his lover’s wide mouth.
All feeling rushes to his already exposed shaft at the contact. He had -just- been using it after all. Christ, Kirill's voice was like a drug when he wanted it to be. His body tingles and he lets out his own breath in a shuddering sigh. He'd been so tense the last couple of days getting into position. Jason’s mind flicks back and forth from the mission to the present. His body refuses to move, feeling complete with Kirill behind him. "Wha...t...." he tries to make a sentence and fails completely.
“Don’t think, feel,” Kirill’s body quickens and his even respirations become ragged. All emotion had been suppressed when he’d discovered the scheme. Now, with Jason in his arms, the need of this man swells within him. His grip loosens and his gloved palms map every inch of the American’s skin. A low growl escapes as the thin leather is not enough contact.
He pushes and nudges until Jason is leaning against the basin. With his teeth Kirill plucks off one glove and works the fastenings of his trousers. “Lotion, something, now,” he pants, needing to be buried within his lover... before all hell breaks loose.
Jason indicates the soft soap on the side of the sink. "There..." He braces his hands against the counter, knowing well what is to come. "Kirill..." He gasps, his cock already jutting forward proudly. He suddenly didn't care what is going on, why Kirill is there. He just wants to be completely filled. To know again that there is someone who couldn't live without him. That part of him that he tried to bury during this mission just refused to accept the possibility of being without Kirill. Without love, need...without this.
Liberally coating his fingers, Kirill quickly spread the substance at Jason’s entrance. A slim finger quests within, pushing at the ring of muscle to relax it. It isn’t long before both men are panting, needing to fulfill their joining. Lips and teeth busy worrying the flesh of Jason’s neck, Kirill pressed within the tight channel.
Jason's legs start shuddering as he braces himself. He refuses to give in just yet though; wanting Kirill to work a bit more before he 'surrenders'. "Yeah..." He murmurs to himself, beads of sweat trickling down his neck. "I know you want me bad." He rocks back against Kirill's fingers.
“Will have you,” Kirill affirms in a growl. His fingers withdraw and the head of his cock pushes past the tight pucker. The taller youth leans over the smaller, driving deeper and deeper. The need for his lover is like an itch under his skin, temporarily appeased, but always there.
He bends his legs and drives deeper, intent on taking Jason to the heights of passion.
Jason's fingers tighten on the counter as Kirill drives further into him. The growl excites him and he moans sharply as his body is filled. Maybe it was just a dream, irrational love, need, but he didn't care right now. All that matters is that Kirill is -there-. "Kirill..." he whispers softly, almost a question, but more of a plea.
Kirill’s only answer is to take Jason’s straining erection in hand. The precome slicked organ strokes through his fist with each and every deep thrust into his lover’s willing body. He lowers his head to inhale the musk of their efforts wafting from Jason’s skin. The soft spot behind an ear draws his attention and he nips and laves the sensitive area.
Jason cries the Russian’s name, but this time it's more like the mewl of a kitten. Each thrust brings a new cry and murmur for more. The skin at his neck is already bruising nicely under Kirill's treatment, a clear mark of ownership. His own cock is already ready to erupt. Kirill was now an expert at touching him in all the right places. His body is tuned to the other man's fingers, his breath, and the feel of his skin. Everything about him.
The sun smell of Jason, the musk of sex, of heated leather, fills Kirill’s senses. He intensifies his strokes within the quivering passage and on the throbbing length. More growls flow past his lips as the possessive mark on Jason’s pale skin reddens.
“Now,” Kirill orders huskily. His climax is fast approaching and wants Jason’s shuddering release to push him over the edge.
Jason can't argue with Kirill in this kind of mood and he knows it. His release is automatically attuned to his lover's rough voice. His body belongs to Kirill, completely. Shuddering, his legs begin to give way and he tries to balance himself, stop from falling... but he isn't really falling. He's floating. Somewhere with his lover. In that one place no one can touch them.
The first shudder, first clamping of slick walls around his cock, pushes Kirill over. As Jason paints his fist and the basin, Kirill empties deep in his lover’s willing body. It takes a few deep lungs full of air before he can move.
Continuing light strokes on Jason’s softening cock; the Russian withdraws and reaches into a coat pocket. He balances the smaller man’s quivering frame between his long form and the counter. Laving his tongue once more over his mark, Kirill seeks the corner of Jason’s mouth. A sloppy kiss ensues as both arms run down the blond’s arms to twine their fingers.
A slight snick is covered by the dark youth’s moan… of regret. He dares not open his eyes to see the sated passion he knows will be in Jason’s. Face schooling into a blank canvas, he steps away. As silently as he arrived, he slips from the room, locking the bathroom door and then destroying the mechanism. The shadowy figure once again negotiates the hotel corridors to slide silently into the night. Jason is safe now. Time to confront his past.
Jason blinks several times as he tries to figure out what just happened. He tugs at his wrist, cuffed as it is. Kirill was very good at what he did and used his own weakness against him. Why? Jason tugs again, no use. Didn't Kirill think he could take care of himself? Furious, the young man grunts at his predicament. Eventually, the hotel maid would come in and he'd get set free, but how on earth is he going to explain this? Trust was supposed to be a part of a relationship and Kirill obviously didn't trust him to accomplish a pretty simple mission. He reached for warm soap and a hand towel to wash up and awkwardly manages to pull up his pants at least. There has to be a way he could get free of the cuffs, something he could use in the bathroom.
Jason glares at himself in the mirror, hands resting on the counter top. He obviously needs to get better at detecting people; Kirill managed to surprise him completely. How could he do this? Why didn’t Kirill believe he was capable of taking care of himself? He wasn’t a child!
The ends justify the means… Kirill tamps down his reasoning and any thoughts about personal consequences his actions will bring about. Jason alive is the most important factor. Especially if it means protecting his sunshine bright mate from Kirill’s past.
The quiet, expressionless figure travels through familiar alleys and hidden passages. The closer to his goal, the more silent and deadly he becomes. The denizens huddled in the refuse and pest infested pathways don’t notice his passage. The guards outside the back entrance to the club don’t either. With silent efficiency they are dispatched, and the dark youth slips inside. Motionless he adjusts to the noise level and strobe lighting from the main rooms.
Knowing where his Patron will be at this hour, Kirill avoids those alcoves. As he suspects, his target is on the balconies. Slinking up the stairs, his shadowy form parts the curtain at the back of the room. Again, the personal guard is dealt with without a sound. The girl servicing the corpulent lieutenant raises wide frightened eyes, but backs away quietly as directed by the point of Kirill’s weapon.
Before the man can protest the halt, a tongue once again travels from root to tip of his meaty cock. That’s followed by cold pressure against the base. “He always said your appetites will kill you one day, Vadym. Is this that day?” Tonelessly Kirill speaks, pressing the knife harder against the pulsing vein of the putrid rod.
Jason spent an hour at least fuming until he realizes he'll have to be inventive to get out of this. What he needed was something to pick at the cuffs with. He roots through the drawers and finally manages to improvise a pick from one of the plugs on the hotel drier. It would take a while but he fully intends to be free before Kirill returned! He’ll teach him a thing or two then!
The more Vadym splutters and calls Kirill every manner of gutter trash, the more Kirill slides into the dark space in his head. Why he’s here, knelt at this bastard’s feet, listening to the man who controlled his existence for so long. It’s an effort for Kirill not to finally exact revenge. Jason, sunlight smiles, is only glimmers in the back of the young man’s mind. But those tiny thoughts are enough to stay his hand. He is here to bargain, not kill one who his Patron has forbidden.
