The Bourne Ultimatum Slash fanfic - "Russia" - PART B
Title: Russia - PART B
Fandom: The Bourne Supremacy & Ultimatum
Pairing: Jason Bourne/Kirill
PART A
*********
When he woke, the first thing that entered Jason's mind was the pleasant soreness that he felt in places of his body where he usually didn't feel it. When he turned from his back to his side, there was a low burn in his buttocks and he smiled at the memory of the previous night. He stretched, taking pleasure in the softness of the sheets, then he opened his eyes and looked around in the bedroom. Kirill was nowhere to be found, but Jason hadn't expected anything else. He couldn't say if Kirill was just a very early riser or if he avoided waking up with Jason on purpose.
Jason got out of the bed and was surprised to find his clothes neatly folded on the chair next to the window. Kirill must have collected them this morning, because Jason was fairly certain he had lost his shirt somewhere in the living room. He grinned and pulled on his trousers and shirt, not bothering with shoes, and walked out in the hallway. He was greeted by the smell of fresh coffee, and when he turned the corner to the living room, he found Kirill setting a rather huge breakfast on the table.
“Morning.” Jason said quietly, his voice slightly rough from overuse last night.
Kirill turned, a mug close to his lips, and greeted him with a smirk on his face. “Good morning.”
Jason walked over to the table and Kirill held out the cup of steaming hot coffee. Jason accepted it with a grateful smile and took a sip. It was heaven on earth, even though it was incredibly strong.
“So, how do we find Vetrov?” Jason asked while he took another sip out of Kirill's mug and sat down at the table. “I assume we're not going to try to get him at work.”
“Niet. He is too well protected.” Kirill agreed and helped himself to the extraordinarily rich breakfast. It was far too much for one person, but the room service didn't need to know that it was meant for two. “The only way to get hold of him is cornering him in the 'Zone'. He is there every Saturday night.”
“That would be tonight.” Jason remarked and handed Kirill the coffee. “Isn't it a bit careless to develop such a routine?”
“Usually, yes.” Kirill nodded and accepted the mug. “But this club is one of the safest places for him in the city. Access is strictly limited and controlled. You can only get in by invitation or as a well-paying regular.”
“So how do we get in?”
“My face is well known there.” Kirill replied with a smirk. Jason was certain there was a wicked edge to it. “We will need to make some preparations, though.”
“But if it's such a safe place, won't he learn of your presence?” Jason pointed out and bit into his toast. “Won't the FSB be contacted? They do have a standing kill order out for you, after all.”
Kirill just nodded and took another bite of the fried eggs. “Of course they will know. I give us fifteen minutes, tops, before they arrive.”
Jason just saw one problem. “How do I get in? I'm not a regular, and I'm most certainly not invited.”
Kirill's smirk was openly mischievous this time. “You will have to pose as my current boy toy.”
***
Jason felt strange in his new outfit and wondered how the hell he had ended up playing bunny for a former Russian FSB agent who had once tried to kill him. Life sometimes took the most unexpected turns, really. Because he would never have thought to wear tight leather pants and a halfway unbuttoned white shirt under a heavy fur coat. Or spike his hair up with gel and wear kohl around his eyes. When he'd seen himself in the mirror, he almost hadn't recognised himself. He was fairly convinced he could have walked through the CIA Headquarters like this and nobody would have believed him that he was Jason Bourne.
One look at Kirill, who was walking next to him while they approached the entrance of the club, made Jason lick his lips in an unconscious gesture. The Russian knew how to dress up, that much was certain. He wore heavy boots that made him even taller than he already was and Jason noticed not for the first time that he was smaller than Kirill. Combined with black pants and a black shirt under a casual but elegant jacket he looked every bit like the confident FSB agent he had been only some weeks ago. He was so obviously comfortable in the surroundings that Jason wondered how much time he had spent in this club before things went south.
The entrance was nondescript and low-key, without knowing what lay behind, one would have walked past without ever giving it a second glance. The only sign that there was more to the simple white metal doors were the two men standing in front of it, both with the definite aura of bouncers. Kirill approached them without the slightest hesitation, his expression cool and superior, his movements confident and casual. The taller of the two men greeted Kirill with a nod and some friendly words, then his gaze wandered over Jason, giving him a once over that made the American want to hit him.
“You have found a nice one there.” The taller bouncer laughed, raising his hand towards Jason's face and the American had to force himself not to react and break every bone in that arm. It would have blown his cover most efficiently. Before the man could make contact, though, Kirill's hand had shot out and gripped his wrist hard, his eyes narrowing with definite threat. “He is mine.”
Jason was aware this was all part of their cover, but he wasn't prepared for the deep possessiveness in Kirill's voice, wasn't prepared for the wave of arousal that swept through his body at the low words. He just knew that Kirill meant what he'd said and Jason had to fight not to let his reaction show.
The tall bouncer retreated immediately, his free hand raised in a defensive gesture. “All right, all right. He's yours.”
Kirill inclined his head in a short nod and let go of the man's hand, then he wrapped a demonstrative arm around Jason's shoulders. The second bouncer opened the door and let them in.
“Enjoy.” he said, his face expressionless, and closed the door behind them.
***
Kirill scanned the club unobtrusively while they made their way over to the bar. His gaze found Vetrov easily. Having spend so much time here, Kirill knew the habits of the patrons, of the staff, of the ever-present hookers. He turned and pulled Jason against him as if he was just groping him, but instead he used the closeness to talk to him. “Vetrov is in the booth to the right of the bar, a woman on each side of him.”
He felt Jason turn as if he was nipping Kirill's neck, instead the American peeked over Kirill's shoulder and assessed the situation. “Broad build, short hair, in his late forties?”
“Da.”
“Time is running. I'll approach him, get him to the darkroom.” Kirill felt Jason hesitate a moment. “And you are certain he will fall for it?”
Kirill gave a harsh snort. “Believe me, you are exactly his type. Your face will fascinate him. He likes the boyish look. It was one of the reasons I was always safe - I never had that look.”
Kirill felt Jason nod, then there was a quick press of lips on his collarbone before Jason had pulled away and was casually walking through the dancing crowd. Kirill stared after him, resisting the urge to put his hand on the spot Jason had just kissed, and couldn't decide if he wanted to smile or frown in confusion. Well, now was not the time to think about it.
They had less than fifteen minutes before hell would break loose.