Finally the fat man winds down his diatribe. “Kirilka…” thick fingers coast over Kirill’s skull, down, and latch in the tightly bound hair at his nape. “How many times did I warn about having hair clients could grab?” A yank intending to pull the boy forward and hopefully dislodge the knife, only results in a sharp pain low in his groin.
“I am no longer your toy.’ Kirill’s voice is low, emotionless. Eyes blank of all emotion raise to his once tormentor. “My allegiance -as yours should- lies elsewhere. Does He,” Kirill refers to his patron, “know of your plotting to undermine my training?”
Jason wriggles and strains, trying to get himself into the right position to pick at the lock. His fingers are already slightly bruised and he has a small cut from the drier plug. He had already used just about every colorful word he knew. Kirill is going to pay for this! His wrist is chaffed and he’s hungry. If he didn't make the kill, it would look like he was not doing his job and he'd never get another chance with Treadstone. They'd drop him back into the world and someone else would take on this identity. He -is- Jason Bourne, for all intents and purposes, and he is not going to let anyone else take his place. The youth strains again, but despite all of his best efforts he remains trapped. His eyes flit around the room, desperate to find anything else that might help.
He needs something smaller, something easier to work with. Perhaps a nail? Could he get one of the nails out? He wracks his brains trying to think.
An hour later, Kirill left the way he’d come. His Patron’s lieutenant will never know that the bargain that was struck was to save Jason, not himself. Kirill would’ve promised much more than he’d had to, to keep the American safe.
Once the dark youth is far from the club, he pauses in a teaming alley. Emotions flit over his face too fast to classify. His stomach contents splash to join the other offal littering the bricks. Jason is safe, and is free from potential harm because of Kirill’s association with the youth.
The sky is lightening to a false dawn when Kirill slides cautiously into place at the target site. If he knew Jason at all the American should be along any time.
It had taken every effort for him to finally get a grip on the drain and use the plug to remove one of the nails. Jason is nothing if not resourceful. He pulled out the long nail and began to use it to pick the lock of his cuffs. In a matter of moments, he is free. All that he needed had been a smaller tool. Cursing, he tosses everything back into the sink and splashes water on his face. He has no time for anything else. He pulled on his gloves, wincing at the pain and rushes to grab his rifle which was hidden under the bed and was set up to look like a briefcase. He'll assemble it at the site.
Jason growls as he flags a cab and it manages to take him close to the site but not where he needs to get to. He's going to have to run the rest of the way due to the crowd.
The blonde grunts and rushes up the side stairs of the abandoned building. He had no time to notice the dark figure. A few minutes later he is in the designated room, putting together his weapon and feeling a chill slipping up his spine as he fell into the mindset of a trained killer. Timing was imperative on this mission, if he failed...
He didn't know what would happen if he failed this simple task. He closes his eyes a moment to will calm into his mind and finally he begins to breathe easier. He should be prepared for this, he should have no emotion. No remorse. Jason sets up his sniper and stares across the field of people to the dignitary he was assigned to kill. He frowns, noticing something that stays his hand.
Intent on watching Vadym’s men slip into place, Kirill almost misses the movement on the fire escape. One corner of his mouth quirked momentarily. Bourne is good, too good for Kirill’s past to stain his future. His fingers involuntarily snake up to clasp the bit of leather around his neck. Silently he vows to do all in his power to keep his sunshine light mate free from his darkness. Even sell his soul to a devil worse than the one he’d just bargained with.
Jason stares across the group of people, eyes on the female that he'd been sent to kill. The woman was responsible for atrocious crimes born from her high place in the political hierarchy. She was as deadly as she was ruthless. Jason is a trained killer; nothing should be stopping him from making the kill. He has only a few minutes to pull the trigger. He cocks his gun, the sniper trained at her forehead. One bullet would kill her instantly. This is his job.
It was barely noticeable, only the trained eye would have seen it. In the waiting limousine he could see the legs of a small boy. A child about to welcome his mother. Whatever she has done in the name of politics, the boy shouldn't have to watch his mother's death. Jason is still human and not cold enough to let this happen. He'll kill her, but not now. Not like this. If he didn't kill her, he'd be in big trouble.
Dressed as secret police the men slid into position. Kirill’s eyes flew from their rooftop, to the assemblage below, and the dark window to one side. Originally the security detail provided by his Patron was to turn a blind eye at the assassination attempt. Vadym bribed them to ‘discover’ and eliminate the foreign assassin. The loss of one young operative was well worth exposing the Western training facility, and garner Vadym much clout in the Russian underworld.
A shout from below, and a flash of a weapon high above started a chaotic chain of events. From his position, Kirill could see every entry point to Jason’s position. No one was getting past until hi mate left the way he’d come.
Jason took several deep breaths and closes his eyes, letting emotion drain from his face. He quickly put away his gun and is running silently before the police are even in the building. He curses when he finds that his main escape route was locked. Fuck. He'd been told it would be open. Jason swears again under his breath when he hears the chaos. He looks up and down the building. If he doesn't get out soon, it will be surrounded. He moves to the other side of the room and wrenches open a window. There is no one below, yet. He unwinds a wire and tossed it to a balcony on the other building. In a few moments he tumbles onto the balcony. Someone shoots at him; he dodged the bullet and is running through the second building. Then shots come from another direction. Jason frowns.
There is someone else involved? The guards are now focused on those gunshots allowing him the opening he needs to get out and slip into the shadows. Jason stumbles against a nearby alley wall when he is sure he has lost any pursuit. He winces as it appeared the gun has not quite missed its mark. It isn't bad, just hurts like hell. Jason checks the inside of his coat. It has grazed him.
Swearing profusely under his breath, Kirill charged down to the alleyway. Since when has Jason start improvising that way? The dark youth plunges after his mate, heart hammering in his throat. Unmindful of who may see or hear him, he turns down the passage he’d seen Jason’s form take. Small drops of fresh blood speeds his pace and quickens the pounding in his chest.
Jason wheezes, wondering what the hell the sharp pain in his chest is. The bullet is only a graze. It shouldn't hurt this much. His ears perk up, someone is following him. He’s trapped in the alleyway. He tries a door, shaking the lock frantically. He turns a corner, but the alley also leads to a dead end. Panting, Jason stands where he is, trying to find a way out.
There! The figure at the end. Kirill takes a glance down an off-shoot of the passage. That could only be Jason. The man draws his gun and aims. Kirill’s breathing hitches. He stares down the barrel of a large caliber weapon held steadily below blue eyes, cold as ice. “Niet, ‘tis me,” He’s in the shadows, and unsure if Jason even recognizes him. “The kitten wouldn’t like living only with you.”
Jason blinks several times trying to clear his head. He's having trouble remembering the voice, but he knows it means something to him. He isn't even sure what made him shoot when he was holding back in the first place. He doesn't lower the weapon. Jason Bourne looked back at Kirill, not the sunshine boy, but the cold eyes of the man that Treadstone designed. He may even have pulled the trigger if it weren't for the intense pain in his side. He cringes, backing up further away from Kirill. "Stay in the light, stay where I can see you." He speaks in Russian. He may have lowered the gun for a moment but it is aimed again.
Kirill's voice is penetrating his suddenly cotton-filled brain. What the fuck was going on? He couldn't think. There is blood on Jason's hand from the wound, which is more serious than Jason originally thought.
Hands out to his sides, Kirill steps under the weak glow of a street lamp. Again he mentions Percy and innocuous events from the flat only Jason and his lover would know. “She will shred your pillows, yes?”
After the hours of impassivity, only Kirill’s eyes reflect his internal emotions. The arm holding the weapon is steady. It’s the blood covering Jason’s hand and dripping from the elbow of his coat sleeve that has the dark youth’s gut churning. He’s sold his soul to keep this boy safe, only to possibly lose him because of an errant bullet.
Jason holds Kirill's eyes, sweat trickling from his brow. His emotions war internally. The cold calculating Jason Bourne tells him to pull the trigger, that the man is an enemy. That he can only rely on himself. The emotional boy cries out to be held in the arms of his lover, to pretend that he'd never pulled the trigger just now, that none of this is happening.
Finally, fatigue and pain win out over cold-hearted logic, and the gun lowers. Jason slumps against the wall and closes his eyes. "Kirill..." he acknowledges the man in front of him, voice filled with pain, "That wasn't me. I didn't..." The words lapse into a pain filled grunt as he sinks down the wall, gun falling to his side.
Kirill is at Jason’s side before he hits the ground. The gun is transferred to his pocket and the taller boy scoops the blond into his arms. It’s not that far back to Jason’s hotel and Kirill uses all the back passageways to their destination. Strong arm braced around Jason, he more carries than guides the smaller man to the underground delivery bay.
Shushing Jason’s raspy breathing; Kirill bypasses the service elevator locks. Silently he curses the drips of blood he can’t staunch with a portion of his leather coat. Thankfully the elevator opens to a dark corner just around from Jason’s room. His lover’s limp body seems too light a burden as he carries him the short distance.
Jason's brain is fuzzy and he can't seem to keep much straight in his head. All that matters is the gentle yet firm hands holding him upright and keeping him from looking away. "I love you." He slurs his words trying to fight consciousness.
Hallucinating, that has to be the explanation. Kirill nods to himself as he carefully places Jason on the bed. Silently, efficiently he strips away Bourne’s outer clothing. Dried blood sticks Jason’s shirt to his shoulder. Good, the through-and-through wound has stopped bleeding. He heads to the bathroom, barely noticing the door opened by the hinges.
Jason's eyes open a moment and he searches for the warmth of Kirill. "Cold..." He rasps, shivering. "Cold...don't go away..." He gropes at the air blindly. "Dark, hurts." He whines a little.
Shh,” Kirill moves back to Jason’s side. His hands are full of a dampened face cloth and towel. He presses gently around the wound letting the warm moisture loosen the dried patches. Carefully he eases the American’s shirt off, and studies the damage. The bullet had caught only a bit of muscle just beneath Bourne’s shoulder. Stitches would be preferred, but sterilizing the area and wrapping tight enough, the tear will heal without problem.
Jason opens his eyes to look at Kirill, "Are you stripping me so that you can fuck me senseless?" He asks, giving a hopeful, cheeky grin in spite of everything. Apparently the pain has made him somewhat delirious.
Definitely delirious and hallucinating Kirill muses, testing Jason’s forehead for fever. It’s slightly damp and warm, but not fever-hot. Knowing the antiseptic he found will sting, he blows lightly as he douses the wound.
Jason reaches out for Kirill's hair and tugs on it. "Tight," He complains. Jason loves it loose. He winces slightly as the antiseptic is applied. His mind is reeling from the recent days. Already it's shutting away the act as though it never happened. Jason sighs. "What happened? I can't remember..."
“Hurt, taking care of…shhh,” Kirill soothes automatically. The hank of hair Jason loosened falls across his face. A sigh puffs across Bourne’s neck. Already the blond is blanking out the assignment. Previously Kirill had attempted to help him recall his assignments for the special unit. Those efforts resulted in Jason becoming manic as pains wracked his body. Since then Kirill keeps his worries to himself and redirects Jason to assignments he does remember.
Jason continues his insistent tugging, eventually the thong loosens and he is able to card his fingers through the dark locks. Familiarity he craves right now. "I guess I got winged, huh?" He glances down at the wound. "Hope the other guy feels worse."
“Much, shhh, lie back,” Kirill places a hand in the middle of Jason’s chest. He finishes with some butterfly bandages and attempts to move out of his lover’s grasp. Deep concern evident in his eyes, he studies Jason’s face.
"What is it? It doesn't -feel that bad anymore…" He blinks a little and yawns. "Kirill," Jason's smile is brighter now. Then he frowns, looking at the door. "The last thing I remember clearly is getting those damn cuffs off. Which I owe you for," He 'growls' at Kirill.
“Making sure…” Kirill tugs his head, pulling out of Jason’s grip. His eyes lower, not wanting Jason to see his guilt. “Had my own… assignment…” he mumbles, wrapping gauze around Bourne’s shoulder. “Killed two birds with one rock, yes?”
To himself, he hopes the memory of what transpired in the bathroom also fades for his lover. There is no way he can reveal why he interfered and used sex to distract Jason.
"Stone. One stone." Jason grins, lifting himself up to help Kirill. "We need to work on your English slang. My head hurts badly." He sighs. "Feel like I must have bumped it or something."
Again, the dark youth’s hand pushes Jason gently to the mattress. “Yes, head bump,” he lies. “Stay, no move, bring medication.” He gathers the bandage supplies and wrappings and escapes to the bathroom. While he runs water, he sighs deeply. Concern and worry and anger at both ghosts of his past and whatever strange ‘thing’ causes Jason’s memory loss, tightens a knot in his gut.
Once in control, Kirill reenters the sleeping area. Sitting carefully on the edge of the bed, he helps raise Jason enough to chase down the headache tablets with a glass of water.
Jason swallows easily, somewhat petulant. "I'm not an invalid, just a bit sore." He protests at the careful treatment. "Still should beat you for that trick." He says, and mutters, "Maybe tomorrow." His eyes twinkle devilishly, oblivious to the worry in his lover's eyes.
“Rest, you need,” Kirill insists. He fluffs all the pillows and guides Jason to them. Twisting the other way he starts removing Jason’s shoes and clothing.
Jason smirks and looks over at Kirill. He does ease into the pillows, only wincing slightly this time. However he gropes at Krill’s shirt and tugs him onto the bed. "You should be punished for today." He says with a 'menacing look'. "Don't think I won't forget just because I don't have the strength!" His eyes belie his 'tone' as they sparkle with mischief.
Instantly Kirill’s body reacts to the glint in Jason’s eyes and the hard body beneath him. Then a blush suffuses his face. Carefully he tries to remove himself from his injured lover’s grasp. In his concern over Jason’s injury, he’d forgotten his encounter with his Patron’s lieutenant, Vadym.
Bile rises in the back of his throat, and the putrid smell of the man seems to once again overwhelm his senses.
"Kirill?" Jason's eyes knit together as he sees the blush. He leans back and yawns a bit. "Well, get undressed and come join me for now. Ok?" He looks uncertain, not sure what is going through Kirill's mind. His own is a chaotic ménage of fragmented memories at the moment trying to sort themselves out.
Kirill’s loosened hair dances wildly around his face as he shakes his head. Cheeks flaming, he ducks his head so Jason can’t read the self-disgust in his eyes. “Bathe, need…” he breaks Jason’s grip and dashes to the bathroom.
His hands tremble as he runs water to clean his teeth. The shower taps are turned to hot to allow the ancient Russian pipes to heat as much as possible.
Jason receives a phone call on his cellphone in the meantime. "Jason Bourne?" The voice is familiar. Jason frowns. "Do I know you?"
"Yes. Well done today. We at Treadstone are pleased. Goodnight."
The phone clicks and Jason stares at it, about five seconds later, he's out cold, asleep, cellphone in his hand.