***
Jason let the music flow into his movements while he positioned himself so that Vetrov just had to notice him. Out of the eye he saw Kirill disappear in the crowd, making his way over to the back of the club. Jason let his gaze travel over to Vetrov and hid a smirk when he found that he had already gained the man's attention. Vetrov was looking at him openly, letting his gaze wander over Jason's body appreciatively and gave him a smile when the American looked at him. Jason kept moving to the music, making sure his motions were slow and sensual, and raised an eyebrow at Vetrov in question. The Russian gave a little nod and got up, the women at his side glaring at Jason openly for the theft of their potential customer.
Jason held Vetrov's gaze when he walked over and before the man could reach him, Jason turned to make his way over to the darkroom, his steps unhurried, moving his hips with a little swing. He threw a teasing gaze over his shoulder and made sure Vetrov was indeed following him. There was no need to worry. Kirill had been right about his former superior. There was a leer on the otherwise handsome face, the eyes dark with lust and his whole body radiated sexual tension.
***
Stanislav Vetrov was a man of taste. He knew beauty when he saw it, and that young man was definitely a beauty. Unusual for this place, but that only made him more fascinating.
Vetrov followed the young man who was walking towards the darkroom with a slow swing to his step that made his hips move in a very tempting way. It would be satisfying to break this young man, to see him lose his mind to pleasure and to make him submit to Vetrov. If he had potential, maybe it would be fun to keep him around for another round later on, Vetrov thought while he opened the door that had just begun to fall shut after the young man. The noise of the loud music in the club was dulled by the soundproof walls of the darkroom, the red lighting creating an intimate atmosphere, and Vetrov saw the young man just as he disappeared around the corner with a teasing smirk on his boyish face.
Oh yes, this was going to be fun. With a smirk of his own, Vetrov followed him. He stopped dead in his tracks when he felt the unmistakable shape of the muzzle of a gun press to his temple just as he came around the corner.
“Nice to meet you again, old friend.” The voice was familiar, but he hadn't expected to ever hear it again. When he turned his head slightly, he looked right into the face of his former apprentice who had the gun pointed securely at Vetrov's head. Kirill always aimed for the head, it had been one of Vetrov's lessons.
“Kirill. What a surprise.” Vetrov remarked with a raised eyebrow, careful not to make any harsh movements. He knew this man inside out. He had made him, had trained him, had defined what he thought, how he thought, so he knew Kirill would pull the trigger if he was provoked. “What brings you here?”
“You didn't expect to see me again, did you?” Kirill asked quietly, his face blank. “After you'd loaned my services to Gretkov, you thought he would solve the problem for you.”
Vetrov looked at the younger man, let his gaze travel over his face, his whole appearance. He looked different, not only because he had obviously given up on his military haircut, but also because of the expression in his eyes and... something else. It annoyed Vetrov that he couldn't really put his finger on what it was.
Suddenly, the young man whom Vetrov had followed here appeared behind Kirill. He held a watch in his hand, obviously synchronising it with his own, then he took hold of Kirill's left hand and put the watch on his wrist. When the man turned and gave Vetrov a sharp glance, there was nothing left of the teasing boy he'd seen in the club. This man was a professional assassin, Vetrov was certain of that. He wondered how he could have fallen for the charade, how he couldn't have seen it before.
“Set on eight minutes and running.” the man said in a low voice, an unmistakable American accent to his Russian.
Kirill just nodded, and the man touched a hand to the nape of Kirill's neck in a quick gesture that Vetrov could only call tender, then the man turned and left. Who was this man that Kirill obviously worked with? Seemed to trust him even though he'd always been taught not to trust anybody save his superiors? Vetrov felt even more annoyed at the realisation that he didn't have all the information, that he didn't have the upper hand at the moment. He had to change the odds, turn the tables. Push Kirill's buttons and distract him.
“What are you here for, Kirill?”
“Do you really have to ask that?” His apprentice replied with a raised eyebrow. Sometimes Vetrov forgot the sharp sarcasm that Kirill possessed but rarely showed.
“Do you honestly think that there's a way for you to come back? Face the facts, Kirill.” Vetrov said and gave his former apprentice a disdainful look. “You failed your mission. You failed it twice. I had expected more from you.”
He felt a measure of satisfaction to see that his words had found their target, that he had hurt Kirill not only in his professional pride, but in his very identity. His weakness was going to turn into Vetrov's strength.
“I succeeded in Berlin.” Kirill replied with a snarl.
“You shot the handler and his CIA contact, got the money and the files, but then instead of your mark, you shoot his girlfriend and he walks and causes trouble to no end.” Vetrov added in the same dismissive voice. “You are a failure. And the FSB doesn't tolerate failures.”
“Who says that I want to return to the FSB?” Kirill asked, the pressure of the gun against Vetrov's head never easing, never wavering. He had a tight grip on his emotions and on his body, one of the reasons he had been one of Vetrov's best students.
“You will always be a killer, Kirill. It's the only thing you know how to do. It's the only thing we ever taught you.” Vetrov made sure his voice was calm, certain, superior. “And that's why you won't shoot me, because you only want back into the world you knew and I am the only way back in.”
“I don't think so.” Kirill's voice was cold, his gaze calm, satisfied, as if he had just understood something. “What I do is my choice.”
Maybe he didn't know Kirill as well as he thought he did, Vetrov wondered just before he heard the shot being fired.
***
Jason left through the backdoor of the club, walking around the block in a casual speed so he didn't attract any attention. He headed straight for the old car parked in the side alley, got in and entered the late night traffic. He could already hear the sirens of the police close by. He smirked. Right on time. Anonymous tips sometimes worked wonders.
It took him only a few minutes to reach the pier and he made sure to park in the shadows out of sight of the street. He opened the trunk, quickly pulled off his clothes and changed into the black wet suit. He quickly checked his watch, then he donned the air tank.
He slid into the cold water of the Moskva River only a few seconds later.
***
Kirill waited just long enough on the roof of the low annex building of the club until he saw the trademark black cars of the FSB and the white-blue police cars pull in in front of the club, then he made sure he was seen before he jumped. It was only when his feet connected with the ground and he felt a flash of searing pain shoot through his right leg that he remembered why jumping off buildings was something he should avoid in the future. He gritted his teeth and hurried over to where he'd parked the black Mercedes and slid behind the wheel. He pulled out with enough speed to make the tyres screech, and a quick look in the rear mirror showed him that there were three police cars ad two black limousines on his tail.
Perfect.
Kirill stepped on the gas, speeding down the street, worming his way through the cars on his lane. The sound of the sirens was loud behind him and Kirill changed course when he reached the crossing that would lead him down to the Moskva River bank. He made sure he didn't loose his tail, then he gave his watch a quick glance. He was just in time.
The bridge came into view. The traffic light was red and the cars had begun to queue in front of it. Kirill thanked chance for being so kind to him, it gave him a perfect reason to venture in the lane of the oncoming traffic. He turned the wheel, the Mercedes left the lane and ventured over the central dividing strip. The oncoming cars honked and pulled out of his way in panicked manoeuvres. Kirill waited for a bus to come straight at him, then he suddenly turned the steering wheel as if he was trying to avoid collision. The Mercedes spun over the lane, straight at the brim of the bridge, then it broke through the railing and shot over the edge.
The impact with the surface of the river was hard and Kirill shielded his head the best he could. Water entered the car immediately, filling it up and making it sink. The cold hit Kirill in the face and cleared the haze in his head. His body came to life, he quickly opened the seat belt, took a deep breath and pushed at the door of the car, then he kicked off with his leg, leaving the sinking vehicle behind.
Only seconds later he felt a hand grip his arm, then a diving mask was pressed against his mouth and he took a deep breath.
***
Once he'd gripped him, Jason never let go of Kirill's hand. With his diving goggles, Jason was the only one of them who could see something in the murky water, and he knew the way to the part of the shore where they had planned to leave the water, far enough from the bridge to avoid being seen. And they had to get there quickly, the water was very cold, and Kirill didn't have the protection of a wet suit. Even with the tank providing the necessary air to breath, he wouldn't last longer than a few minutes.
Jason tightened his grip and pushed on.
***
The way to the place Kirill had in mind seemed to be a lot longer than he thought it would be. The jump off the roof hadn't been his best idea, his leg hadn't taken it too well and the pain intensified with every step. He knew his limp was quite pronounced right now, but there was nothing he could do about it at the moment. They needed to get to the apartment, off the street, out of the soaked clothes. He could take care of his injury then.
Jason was walking next to him, a concerned frown on his face, but he didn't say anything. Kirill appreciated it, he knew he wouldn't react well to any offer of help right now. Vetrov's words still stung.
They passed the way in silence and when they reached the building, Kirill unlocked the door and they took the lift up to the third floor. He opened the door to a flat to their right and entered, not turning to see if Jason followed. He just knew he would.
“We can stay here for the night.” Kirill said while he began to strip off his wet jacket. “Nobody knows about this place. It's as safe as we can be in Moscow.”
He heard Jason close the door, and turned to throw him a glance while he toed off his boots. There was water inside of them. “Make yourself at home. I'll take a shower.”
Kirill limped past him, pulling off his shirt while opening the door to the bathroom. Only when he was sure he was out of sight, he allowed to give into the pain and he leaned heavily on the washbasin. He gritted his teeth, willing the pain in his leg to go away. He closed his eyes for a moment, focussing on the task. He wasn't prepared for the hand that suddenly lay warm and flat against his thigh, for the presence of Jason's bare chest in his back. He must have taken off the wet suit, Kirill thought distractedly and tried not to flinch at the sudden touch.
“Show me how I can ease the pain.” Jason's voice was low, close to his ear, his warm breath touching Kirill's skin. Kirill couldn't suppress the shudder that ran through his body and he knew Jason felt it. He wasn't used to somebody taking care of him, to somebody wanting to make him feel better. He was confused, didn't know how to react to this, didn't know what to do.
Then the hand began to pass over his thigh, down to his knee, with gentle pressure, tracing his cramped muscles through the soaked trousers, and Kirill couldn't hold back a content groan as the pain eased. Instinctively, he leaned into the touch.
Jason's lips touched his neck, pressing to his skin, the tongue passing over his flesh. “Show me, Kiryusha.”
Kirill's eyes flew open at the name, his body stiffened for a moment, his mind suddenly racing. He hadn't been called that in a very very long time. And to hear it from Jason, his voice low and rough, weaving around the name like a caress, was something he had never expected to happen, had never even thought about. Yet he was absolutely certain that Jason knew about the connotation, about the meaning, knew what he told Kirill by choosing to address him by it.
After a moment, the tension left his body and he allowed himself to lean against Jason's solid form behind him, then his hand slowly slid down, covering Jason's. His fingers pressed along Jason's, guided their way, their pressure and their movements along his leg in the slow, firm massage that always managed to relax his muscles, ease the pain. This was the first time there was a new component to it, something that was sensual in an entirely different way from the physical therapist's touch, something that went deeper than skin and muscles.
“Allow me to make you feel good.” Jason's left hand settled on Kirill's waist, slowly beginning to trace a random pattern on the skin of his stomach, his chest, his left arm. His lips wandered along Kirill's shoulder and his neck, his right hand never ceasing the firm but gentle massage. “Please, Kiryusha.”
Kirill shuddered at the sound of the affectionate form of his name that felt like a most intimate caress. He couldn't say when his eyes had closed, when his head had fallen back to rest on Jason's shoulder, granting better access for the lips on his neck. He allowed himself to let go of his control, his tight grip on his body, trusting Jason to hold him, to keep him safe, to protect him in this moment of vulnerability, instinctively knowing that he would.
“Say it again.” Kirill growled and pressed back against Jason. He wanted to hear his name in that rough voice again.
“Please...” Jason bit down on his neck, his hand scratching none too gently over a nipple. “... Kiryusha.”
Kirill couldn't help the low groan. He felt Jason's hand wander to his fly, then his uncomfortably clammy trousers were peeled off his skin and he was pushed gently into the shower stall. Jason was right behind him again, testing the temperature of the water, and then the warmth was flowing over Kirill's chest, Jason pressed into his back and his hand returning to Kirill's thigh to resume the gentle massage.
It felt like heaven, relaxing and arousing at the same time, and Kirill couldn't help the way he melted against Jason, wanting desperately to trust, to let go, to allow his guard to come down for a few hours.
***
Jason pressed against the Kirill's body, biting his earlobe, his right hand still massaging the Russian's bad leg while he manoeuvred the two of them under the hot spray of water, letting it do its work to warming them up after the cold bath in the Moskva River. He was intoxicated by the soft sounds that escaped Kirill's lips, by how the Russian's body had melted against him, arching into his every touch.
“Let go, Kiryusha.” Jason murmured against the skin of his neck and the shudder that passed through his Russian was the most satisfying feeling he'd ever experienced. He loved how Kirill reacted to the affectionate form of his name, how it seemed to touch him more deeply than any physical caress ever could. He wanted Kirill to know what he meant to him and when his mind had provided a profound knowledge about Russian names that he couldn't remember learning, he'd known the perfect way that would make Kirill understand. And it seemed to work very well.