Skin scrubbed pink, teeth cleaned -twice-, mouth rinsed (though he wished Jason used a more industrial strength product), Kirill redresses in boxers and t-shirt. A sigh expands his chest when he observes Jason out cold, ‘phone still in hand. Whatever subconscious triggers whoever on the other end of the call delivers, Bourne will sleep soundly for hours.
Leaving his hair loose, he wrings a few more drops of water from it, and climbs into the bed. Careful of Jason’s shoulder, he pulls the smaller man into his arms and stares at the ceiling, mind whirling.
Jason does sleep soundly, shifting into Kirill's arms after a while. He yawns when the sun comes up and blinks sleepily. Kirill's still with him, he's hurt, but not badly, and hungry. But first...
The blond leans over to nip at Kirill's neck, just to see if the other was asleep. "Mmm…” He purrs, rubbing against his lover's leg.
“Shhh,” Kirill whispers. Automatically a broad palm soothes down Jason’s back. After many hours of useless brooding, he’s somewhere between wakefulness and exhausted sleep.
What’s done is done. After he leaves the academy, his allegiance to his patron will be solidified. And, his body and soul will once again belong to Vadym, ghost of his past. Bourne, though, will be safe from interference from his dark past. Though concerned about the subliminal tactics of the Treadstone program Jason has been ‘lent’ to more and more often. It’s not Kirill’s place to question the authority of their superiors.
“Sleep in the sunlight where you belong.” The Russian youth mutters in his native tongue. “Leave the darkness and confusion behind, ‘tis not for one such as you. Sleep…”
Jason grumbles and yawns again. "Hell, my shoulder hurts." He complains as his fingers glide up Kirill's stomach to play with his belly button.
He yawns and stretches. "Feel like I've slept forever already 'sides..." He raises one eyebrow comically at his lover. "Why put this nice bed to waste?"
Jason's already forgotten about the mission particulars, and recent activity is only hazy. He wants to remain in the safety net of Kirill's arms. The man he wants more than anything in the world.
"Kirill, promise me something." He says softly, fingers moving up Kirill's stomach to play with a tightening nipple.
"No matter what happens promise me you won't forget."
Through gritted teeth, Kirill sighs, “Will keep memories for you.” It’s not his often mangled English, but a vow. As long as possible, through underworld connections or international organizations his patron has access to, Kirill will track this special soul’s movements. Bourne is too vivacious, too normal, to carry the weight of what their career path entails. That was the only conclusion Kirill came to during his long vigil of watching Jason sleep, and forget.
This time out of time, living on the edge of Jason’s sunshine, is worth carrying Bourne’s load as well as his own. Some day, when Jason returns fully to the light, he may be ready to retrieve those memories. Kirill will find a way to document them, deliver them to Bourne, even long after Kirill himself ceases to exist.
Jason gives a nod of relief. He rests his head against Kirill's shoulder and listens to his beating heart. It is the only steady sound that keeps him firmly planted. He did not want the future to come. He has a very bad feeling about the future.
"I also want you to promise me something else." He lifts his eyes to stare down at the beautiful dark angel at his side.
"I don't know what waits for me back in America. I barely know what Treadstone wants from me. If anything should happen, if there's a contract on me. I want it to be you. If there is any chance that I..." He sighs. "That I can snap out of it...you have to be the one."
“Yes, one shot, never felt,” is all Kirill says. The green of his eyes luminous in the early morning light, the dark youth lets Jason see the sincerity of his promise. “As well, you. Only you can find me in shadows. Only you, make me pause, give you opening, let you kill.”
"I care about you." Jason says softly, "So much." He twirls his fingers in Kirill's hair. "You're the closest thing I have to something real." He sighs. "I've never wanted anyone so much." He blushes a little.
"I just don't want to forget." He whispers with another sigh. "I don't want to forget you." The plea is almost desperate as his fingers massage the nipple in earnest.
"And I will find you Kirill." He says softly, "Wherever you are."
“And I, you,” Kirill vows, hand unerringly going to the leather necklace, the only physical gift he’s ever received. The gift of Jason is something he’ll prize to his last breath.
TBC
A/N: Oh, and we apologize for the boys slipping into more angst than fluff through this stretch. Mebbe the fact Percy had a friend over while her humans were gone will help?
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZEiqah_uWJM&mode=related&search=
Authors: rufferto and kitty_trio
Fandom: Bourne Supremacy
Characters: Jason Bourne/Kirill
Prompt: #20 Protection
Word Count: 6708
Rating: NC-17, Slash
Disclaimer: It’s Fiction! Never happened. All lies from troubled minds. We do not own Jason, Kirill or any characters from the Bourne universe. Other characters are figments of vivid imaginations, any similarity to persons real or fictitious is merely incidental. No money made from this fantasy.
Author's Notes: Two young guns in spy school will not only learn to become lovers and assassins, but 'do it' against a backdrop of fluffy snags along the way.
This came from Karl’s comments about a running joke on the set that Kirill shot Jason’s girlfriend in Goa because the two had a ‘thing’ whilst in spy school together. Written for the 25fluffyfics Challenge.
Click button for our Fluffy Table:
Banner manip as always, made lovingly by rufferto
Prompt 20: Protection
Jason is still busy packing a small duffle bag while he glances at Kirill in the kitchen and grins. "What's wrong? It's just a routine assignment. You taught me well how to use the sniper. It'll be fine."
“Smells bad,” is all the dark youth says. Something about the assignment definitely has a ‘hinky’ (as their C.O. means the term) feel to it. Bourne was called on specifically. Yet the assignment was close to the former Iron Curtain. The agency wasn’t even using Kirill’s familiarity with the region. Granted he’s just come off a long assignment and is overdue some downtime, but that hasn’t stopped the agency in the past when certain skills were needed.
The Russian swipes again at the clean counter, “Is not you that worries, smells,” he emphasizes.
Jason shrugs. He bends down to look under his bed and pull out his favorite pair of camouflage pants. "There they are." He wonders. "How'd they get under there? Kirill." He tosses the article into his bag and zips it up. The smaller man approaches the darker youth and puts a hand on his shoulder. "Everything's gonna be fine. Hey I get to stay in one of the fanciest hotels in Moscow. Ain't such a bad deal. Now. How’s my Russian?" He starts to speak in Kirill's native tongue. "I'll miss you too, Kirill, but you need the rest. You're still hurt from the last mission."
“Is nothing,” Kirill brushes off Jason’s concern with a flick of his bandaged arm. The knife wound is not deep, only bothersome as the stitches itch. He steps closer to the smaller man, breathing in his sun and sand scent. “Mission is ‘hinky’. Smells wrong,” he can’t explain his conviction that this is a set up of some sort. He can’t even explain to himself why he’s reluctant to let Bourne walk out the door.
“Be safe, return.” Kirill whispers, in his native tongue. He crowds Jason against the wall and lowers his dark head to steal a heated kiss.
Jason drops his bag on the floor and raises his hands to thread through Kirill's hair as his body responds to the kiss. He slides his tongue against his lovers, tugging at it, winding with it. His body fits easily to Kirill's and he’ll never get enough. When he parts for a shaky breath he smiles. "I'll miss my plane if we keep this up."
In fact the car is waiting outside. Jason's driver is Russian.
Reluctantly, Kirill steps back. He tosses the hank of hair Jason had pulled from the confining bands out of his eyes. Dark eyes watching Bourne’s every move, his tongue sweeps within and without his lips, savoring his lover’s taste.