Jason let his left hand wander over the expanse of Kirill's chest, teasing his nipples, then he let it slide lower until it found Kirill's hardening shaft and wrapped around it in a firm grip. He bit the shoulder in front of him, while he began to move his hand in a maddeningly slow rhythm, wanting Kirill to lose control, to give everything he was. Wanted him to forget about the world, to live in the here and now, in the pleasure of the moment, content with what they had.
“I want you.” Jason murmured into the ear under his lips. “Will you allow it?”
In response, he felt Kirill spread his legs, pressing back and making Jason's erection slip between his thighs, head falling back on Jason's shoulder. “Da, Jason... Yes.”
Kirill's voice was hoarse, his accent so thick his words were barely understandable, but it was answer enough, and Jason understood the trust he was given, the meaning of this permission. He turned his head and claimed Kirill's mouth, his tongue sliding against his, deep and slow and teasing, making a promise. Kirill returned the kiss just as fiercely, his hand finding Jason's jaw, pulling him closer until the angle in which Jason had turned his head almost began to hurt. Jason didn't care, just met the challenge, all the while slicking his fingers with the shower gel that stood on the rack.
He applied a generous amount, then he intensified the kiss and let one finger tease Kirill's opening, playing around it, sliding in with careful pressure. He found less resistance than he had expected, moved in and out, added a second finger, scissoring, stretching the muscle ring. He took his time, not wanting to hurt Kirill, and applied even more of the shower gel before he dared to position himself at Kirill's entrance. He stilled when the head of his hardness pressed against the loosened muscle, kissing the Russian's shoulder in a wordless question for permission.
“Jason.” Kirill said with this strong accent in his hoarse voice and still managed to sound chiding as well as amused. “I'm not doing this for the first time. Move!”
Jason could only nod, he knew he wasn't able to form words right now, then he pressed in in one slow, measured thrust. Kirill, arched back against him, his breathing quick and laboured, his eyes pressed close, his mouth opened in a silent moan.
Jason slid almost completely out, then he pushed back in, taking up a slow and teasing rhythm, his hands never easing their firm hold on Kirill's hips. He felt Kirill's hand digging into the skin of his neck and he knew there would be marks tomorrow, but he didn't care the least. He just enjoyed Kirill's harsh pants, his sensual movements against Jason's body, pressing back onto his erection with equal passion, every thrust accented by a hoarse growl when his prostate was hit.
“Faster!” Kirill's voice ordered roughly, his right hand finding Jason's thigh and clawing into the flesh.
Jason couldn't help the groan that escaped him at the touch, his hips following the command, speeding up the pace, thrusting faster and faster. Kirill met his every movement, his breath quickening, biting his bottom lip. Jason lost focus on the world, the only things he were aware of was his connection with his lover, the sound of Kirill's growls, his hand on Jason's thigh, the friction on his erection. He felt climax build quickly and he took hold of Kirill's hardness, jerking him in turn with his thrusts.
“Come for me, Kiryusha.” Jason growled in his ear, astonished at how rough and hoarse his own voice was.
As if the sound of his name had triggered his orgasm, Kirill came with a harsh shout, his back arching, his interior muscles clamping down on Jason's erection, the extra stimulation making him see stars. Jason felt his release pump out of him into Kirill's body that was still clenching down rhythmically around him and he had to fight to stay conscious, to keep his legs from giving out. He reached out with his hand to support himself on the wall, the other hand still wrapped around Kirill's softening member.
“My leg will give out.” Kirill murmured between two harsh breaths and Jason had problems understanding him, even though he couldn't say if it was due to the thick accent that he found so utterly attractive, or because his brain had shut down. He just felt Kirill sink down and wrapped his arm around his waist, slowing his descent, sliding down along with him. He felt boneless, all his energy had left him all of the sudden.
The warm water was washing away the remains of their lovemaking, constantly raining down on them in a gentle spray. Jason leaned with his shoulder against the tiles, his arms wrapped around Kirill in a loose embrace. The Russian rested against him heavily, his breathing only slowly returning to normal.
“Bed?” Jason asked after a long time and pressed a kiss to Kirill's wet hair, right over the surgical scar.
He heard Kirill chuckle. It was a beautiful sound. “If you carry me there...”
***
When Jason woke the next morning, the sun hadn't risen yet. He needed a moment to orientate himself, to remember where he was. He felt a warm body under his and found that he had cuddled up to Kirill's side. The Russian's arm rested securely around Jason's shoulders, his face was relaxed in sleep.
Jason took the opportunity to watch him undisturbed. Until now, he'd always woken to find Kirill already gone. He let his hand brush away a few strands of dark hair that had fallen into the sleeping face, then he bend down and pressed a lingering kiss to Kirill's neck.
“Good Morning, Kiryusha.”
A soft smile spread over Kirill's face.
***
Gretkov was greeted by the familiar sight of his assistant waiting for him with a cigarette when he entered the meeting cell. He knew immediately that something had gone wrong.
“There have been complications, sir.” Nemov confirmed his suspicion only a moment later.
“What kind of complications?” Gretkov asked while he blew out the blue smoke in a straight line.
“Our man was found dead in Tangier, sir.”
Gretkov narrowed his eyes and gritted his teeth. “This rogue agent is far more trouble than he is worth.”
“That's not everything, sir.” Nemov continued, his face impassive. “Vetrov was killed last night, sir.”
“He goes after those who ordered the hit on him. He will come after me, now.” Gretkov said in a low voice, a frown on his face. He took a deep pull from his cigarette and leaned back in the metal chair. This was not good. He was relatively safe behind the walls of the prison - what perfect irony - but he didn't doubt the assassin would find a way to get to him if he really wanted to kill him. This problem needed to be solved once and for all. “Take care of this situation, Andrei. Get him out of the way.”
Nemov nodded. “Yes, sir.”
Gretkov gave him a hard stare. “And do it right this time.”
***
“Here he comes.” Kirill said and watched Andrei Nemov get into his car. Nemov started the motor and drove off the parking lot of the prison, turning right to get back to the city centre. He had gone through all the moves Kirill had predicted and they'd easily found his car in front of the prison this morning. It had been a matter of seconds to install the tiny explosive device.
Jason pulled into the traffic to follow the black Mercedes in some distance. Kirill sat in the passenger seat, the remote trigger in his right hand, a scope in the left. He observed the traffic carefully, waiting for the right moment to press the button. The detonation would only be strong enough to make Nemov lose control of the car, so it had to be perfectly timed that he would end up in an accident that would be fatal. When Jason saw the shape of a huge truck approaching a crossing in some distance, he knew Kirill was going to aim for it.