Kirill remains motionless for long minutes after Bourne exits. Only when Percy jumps to the windowsill and parts the curtain, does he move. Instinctively standing out of sight from below he hungrily watches the blond speak with his driver and climb into the car.
A chance glance up as the driver opens the trunk, and Kirill’s heart stops. He’d know those features anywhere. A steely glint turns his eyes nearly black and all expression is wiped from his face as his mind races.
The plane trip was uneventful, and Jason's Russian passed him easily through security checks. His weapon he would pick up from his contact. It was the real thing finally. He was going to prove that he was worth of the name Jason Bourne. When his car arrived, Jason stepped into it confidently. He drove to the hotel flawlessly and checked in. All of his training had prepared him for this moment. He could find nothing wrong in the lobby of the hotel. His assignment was clear. A very influential Russian was going to be showing up in a few days and it was his job to eliminate the ruthless murderer. He only found it strange that Treadstone hadn't contacted him directly for the mission. They had made it clear that Jason's first solo would be their operation.
The commander of the training facility had explained that this was his test towards graduation, that because the operation was going to take place in Russia, the KGB would be his contacts. Jason hadn't liked it, but he really wasn't in a position to argue. Not yet. Kirill was worrying for nothing, his aim was now near perfect and his professionalism had greatly improved under his lover’s guidance. Jason takes off his jacket and looks around the hotel room. Plain and simple, nothing out of the ordinary. As far as anyone is concerned he’s a businessman. He closed the curtain, sweeps for bugs and sits down to go through the top secret file.
It took two days to make the needed arrangements. Moving silently through the darkened streets the slim figure was only noticeable when it crossed to the delivery bay. The bowels and back stairways of the old hotel were easily navigated on the route to the targeted room.
No one saw or remembered seeing the shadowy figure. No one could have kept him from his goal. Moving with a singular determination, the assassin used the housekeeping master key with nary a sound. Only a tiny sliver of light spilled in as the shadow slipped inside. Blending into the wall at his back, he took stock. The bed was empty, tangled covers turned back. A tiny noise from the bathroom brought his head around and gave away the occupant’s location. Two long strides and the figure had his target in sight. Two more and one gloved hand covered the other’s mouth while an arm bound in black leather slid around the target’s bare waist.
“Caught with pants around knees, not good.” Kirill tsked in Jason’s ear.
Jason -had- heard something, but at the last minute. He'd been reaching for his knife just when the hand closed over his mouth. He'd been about to jab his elbow back in his assailant's ribs until he heard Kirill's voice. "What?!" Jason swears angrily wrenching to get out of Kirill's hold. "What the hell are you doing here? Someone could have seen you. ...Kirill, let me go!" The strong arms keep him pinned, however and he doesn't want to try and hurt Kirill. He has no idea what the other is doing there. "What are you doing here?"
“Shhh,” Kirill purrs in one ear. “Thin walls. No one saw.” He breathes deep of Jason’s neck burying his nose in the soft dark blond hair behind that same ear. The arm pinning Bourne’s to his sides tightens and the other coasts down the angles of jaw, throat, and collar bone. The glove’s thin leather heating from contact with Jason’s skin.
“You inflame me,” the Russian breathes on a sigh. Avoiding any of Jason’s questions, the taller youth gives in to his desire to taste. Wetly his tongue rasps from ear to the clenched jaw and up to the corner of his lover’s wide mouth.
All feeling rushes to his already exposed shaft at the contact. He had -just- been using it after all. Christ, Kirill's voice was like a drug when he wanted it to be. His body tingles and he lets out his own breath in a shuddering sigh. He'd been so tense the last couple of days getting into position. Jason’s mind flicks back and forth from the mission to the present. His body refuses to move, feeling complete with Kirill behind him. "Wha...t...." he tries to make a sentence and fails completely.
“Don’t think, feel,” Kirill’s body quickens and his even respirations become ragged. All emotion had been suppressed when he’d discovered the scheme. Now, with Jason in his arms, the need of this man swells within him. His grip loosens and his gloved palms map every inch of the American’s skin. A low growl escapes as the thin leather is not enough contact.
He pushes and nudges until Jason is leaning against the basin. With his teeth Kirill plucks off one glove and works the fastenings of his trousers. “Lotion, something, now,” he pants, needing to be buried within his lover... before all hell breaks loose.
Jason indicates the soft soap on the side of the sink. "There..." He braces his hands against the counter, knowing well what is to come. "Kirill..." He gasps, his cock already jutting forward proudly. He suddenly didn't care what is going on, why Kirill is there. He just wants to be completely filled. To know again that there is someone who couldn't live without him. That part of him that he tried to bury during this mission just refused to accept the possibility of being without Kirill. Without love, need...without this.
Liberally coating his fingers, Kirill quickly spread the substance at Jason’s entrance. A slim finger quests within, pushing at the ring of muscle to relax it. It isn’t long before both men are panting, needing to fulfill their joining. Lips and teeth busy worrying the flesh of Jason’s neck, Kirill pressed within the tight channel.
Jason's legs start shuddering as he braces himself. He refuses to give in just yet though; wanting Kirill to work a bit more before he 'surrenders'. "Yeah..." He murmurs to himself, beads of sweat trickling down his neck. "I know you want me bad." He rocks back against Kirill's fingers.
“Will have you,” Kirill affirms in a growl. His fingers withdraw and the head of his cock pushes past the tight pucker. The taller youth leans over the smaller, driving deeper and deeper. The need for his lover is like an itch under his skin, temporarily appeased, but always there.
He bends his legs and drives deeper, intent on taking Jason to the heights of passion.
Jason's fingers tighten on the counter as Kirill drives further into him. The growl excites him and he moans sharply as his body is filled. Maybe it was just a dream, irrational love, need, but he didn't care right now. All that matters is that Kirill is -there-. "Kirill..." he whispers softly, almost a question, but more of a plea.
Kirill’s only answer is to take Jason’s straining erection in hand. The precome slicked organ strokes through his fist with each and every deep thrust into his lover’s willing body. He lowers his head to inhale the musk of their efforts wafting from Jason’s skin. The soft spot behind an ear draws his attention and he nips and laves the sensitive area.
Jason cries the Russian’s name, but this time it's more like the mewl of a kitten. Each thrust brings a new cry and murmur for more. The skin at his neck is already bruising nicely under Kirill's treatment, a clear mark of ownership. His own cock is already ready to erupt. Kirill was now an expert at touching him in all the right places. His body is tuned to the other man's fingers, his breath, and the feel of his skin. Everything about him.
The sun smell of Jason, the musk of sex, of heated leather, fills Kirill’s senses. He intensifies his strokes within the quivering passage and on the throbbing length. More growls flow past his lips as the possessive mark on Jason’s pale skin reddens.
“Now,” Kirill orders huskily. His climax is fast approaching and wants Jason’s shuddering release to push him over the edge.
Jason can't argue with Kirill in this kind of mood and he knows it. His release is automatically attuned to his lover's rough voice. His body belongs to Kirill, completely. Shuddering, his legs begin to give way and he tries to balance himself, stop from falling... but he isn't really falling. He's floating. Somewhere with his lover. In that one place no one can touch them.
The first shudder, first clamping of slick walls around his cock, pushes Kirill over. As Jason paints his fist and the basin, Kirill empties deep in his lover’s willing body. It takes a few deep lungs full of air before he can move.
Continuing light strokes on Jason’s softening cock; the Russian withdraws and reaches into a coat pocket. He balances the smaller man’s quivering frame between his long form and the counter. Laving his tongue once more over his mark, Kirill seeks the corner of Jason’s mouth. A sloppy kiss ensues as both arms run down the blond’s arms to twine their fingers.
A slight snick is covered by the dark youth’s moan… of regret. He dares not open his eyes to see the sated passion he knows will be in Jason’s. Face schooling into a blank canvas, he steps away. As silently as he arrived, he slips from the room, locking the bathroom door and then destroying the mechanism. The shadowy figure once again negotiates the hotel corridors to slide silently into the night. Jason is safe now. Time to confront his past.
Jason blinks several times as he tries to figure out what just happened. He tugs at his wrist, cuffed as it is. Kirill was very good at what he did and used his own weakness against him. Why? Jason tugs again, no use. Didn't Kirill think he could take care of himself? Furious, the young man grunts at his predicament. Eventually, the hotel maid would come in and he'd get set free, but how on earth is he going to explain this? Trust was supposed to be a part of a relationship and Kirill obviously didn't trust him to accomplish a pretty simple mission. He reached for warm soap and a hand towel to wash up and awkwardly manages to pull up his pants at least. There has to be a way he could get free of the cuffs, something he could use in the bathroom.
Jason glares at himself in the mirror, hands resting on the counter top. He obviously needs to get better at detecting people; Kirill managed to surprise him completely. How could he do this? Why didn’t Kirill believe he was capable of taking care of himself? He wasn’t a child!
The ends justify the means… Kirill tamps down his reasoning and any thoughts about personal consequences his actions will bring about. Jason alive is the most important factor. Especially if it means protecting his sunshine bright mate from Kirill’s past.
The quiet, expressionless figure travels through familiar alleys and hidden passages. The closer to his goal, the more silent and deadly he becomes. The denizens huddled in the refuse and pest infested pathways don’t notice his passage. The guards outside the back entrance to the club don’t either. With silent efficiency they are dispatched, and the dark youth slips inside. Motionless he adjusts to the noise level and strobe lighting from the main rooms.
Knowing where his Patron will be at this hour, Kirill avoids those alcoves. As he suspects, his target is on the balconies. Slinking up the stairs, his shadowy form parts the curtain at the back of the room. Again, the personal guard is dealt with without a sound. The girl servicing the corpulent lieutenant raises wide frightened eyes, but backs away quietly as directed by the point of Kirill’s weapon.
Before the man can protest the halt, a tongue once again travels from root to tip of his meaty cock. That’s followed by cold pressure against the base. “He always said your appetites will kill you one day, Vadym. Is this that day?” Tonelessly Kirill speaks, pressing the knife harder against the pulsing vein of the putrid rod.
Jason spent an hour at least fuming until he realizes he'll have to be inventive to get out of this. What he needed was something to pick at the cuffs with. He roots through the drawers and finally manages to improvise a pick from one of the plugs on the hotel drier. It would take a while but he fully intends to be free before Kirill returned! He’ll teach him a thing or two then!
The more Vadym splutters and calls Kirill every manner of gutter trash, the more Kirill slides into the dark space in his head. Why he’s here, knelt at this bastard’s feet, listening to the man who controlled his existence for so long. It’s an effort for Kirill not to finally exact revenge. Jason, sunlight smiles, is only glimmers in the back of the young man’s mind. But those tiny thoughts are enough to stay his hand. He is here to bargain, not kill one who his Patron has forbidden.
Finally the fat man winds down his diatribe. “Kirilka…” thick fingers coast over Kirill’s skull, down, and latch in the tightly bound hair at his nape. “How many times did I warn about having hair clients could grab?” A yank intending to pull the boy forward and hopefully dislodge the knife, only results in a sharp pain low in his groin.
“I am no longer your toy.’ Kirill’s voice is low, emotionless. Eyes blank of all emotion raise to his once tormentor. “My allegiance -as yours should- lies elsewhere. Does He,” Kirill refers to his patron, “know of your plotting to undermine my training?”
Jason wriggles and strains, trying to get himself into the right position to pick at the lock. His fingers are already slightly bruised and he has a small cut from the drier plug. He had already used just about every colorful word he knew. Kirill is going to pay for this! His wrist is chaffed and he’s hungry. If he didn't make the kill, it would look like he was not doing his job and he'd never get another chance with Treadstone. They'd drop him back into the world and someone else would take on this identity. He -is- Jason Bourne, for all intents and purposes, and he is not going to let anyone else take his place. The youth strains again, but despite all of his best efforts he remains trapped. His eyes flit around the room, desperate to find anything else that might help.
He needs something smaller, something easier to work with. Perhaps a nail? Could he get one of the nails out? He wracks his brains trying to think.
An hour later, Kirill left the way he’d come. His Patron’s lieutenant will never know that the bargain that was struck was to save Jason, not himself. Kirill would’ve promised much more than he’d had to, to keep the American safe.
Once the dark youth is far from the club, he pauses in a teaming alley. Emotions flit over his face too fast to classify. His stomach contents splash to join the other offal littering the bricks. Jason is safe, and is free from potential harm because of Kirill’s association with the youth.
The sky is lightening to a false dawn when Kirill slides cautiously into place at the target site. If he knew Jason at all the American should be along any time.
It had taken every effort for him to finally get a grip on the drain and use the plug to remove one of the nails. Jason is nothing if not resourceful. He pulled out the long nail and began to use it to pick the lock of his cuffs. In a matter of moments, he is free. All that he needed had been a smaller tool. Cursing, he tosses everything back into the sink and splashes water on his face. He has no time for anything else. He pulled on his gloves, wincing at the pain and rushes to grab his rifle which was hidden under the bed and was set up to look like a briefcase. He'll assemble it at the site.
Jason growls as he flags a cab and it manages to take him close to the site but not where he needs to get to. He's going to have to run the rest of the way due to the crowd.
The blonde grunts and rushes up the side stairs of the abandoned building. He had no time to notice the dark figure. A few minutes later he is in the designated room, putting together his weapon and feeling a chill slipping up his spine as he fell into the mindset of a trained killer. Timing was imperative on this mission, if he failed...
He didn't know what would happen if he failed this simple task. He closes his eyes a moment to will calm into his mind and finally he begins to breathe easier. He should be prepared for this, he should have no emotion. No remorse. Jason sets up his sniper and stares across the field of people to the dignitary he was assigned to kill. He frowns, noticing something that stays his hand.
Intent on watching Vadym’s men slip into place, Kirill almost misses the movement on the fire escape. One corner of his mouth quirked momentarily. Bourne is good, too good for Kirill’s past to stain his future. His fingers involuntarily snake up to clasp the bit of leather around his neck. Silently he vows to do all in his power to keep his sunshine light mate free from his darkness. Even sell his soul to a devil worse than the one he’d just bargained with.
Jason stares across the group of people, eyes on the female that he'd been sent to kill. The woman was responsible for atrocious crimes born from her high place in the political hierarchy. She was as deadly as she was ruthless. Jason is a trained killer; nothing should be stopping him from making the kill. He has only a few minutes to pull the trigger. He cocks his gun, the sniper trained at her forehead. One bullet would kill her instantly. This is his job.
It was barely noticeable, only the trained eye would have seen it. In the waiting limousine he could see the legs of a small boy. A child about to welcome his mother. Whatever she has done in the name of politics, the boy shouldn't have to watch his mother's death. Jason is still human and not cold enough to let this happen. He'll kill her, but not now. Not like this. If he didn't kill her, he'd be in big trouble.