He had been right. When Nemov wanted to brake to stop in front of the red light, Kirill set off the bomb and the car spun out of control. The brakes failed and Nemov couldn't keep the car from driving straight into the line of the crossing traffic. The truck crushed into the driver's side of the car with the harsh sound of bending metal and shattering glass, compressing it to half its size. There was no way Nemov could have survived that.
Kirill and Jason mixed with the onlookers and stayed at the scene long enough to see their assumption confirmed when the paramedics wrapped the body of the car's driver in a black plastic bag.
***
'The trial of oil magnate Yuri Gretkov has taken an unexpected turn today. New evidence was presented by the public prosecution this morning, cementing the accusations of fraud, international conspiracy and murder. A recording of a conversation between high ranking FSB director Stanislav Vetrov and FSB agent Kirill Morosov, who according to the files served as Gretkov's assassin, brought unmistakable evidence for Gretkov's involvement. Vetrov died two days ago in an armed confrontation between the Moscow Police and the FSB, Morosov drove off a bridge into the Moskva River when the police tried to get hold of him after an anonymous tip.
With the new evidence, the case of Yuri Gretkov can be linked to the murder of the Russian politician Vladimir Neski in the late 1990s and the recent trial concerning a governmental assassination program called 'Blackbriar' which has been the topic of many heated discussions of late. The fate of David Webb, also known as Jason Bourne, who was the source behind the exposure of the Blackbriar program, is still unknown. After three days of unsuccessful search, his death seems a certainty.'
***
“I am free.” Jason heard Kirill say, his voice sounding astonished, as if he couldn't believe it. Then the corners of his mouth rose slowly.
Jason felt his heart stop. Kirill's smile was just incredibly beautiful. It transformed his whole face, made him look young and carefree and gorgeous - and Jason had never expected to use that word to describe Kirill, but it was the only one that seemed appropriate. He felt himself return the smile, felt it in his very being as the realisation sunk in that they were really and absolutely free to go wherever they wanted, to live how they wanted.
Jason leaned back against the headboard of the bed. “So, what are you going to do now?”
Kirill grinned at him. “Live.”
Jason chuckled. “A good idea.”
Kirill switched off the TV, then he turned over to Jason with a slow, predatory movement that made Jason's skin prickle. The Russian crawled over him, straddled his thighs, then his hands came up to take hold of Jason's face and he claimed his mouth in a deep, thorough kiss. Kirill pulled back after a moment, only to nip at Jason's bottom lip.
“So, where do we go next?”
*** The End
*** GO TO PART A***
***
Fandom: The Bourne Supremacy & Ultimatum
Pairing: Jason Bourne/Kirill
PART A
*********
When he woke, the first thing that entered Jason's mind was the pleasant soreness that he felt in places of his body where he usually didn't feel it. When he turned from his back to his side, there was a low burn in his buttocks and he smiled at the memory of the previous night. He stretched, taking pleasure in the softness of the sheets, then he opened his eyes and looked around in the bedroom. Kirill was nowhere to be found, but Jason hadn't expected anything else. He couldn't say if Kirill was just a very early riser or if he avoided waking up with Jason on purpose.
Jason got out of the bed and was surprised to find his clothes neatly folded on the chair next to the window. Kirill must have collected them this morning, because Jason was fairly certain he had lost his shirt somewhere in the living room. He grinned and pulled on his trousers and shirt, not bothering with shoes, and walked out in the hallway. He was greeted by the smell of fresh coffee, and when he turned the corner to the living room, he found Kirill setting a rather huge breakfast on the table.
“Morning.” Jason said quietly, his voice slightly rough from overuse last night.
Kirill turned, a mug close to his lips, and greeted him with a smirk on his face. “Good morning.”
Jason walked over to the table and Kirill held out the cup of steaming hot coffee. Jason accepted it with a grateful smile and took a sip. It was heaven on earth, even though it was incredibly strong.
“So, how do we find Vetrov?” Jason asked while he took another sip out of Kirill's mug and sat down at the table. “I assume we're not going to try to get him at work.”
“Niet. He is too well protected.” Kirill agreed and helped himself to the extraordinarily rich breakfast. It was far too much for one person, but the room service didn't need to know that it was meant for two. “The only way to get hold of him is cornering him in the 'Zone'. He is there every Saturday night.”
“That would be tonight.” Jason remarked and handed Kirill the coffee. “Isn't it a bit careless to develop such a routine?”
“Usually, yes.” Kirill nodded and accepted the mug. “But this club is one of the safest places for him in the city. Access is strictly limited and controlled. You can only get in by invitation or as a well-paying regular.”
“So how do we get in?”
“My face is well known there.” Kirill replied with a smirk. Jason was certain there was a wicked edge to it. “We will need to make some preparations, though.”
“But if it's such a safe place, won't he learn of your presence?” Jason pointed out and bit into his toast. “Won't the FSB be contacted? They do have a standing kill order out for you, after all.”
Kirill just nodded and took another bite of the fried eggs. “Of course they will know. I give us fifteen minutes, tops, before they arrive.”
Jason just saw one problem. “How do I get in? I'm not a regular, and I'm most certainly not invited.”
Kirill's smirk was openly mischievous this time. “You will have to pose as my current boy toy.”
***
Jason felt strange in his new outfit and wondered how the hell he had ended up playing bunny for a former Russian FSB agent who had once tried to kill him. Life sometimes took the most unexpected turns, really. Because he would never have thought to wear tight leather pants and a halfway unbuttoned white shirt under a heavy fur coat. Or spike his hair up with gel and wear kohl around his eyes. When he'd seen himself in the mirror, he almost hadn't recognised himself. He was fairly convinced he could have walked through the CIA Headquarters like this and nobody would have believed him that he was Jason Bourne.
One look at Kirill, who was walking next to him while they approached the entrance of the club, made Jason lick his lips in an unconscious gesture. The Russian knew how to dress up, that much was certain. He wore heavy boots that made him even taller than he already was and Jason noticed not for the first time that he was smaller than Kirill. Combined with black pants and a black shirt under a casual but elegant jacket he looked every bit like the confident FSB agent he had been only some weeks ago. He was so obviously comfortable in the surroundings that Jason wondered how much time he had spent in this club before things went south.