Dressed as secret police the men slid into position. Kirill’s eyes flew from their rooftop, to the assemblage below, and the dark window to one side. Originally the security detail provided by his Patron was to turn a blind eye at the assassination attempt. Vadym bribed them to ‘discover’ and eliminate the foreign assassin. The loss of one young operative was well worth exposing the Western training facility, and garner Vadym much clout in the Russian underworld.
A shout from below, and a flash of a weapon high above started a chaotic chain of events. From his position, Kirill could see every entry point to Jason’s position. No one was getting past until hi mate left the way he’d come.
Jason took several deep breaths and closes his eyes, letting emotion drain from his face. He quickly put away his gun and is running silently before the police are even in the building. He curses when he finds that his main escape route was locked. Fuck. He'd been told it would be open. Jason swears again under his breath when he hears the chaos. He looks up and down the building. If he doesn't get out soon, it will be surrounded. He moves to the other side of the room and wrenches open a window. There is no one below, yet. He unwinds a wire and tossed it to a balcony on the other building. In a few moments he tumbles onto the balcony. Someone shoots at him; he dodged the bullet and is running through the second building. Then shots come from another direction. Jason frowns.
There is someone else involved? The guards are now focused on those gunshots allowing him the opening he needs to get out and slip into the shadows. Jason stumbles against a nearby alley wall when he is sure he has lost any pursuit. He winces as it appeared the gun has not quite missed its mark. It isn't bad, just hurts like hell. Jason checks the inside of his coat. It has grazed him.
Swearing profusely under his breath, Kirill charged down to the alleyway. Since when has Jason start improvising that way? The dark youth plunges after his mate, heart hammering in his throat. Unmindful of who may see or hear him, he turns down the passage he’d seen Jason’s form take. Small drops of fresh blood speeds his pace and quickens the pounding in his chest.
Jason wheezes, wondering what the hell the sharp pain in his chest is. The bullet is only a graze. It shouldn't hurt this much. His ears perk up, someone is following him. He’s trapped in the alleyway. He tries a door, shaking the lock frantically. He turns a corner, but the alley also leads to a dead end. Panting, Jason stands where he is, trying to find a way out.
There! The figure at the end. Kirill takes a glance down an off-shoot of the passage. That could only be Jason. The man draws his gun and aims. Kirill’s breathing hitches. He stares down the barrel of a large caliber weapon held steadily below blue eyes, cold as ice. “Niet, ‘tis me,” He’s in the shadows, and unsure if Jason even recognizes him. “The kitten wouldn’t like living only with you.”
Jason blinks several times trying to clear his head. He's having trouble remembering the voice, but he knows it means something to him. He isn't even sure what made him shoot when he was holding back in the first place. He doesn't lower the weapon. Jason Bourne looked back at Kirill, not the sunshine boy, but the cold eyes of the man that Treadstone designed. He may even have pulled the trigger if it weren't for the intense pain in his side. He cringes, backing up further away from Kirill. "Stay in the light, stay where I can see you." He speaks in Russian. He may have lowered the gun for a moment but it is aimed again.
Kirill's voice is penetrating his suddenly cotton-filled brain. What the fuck was going on? He couldn't think. There is blood on Jason's hand from the wound, which is more serious than Jason originally thought.
Hands out to his sides, Kirill steps under the weak glow of a street lamp. Again he mentions Percy and innocuous events from the flat only Jason and his lover would know. “She will shred your pillows, yes?”
After the hours of impassivity, only Kirill’s eyes reflect his internal emotions. The arm holding the weapon is steady. It’s the blood covering Jason’s hand and dripping from the elbow of his coat sleeve that has the dark youth’s gut churning. He’s sold his soul to keep this boy safe, only to possibly lose him because of an errant bullet.
Jason holds Kirill's eyes, sweat trickling from his brow. His emotions war internally. The cold calculating Jason Bourne tells him to pull the trigger, that the man is an enemy. That he can only rely on himself. The emotional boy cries out to be held in the arms of his lover, to pretend that he'd never pulled the trigger just now, that none of this is happening.
Finally, fatigue and pain win out over cold-hearted logic, and the gun lowers. Jason slumps against the wall and closes his eyes. "Kirill..." he acknowledges the man in front of him, voice filled with pain, "That wasn't me. I didn't..." The words lapse into a pain filled grunt as he sinks down the wall, gun falling to his side.
Kirill is at Jason’s side before he hits the ground. The gun is transferred to his pocket and the taller boy scoops the blond into his arms. It’s not that far back to Jason’s hotel and Kirill uses all the back passageways to their destination. Strong arm braced around Jason, he more carries than guides the smaller man to the underground delivery bay.
Shushing Jason’s raspy breathing; Kirill bypasses the service elevator locks. Silently he curses the drips of blood he can’t staunch with a portion of his leather coat. Thankfully the elevator opens to a dark corner just around from Jason’s room. His lover’s limp body seems too light a burden as he carries him the short distance.
Jason's brain is fuzzy and he can't seem to keep much straight in his head. All that matters is the gentle yet firm hands holding him upright and keeping him from looking away. "I love you." He slurs his words trying to fight consciousness.
Hallucinating, that has to be the explanation. Kirill nods to himself as he carefully places Jason on the bed. Silently, efficiently he strips away Bourne’s outer clothing. Dried blood sticks Jason’s shirt to his shoulder. Good, the through-and-through wound has stopped bleeding. He heads to the bathroom, barely noticing the door opened by the hinges.
Jason's eyes open a moment and he searches for the warmth of Kirill. "Cold..." He rasps, shivering. "Cold...don't go away..." He gropes at the air blindly. "Dark, hurts." He whines a little.
Shh,” Kirill moves back to Jason’s side. His hands are full of a dampened face cloth and towel. He presses gently around the wound letting the warm moisture loosen the dried patches. Carefully he eases the American’s shirt off, and studies the damage. The bullet had caught only a bit of muscle just beneath Bourne’s shoulder. Stitches would be preferred, but sterilizing the area and wrapping tight enough, the tear will heal without problem.
Jason opens his eyes to look at Kirill, "Are you stripping me so that you can fuck me senseless?" He asks, giving a hopeful, cheeky grin in spite of everything. Apparently the pain has made him somewhat delirious.
Definitely delirious and hallucinating Kirill muses, testing Jason’s forehead for fever. It’s slightly damp and warm, but not fever-hot. Knowing the antiseptic he found will sting, he blows lightly as he douses the wound.
Jason reaches out for Kirill's hair and tugs on it. "Tight," He complains. Jason loves it loose. He winces slightly as the antiseptic is applied. His mind is reeling from the recent days. Already it's shutting away the act as though it never happened. Jason sighs. "What happened? I can't remember..."
“Hurt, taking care of…shhh,” Kirill soothes automatically. The hank of hair Jason loosened falls across his face. A sigh puffs across Bourne’s neck. Already the blond is blanking out the assignment. Previously Kirill had attempted to help him recall his assignments for the special unit. Those efforts resulted in Jason becoming manic as pains wracked his body. Since then Kirill keeps his worries to himself and redirects Jason to assignments he does remember.
Jason continues his insistent tugging, eventually the thong loosens and he is able to card his fingers through the dark locks. Familiarity he craves right now. "I guess I got winged, huh?" He glances down at the wound. "Hope the other guy feels worse."
“Much, shhh, lie back,” Kirill places a hand in the middle of Jason’s chest. He finishes with some butterfly bandages and attempts to move out of his lover’s grasp. Deep concern evident in his eyes, he studies Jason’s face.
"What is it? It doesn't -feel that bad anymore…" He blinks a little and yawns. "Kirill," Jason's smile is brighter now. Then he frowns, looking at the door. "The last thing I remember clearly is getting those damn cuffs off. Which I owe you for," He 'growls' at Kirill.
“Making sure…” Kirill tugs his head, pulling out of Jason’s grip. His eyes lower, not wanting Jason to see his guilt. “Had my own… assignment…” he mumbles, wrapping gauze around Bourne’s shoulder. “Killed two birds with one rock, yes?”
To himself, he hopes the memory of what transpired in the bathroom also fades for his lover. There is no way he can reveal why he interfered and used sex to distract Jason.
"Stone. One stone." Jason grins, lifting himself up to help Kirill. "We need to work on your English slang. My head hurts badly." He sighs. "Feel like I must have bumped it or something."
Again, the dark youth’s hand pushes Jason gently to the mattress. “Yes, head bump,” he lies. “Stay, no move, bring medication.” He gathers the bandage supplies and wrappings and escapes to the bathroom. While he runs water, he sighs deeply. Concern and worry and anger at both ghosts of his past and whatever strange ‘thing’ causes Jason’s memory loss, tightens a knot in his gut.
Once in control, Kirill reenters the sleeping area. Sitting carefully on the edge of the bed, he helps raise Jason enough to chase down the headache tablets with a glass of water.
Jason swallows easily, somewhat petulant. "I'm not an invalid, just a bit sore." He protests at the careful treatment. "Still should beat you for that trick." He says, and mutters, "Maybe tomorrow." His eyes twinkle devilishly, oblivious to the worry in his lover's eyes.
“Rest, you need,” Kirill insists. He fluffs all the pillows and guides Jason to them. Twisting the other way he starts removing Jason’s shoes and clothing.
Jason smirks and looks over at Kirill. He does ease into the pillows, only wincing slightly this time. However he gropes at Krill’s shirt and tugs him onto the bed. "You should be punished for today." He says with a 'menacing look'. "Don't think I won't forget just because I don't have the strength!" His eyes belie his 'tone' as they sparkle with mischief.
Instantly Kirill’s body reacts to the glint in Jason’s eyes and the hard body beneath him. Then a blush suffuses his face. Carefully he tries to remove himself from his injured lover’s grasp. In his concern over Jason’s injury, he’d forgotten his encounter with his Patron’s lieutenant, Vadym.
Bile rises in the back of his throat, and the putrid smell of the man seems to once again overwhelm his senses.
"Kirill?" Jason's eyes knit together as he sees the blush. He leans back and yawns a bit. "Well, get undressed and come join me for now. Ok?" He looks uncertain, not sure what is going through Kirill's mind. His own is a chaotic ménage of fragmented memories at the moment trying to sort themselves out.
Kirill’s loosened hair dances wildly around his face as he shakes his head. Cheeks flaming, he ducks his head so Jason can’t read the self-disgust in his eyes. “Bathe, need…” he breaks Jason’s grip and dashes to the bathroom.
His hands tremble as he runs water to clean his teeth. The shower taps are turned to hot to allow the ancient Russian pipes to heat as much as possible.
Jason receives a phone call on his cellphone in the meantime. "Jason Bourne?" The voice is familiar. Jason frowns. "Do I know you?"
"Yes. Well done today. We at Treadstone are pleased. Goodnight."
The phone clicks and Jason stares at it, about five seconds later, he's out cold, asleep, cellphone in his hand.
Skin scrubbed pink, teeth cleaned -twice-, mouth rinsed (though he wished Jason used a more industrial strength product), Kirill redresses in boxers and t-shirt. A sigh expands his chest when he observes Jason out cold, ‘phone still in hand. Whatever subconscious triggers whoever on the other end of the call delivers, Bourne will sleep soundly for hours.
Leaving his hair loose, he wrings a few more drops of water from it, and climbs into the bed. Careful of Jason’s shoulder, he pulls the smaller man into his arms and stares at the ceiling, mind whirling.
Jason does sleep soundly, shifting into Kirill's arms after a while. He yawns when the sun comes up and blinks sleepily. Kirill's still with him, he's hurt, but not badly, and hungry. But first...
The blond leans over to nip at Kirill's neck, just to see if the other was asleep. "Mmm…” He purrs, rubbing against his lover's leg.
“Shhh,” Kirill whispers. Automatically a broad palm soothes down Jason’s back. After many hours of useless brooding, he’s somewhere between wakefulness and exhausted sleep.
What’s done is done. After he leaves the academy, his allegiance to his patron will be solidified. And, his body and soul will once again belong to Vadym, ghost of his past. Bourne, though, will be safe from interference from his dark past. Though concerned about the subliminal tactics of the Treadstone program Jason has been ‘lent’ to more and more often. It’s not Kirill’s place to question the authority of their superiors.
“Sleep in the sunlight where you belong.” The Russian youth mutters in his native tongue. “Leave the darkness and confusion behind, ‘tis not for one such as you. Sleep…”
Jason grumbles and yawns again. "Hell, my shoulder hurts." He complains as his fingers glide up Kirill's stomach to play with his belly button.
He yawns and stretches. "Feel like I've slept forever already 'sides..." He raises one eyebrow comically at his lover. "Why put this nice bed to waste?"
Jason's already forgotten about the mission particulars, and recent activity is only hazy. He wants to remain in the safety net of Kirill's arms. The man he wants more than anything in the world.
"Kirill, promise me something." He says softly, fingers moving up Kirill's stomach to play with a tightening nipple.
"No matter what happens promise me you won't forget."
Through gritted teeth, Kirill sighs, “Will keep memories for you.” It’s not his often mangled English, but a vow. As long as possible, through underworld connections or international organizations his patron has access to, Kirill will track this special soul’s movements. Bourne is too vivacious, too normal, to carry the weight of what their career path entails. That was the only conclusion Kirill came to during his long vigil of watching Jason sleep, and forget.
This time out of time, living on the edge of Jason’s sunshine, is worth carrying Bourne’s load as well as his own. Some day, when Jason returns fully to the light, he may be ready to retrieve those memories. Kirill will find a way to document them, deliver them to Bourne, even long after Kirill himself ceases to exist.
Jason gives a nod of relief. He rests his head against Kirill's shoulder and listens to his beating heart. It is the only steady sound that keeps him firmly planted. He did not want the future to come. He has a very bad feeling about the future.
"I also want you to promise me something else." He lifts his eyes to stare down at the beautiful dark angel at his side.
"I don't know what waits for me back in America. I barely know what Treadstone wants from me. If anything should happen, if there's a contract on me. I want it to be you. If there is any chance that I..." He sighs. "That I can snap out of it...you have to be the one."
“Yes, one shot, never felt,” is all Kirill says. The green of his eyes luminous in the early morning light, the dark youth lets Jason see the sincerity of his promise. “As well, you. Only you can find me in shadows. Only you, make me pause, give you opening, let you kill.”
"I care about you." Jason says softly, "So much." He twirls his fingers in Kirill's hair. "You're the closest thing I have to something real." He sighs. "I've never wanted anyone so much." He blushes a little.
"I just don't want to forget." He whispers with another sigh. "I don't want to forget you." The plea is almost desperate as his fingers massage the nipple in earnest.
"And I will find you Kirill." He says softly, "Wherever you are."
“And I, you,” Kirill vows, hand unerringly going to the leather necklace, the only physical gift he’s ever received. The gift of Jason is something he’ll prize to his last breath.
TBC
A/N: Oh, and we apologize for the boys slipping into more angst than fluff through this stretch. Mebbe the fact Percy had a friend over while her humans were gone will help?
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZEiqah_uWJM&mode=related&search=