The entrance was nondescript and low-key, without knowing what lay behind, one would have walked past without ever giving it a second glance. The only sign that there was more to the simple white metal doors were the two men standing in front of it, both with the definite aura of bouncers. Kirill approached them without the slightest hesitation, his expression cool and superior, his movements confident and casual. The taller of the two men greeted Kirill with a nod and some friendly words, then his gaze wandered over Jason, giving him a once over that made the American want to hit him.
“You have found a nice one there.” The taller bouncer laughed, raising his hand towards Jason's face and the American had to force himself not to react and break every bone in that arm. It would have blown his cover most efficiently. Before the man could make contact, though, Kirill's hand had shot out and gripped his wrist hard, his eyes narrowing with definite threat. “He is mine.”
Jason was aware this was all part of their cover, but he wasn't prepared for the deep possessiveness in Kirill's voice, wasn't prepared for the wave of arousal that swept through his body at the low words. He just knew that Kirill meant what he'd said and Jason had to fight not to let his reaction show.
The tall bouncer retreated immediately, his free hand raised in a defensive gesture. “All right, all right. He's yours.”
Kirill inclined his head in a short nod and let go of the man's hand, then he wrapped a demonstrative arm around Jason's shoulders. The second bouncer opened the door and let them in.
“Enjoy.” he said, his face expressionless, and closed the door behind them.
***
Kirill scanned the club unobtrusively while they made their way over to the bar. His gaze found Vetrov easily. Having spend so much time here, Kirill knew the habits of the patrons, of the staff, of the ever-present hookers. He turned and pulled Jason against him as if he was just groping him, but instead he used the closeness to talk to him. “Vetrov is in the booth to the right of the bar, a woman on each side of him.”
He felt Jason turn as if he was nipping Kirill's neck, instead the American peeked over Kirill's shoulder and assessed the situation. “Broad build, short hair, in his late forties?”
“Da.”
“Time is running. I'll approach him, get him to the darkroom.” Kirill felt Jason hesitate a moment. “And you are certain he will fall for it?”
Kirill gave a harsh snort. “Believe me, you are exactly his type. Your face will fascinate him. He likes the boyish look. It was one of the reasons I was always safe - I never had that look.”
Kirill felt Jason nod, then there was a quick press of lips on his collarbone before Jason had pulled away and was casually walking through the dancing crowd. Kirill stared after him, resisting the urge to put his hand on the spot Jason had just kissed, and couldn't decide if he wanted to smile or frown in confusion. Well, now was not the time to think about it.
They had less than fifteen minutes before hell would break loose.
***
Jason let the music flow into his movements while he positioned himself so that Vetrov just had to notice him. Out of the eye he saw Kirill disappear in the crowd, making his way over to the back of the club. Jason let his gaze travel over to Vetrov and hid a smirk when he found that he had already gained the man's attention. Vetrov was looking at him openly, letting his gaze wander over Jason's body appreciatively and gave him a smile when the American looked at him. Jason kept moving to the music, making sure his motions were slow and sensual, and raised an eyebrow at Vetrov in question. The Russian gave a little nod and got up, the women at his side glaring at Jason openly for the theft of their potential customer.
Jason held Vetrov's gaze when he walked over and before the man could reach him, Jason turned to make his way over to the darkroom, his steps unhurried, moving his hips with a little swing. He threw a teasing gaze over his shoulder and made sure Vetrov was indeed following him. There was no need to worry. Kirill had been right about his former superior. There was a leer on the otherwise handsome face, the eyes dark with lust and his whole body radiated sexual tension.
***
Stanislav Vetrov was a man of taste. He knew beauty when he saw it, and that young man was definitely a beauty. Unusual for this place, but that only made him more fascinating.
Vetrov followed the young man who was walking towards the darkroom with a slow swing to his step that made his hips move in a very tempting way. It would be satisfying to break this young man, to see him lose his mind to pleasure and to make him submit to Vetrov. If he had potential, maybe it would be fun to keep him around for another round later on, Vetrov thought while he opened the door that had just begun to fall shut after the young man. The noise of the loud music in the club was dulled by the soundproof walls of the darkroom, the red lighting creating an intimate atmosphere, and Vetrov saw the young man just as he disappeared around the corner with a teasing smirk on his boyish face.
Oh yes, this was going to be fun. With a smirk of his own, Vetrov followed him. He stopped dead in his tracks when he felt the unmistakable shape of the muzzle of a gun press to his temple just as he came around the corner.
“Nice to meet you again, old friend.” The voice was familiar, but he hadn't expected to ever hear it again. When he turned his head slightly, he looked right into the face of his former apprentice who had the gun pointed securely at Vetrov's head. Kirill always aimed for the head, it had been one of Vetrov's lessons.
“Kirill. What a surprise.” Vetrov remarked with a raised eyebrow, careful not to make any harsh movements. He knew this man inside out. He had made him, had trained him, had defined what he thought, how he thought, so he knew Kirill would pull the trigger if he was provoked. “What brings you here?”
“You didn't expect to see me again, did you?” Kirill asked quietly, his face blank. “After you'd loaned my services to Gretkov, you thought he would solve the problem for you.”
Vetrov looked at the younger man, let his gaze travel over his face, his whole appearance. He looked different, not only because he had obviously given up on his military haircut, but also because of the expression in his eyes and... something else. It annoyed Vetrov that he couldn't really put his finger on what it was.
Suddenly, the young man whom Vetrov had followed here appeared behind Kirill. He held a watch in his hand, obviously synchronising it with his own, then he took hold of Kirill's left hand and put the watch on his wrist. When the man turned and gave Vetrov a sharp glance, there was nothing left of the teasing boy he'd seen in the club. This man was a professional assassin, Vetrov was certain of that. He wondered how he could have fallen for the charade, how he couldn't have seen it before.
“Set on eight minutes and running.” the man said in a low voice, an unmistakable American accent to his Russian.
Kirill just nodded, and the man touched a hand to the nape of Kirill's neck in a quick gesture that Vetrov could only call tender, then the man turned and left. Who was this man that Kirill obviously worked with? Seemed to trust him even though he'd always been taught not to trust anybody save his superiors? Vetrov felt even more annoyed at the realisation that he didn't have all the information, that he didn't have the upper hand at the moment. He had to change the odds, turn the tables. Push Kirill's buttons and distract him.
“What are you here for, Kirill?”
“Do you really have to ask that?” His apprentice replied with a raised eyebrow. Sometimes Vetrov forgot the sharp sarcasm that Kirill possessed but rarely showed.
“Do you honestly think that there's a way for you to come back? Face the facts, Kirill.” Vetrov said and gave his former apprentice a disdainful look. “You failed your mission. You failed it twice. I had expected more from you.”
He felt a measure of satisfaction to see that his words had found their target, that he had hurt Kirill not only in his professional pride, but in his very identity. His weakness was going to turn into Vetrov's strength.
“I succeeded in Berlin.” Kirill replied with a snarl.
“You shot the handler and his CIA contact, got the money and the files, but then instead of your mark, you shoot his girlfriend and he walks and causes trouble to no end.” Vetrov added in the same dismissive voice. “You are a failure. And the FSB doesn't tolerate failures.”
“Who says that I want to return to the FSB?” Kirill asked, the pressure of the gun against Vetrov's head never easing, never wavering. He had a tight grip on his emotions and on his body, one of the reasons he had been one of Vetrov's best students.
“You will always be a killer, Kirill. It's the only thing you know how to do. It's the only thing we ever taught you.” Vetrov made sure his voice was calm, certain, superior. “And that's why you won't shoot me, because you only want back into the world you knew and I am the only way back in.”
“I don't think so.” Kirill's voice was cold, his gaze calm, satisfied, as if he had just understood something. “What I do is my choice.”
Maybe he didn't know Kirill as well as he thought he did, Vetrov wondered just before he heard the shot being fired.
***
Jason left through the backdoor of the club, walking around the block in a casual speed so he didn't attract any attention. He headed straight for the old car parked in the side alley, got in and entered the late night traffic. He could already hear the sirens of the police close by. He smirked. Right on time. Anonymous tips sometimes worked wonders.
It took him only a few minutes to reach the pier and he made sure to park in the shadows out of sight of the street. He opened the trunk, quickly pulled off his clothes and changed into the black wet suit. He quickly checked his watch, then he donned the air tank.
He slid into the cold water of the Moskva River only a few seconds later.
***
Kirill waited just long enough on the roof of the low annex building of the club until he saw the trademark black cars of the FSB and the white-blue police cars pull in in front of the club, then he made sure he was seen before he jumped. It was only when his feet connected with the ground and he felt a flash of searing pain shoot through his right leg that he remembered why jumping off buildings was something he should avoid in the future. He gritted his teeth and hurried over to where he'd parked the black Mercedes and slid behind the wheel. He pulled out with enough speed to make the tyres screech, and a quick look in the rear mirror showed him that there were three police cars ad two black limousines on his tail.
Perfect.
Kirill stepped on the gas, speeding down the street, worming his way through the cars on his lane. The sound of the sirens was loud behind him and Kirill changed course when he reached the crossing that would lead him down to the Moskva River bank. He made sure he didn't loose his tail, then he gave his watch a quick glance. He was just in time.
The bridge came into view. The traffic light was red and the cars had begun to queue in front of it. Kirill thanked chance for being so kind to him, it gave him a perfect reason to venture in the lane of the oncoming traffic. He turned the wheel, the Mercedes left the lane and ventured over the central dividing strip. The oncoming cars honked and pulled out of his way in panicked manoeuvres. Kirill waited for a bus to come straight at him, then he suddenly turned the steering wheel as if he was trying to avoid collision. The Mercedes spun over the lane, straight at the brim of the bridge, then it broke through the railing and shot over the edge.
The impact with the surface of the river was hard and Kirill shielded his head the best he could. Water entered the car immediately, filling it up and making it sink. The cold hit Kirill in the face and cleared the haze in his head. His body came to life, he quickly opened the seat belt, took a deep breath and pushed at the door of the car, then he kicked off with his leg, leaving the sinking vehicle behind.
Only seconds later he felt a hand grip his arm, then a diving mask was pressed against his mouth and he took a deep breath.
***
Once he'd gripped him, Jason never let go of Kirill's hand. With his diving goggles, Jason was the only one of them who could see something in the murky water, and he knew the way to the part of the shore where they had planned to leave the water, far enough from the bridge to avoid being seen. And they had to get there quickly, the water was very cold, and Kirill didn't have the protection of a wet suit. Even with the tank providing the necessary air to breath, he wouldn't last longer than a few minutes.
Jason tightened his grip and pushed on.
***
The way to the place Kirill had in mind seemed to be a lot longer than he thought it would be. The jump off the roof hadn't been his best idea, his leg hadn't taken it too well and the pain intensified with every step. He knew his limp was quite pronounced right now, but there was nothing he could do about it at the moment. They needed to get to the apartment, off the street, out of the soaked clothes. He could take care of his injury then.
Jason was walking next to him, a concerned frown on his face, but he didn't say anything. Kirill appreciated it, he knew he wouldn't react well to any offer of help right now. Vetrov's words still stung.
They passed the way in silence and when they reached the building, Kirill unlocked the door and they took the lift up to the third floor. He opened the door to a flat to their right and entered, not turning to see if Jason followed. He just knew he would.
“We can stay here for the night.” Kirill said while he began to strip off his wet jacket. “Nobody knows about this place. It's as safe as we can be in Moscow.”
He heard Jason close the door, and turned to throw him a glance while he toed off his boots. There was water inside of them. “Make yourself at home. I'll take a shower.”
Kirill limped past him, pulling off his shirt while opening the door to the bathroom. Only when he was sure he was out of sight, he allowed to give into the pain and he leaned heavily on the washbasin. He gritted his teeth, willing the pain in his leg to go away. He closed his eyes for a moment, focussing on the task. He wasn't prepared for the hand that suddenly lay warm and flat against his thigh, for the presence of Jason's bare chest in his back. He must have taken off the wet suit, Kirill thought distractedly and tried not to flinch at the sudden touch.
“Show me how I can ease the pain.” Jason's voice was low, close to his ear, his warm breath touching Kirill's skin. Kirill couldn't suppress the shudder that ran through his body and he knew Jason felt it. He wasn't used to somebody taking care of him, to somebody wanting to make him feel better. He was confused, didn't know how to react to this, didn't know what to do.
Then the hand began to pass over his thigh, down to his knee, with gentle pressure, tracing his cramped muscles through the soaked trousers, and Kirill couldn't hold back a content groan as the pain eased. Instinctively, he leaned into the touch.
Jason's lips touched his neck, pressing to his skin, the tongue passing over his flesh. “Show me, Kiryusha.”
Kirill's eyes flew open at the name, his body stiffened for a moment, his mind suddenly racing. He hadn't been called that in a very very long time. And to hear it from Jason, his voice low and rough, weaving around the name like a caress, was something he had never expected to happen, had never even thought about. Yet he was absolutely certain that Jason knew about the connotation, about the meaning, knew what he told Kirill by choosing to address him by it.
After a moment, the tension left his body and he allowed himself to lean against Jason's solid form behind him, then his hand slowly slid down, covering Jason's. His fingers pressed along Jason's, guided their way, their pressure and their movements along his leg in the slow, firm massage that always managed to relax his muscles, ease the pain. This was the first time there was a new component to it, something that was sensual in an entirely different way from the physical therapist's touch, something that went deeper than skin and muscles.
“Allow me to make you feel good.” Jason's left hand settled on Kirill's waist, slowly beginning to trace a random pattern on the skin of his stomach, his chest, his left arm. His lips wandered along Kirill's shoulder and his neck, his right hand never ceasing the firm but gentle massage. “Please, Kiryusha.”
Kirill shuddered at the sound of the affectionate form of his name that felt like a most intimate caress. He couldn't say when his eyes had closed, when his head had fallen back to rest on Jason's shoulder, granting better access for the lips on his neck. He allowed himself to let go of his control, his tight grip on his body, trusting Jason to hold him, to keep him safe, to protect him in this moment of vulnerability, instinctively knowing that he would.
“Say it again.” Kirill growled and pressed back against Jason. He wanted to hear his name in that rough voice again.
“Please...” Jason bit down on his neck, his hand scratching none too gently over a nipple. “... Kiryusha.”
Kirill couldn't help the low groan. He felt Jason's hand wander to his fly, then his uncomfortably clammy trousers were peeled off his skin and he was pushed gently into the shower stall. Jason was right behind him again, testing the temperature of the water, and then the warmth was flowing over Kirill's chest, Jason pressed into his back and his hand returning to Kirill's thigh to resume the gentle massage.
It felt like heaven, relaxing and arousing at the same time, and Kirill couldn't help the way he melted against Jason, wanting desperately to trust, to let go, to allow his guard to come down for a few hours.
***
Jason pressed against the Kirill's body, biting his earlobe, his right hand still massaging the Russian's bad leg while he manoeuvred the two of them under the hot spray of water, letting it do its work to warming them up after the cold bath in the Moskva River. He was intoxicated by the soft sounds that escaped Kirill's lips, by how the Russian's body had melted against him, arching into his every touch.
“Let go, Kiryusha.” Jason murmured against the skin of his neck and the shudder that passed through his Russian was the most satisfying feeling he'd ever experienced. He loved how Kirill reacted to the affectionate form of his name, how it seemed to touch him more deeply than any physical caress ever could. He wanted Kirill to know what he meant to him and when his mind had provided a profound knowledge about Russian names that he couldn't remember learning, he'd known the perfect way that would make Kirill understand. And it seemed to work very well.
Jason let his left hand wander over the expanse of Kirill's chest, teasing his nipples, then he let it slide lower until it found Kirill's hardening shaft and wrapped around it in a firm grip. He bit the shoulder in front of him, while he began to move his hand in a maddeningly slow rhythm, wanting Kirill to lose control, to give everything he was. Wanted him to forget about the world, to live in the here and now, in the pleasure of the moment, content with what they had.
“I want you.” Jason murmured into the ear under his lips. “Will you allow it?”
In response, he felt Kirill spread his legs, pressing back and making Jason's erection slip between his thighs, head falling back on Jason's shoulder. “Da, Jason... Yes.”
Kirill's voice was hoarse, his accent so thick his words were barely understandable, but it was answer enough, and Jason understood the trust he was given, the meaning of this permission. He turned his head and claimed Kirill's mouth, his tongue sliding against his, deep and slow and teasing, making a promise. Kirill returned the kiss just as fiercely, his hand finding Jason's jaw, pulling him closer until the angle in which Jason had turned his head almost began to hurt. Jason didn't care, just met the challenge, all the while slicking his fingers with the shower gel that stood on the rack.
He applied a generous amount, then he intensified the kiss and let one finger tease Kirill's opening, playing around it, sliding in with careful pressure. He found less resistance than he had expected, moved in and out, added a second finger, scissoring, stretching the muscle ring. He took his time, not wanting to hurt Kirill, and applied even more of the shower gel before he dared to position himself at Kirill's entrance. He stilled when the head of his hardness pressed against the loosened muscle, kissing the Russian's shoulder in a wordless question for permission.
“Jason.” Kirill said with this strong accent in his hoarse voice and still managed to sound chiding as well as amused. “I'm not doing this for the first time. Move!”
Jason could only nod, he knew he wasn't able to form words right now, then he pressed in in one slow, measured thrust. Kirill, arched back against him, his breathing quick and laboured, his eyes pressed close, his mouth opened in a silent moan.
Jason slid almost completely out, then he pushed back in, taking up a slow and teasing rhythm, his hands never easing their firm hold on Kirill's hips. He felt Kirill's hand digging into the skin of his neck and he knew there would be marks tomorrow, but he didn't care the least. He just enjoyed Kirill's harsh pants, his sensual movements against Jason's body, pressing back onto his erection with equal passion, every thrust accented by a hoarse growl when his prostate was hit.
“Faster!” Kirill's voice ordered roughly, his right hand finding Jason's thigh and clawing into the flesh.
Jason couldn't help the groan that escaped him at the touch, his hips following the command, speeding up the pace, thrusting faster and faster. Kirill met his every movement, his breath quickening, biting his bottom lip. Jason lost focus on the world, the only things he were aware of was his connection with his lover, the sound of Kirill's growls, his hand on Jason's thigh, the friction on his erection. He felt climax build quickly and he took hold of Kirill's hardness, jerking him in turn with his thrusts.
“Come for me, Kiryusha.” Jason growled in his ear, astonished at how rough and hoarse his own voice was.
As if the sound of his name had triggered his orgasm, Kirill came with a harsh shout, his back arching, his interior muscles clamping down on Jason's erection, the extra stimulation making him see stars. Jason felt his release pump out of him into Kirill's body that was still clenching down rhythmically around him and he had to fight to stay conscious, to keep his legs from giving out. He reached out with his hand to support himself on the wall, the other hand still wrapped around Kirill's softening member.
“My leg will give out.” Kirill murmured between two harsh breaths and Jason had problems understanding him, even though he couldn't say if it was due to the thick accent that he found so utterly attractive, or because his brain had shut down. He just felt Kirill sink down and wrapped his arm around his waist, slowing his descent, sliding down along with him. He felt boneless, all his energy had left him all of the sudden.
The warm water was washing away the remains of their lovemaking, constantly raining down on them in a gentle spray. Jason leaned with his shoulder against the tiles, his arms wrapped around Kirill in a loose embrace. The Russian rested against him heavily, his breathing only slowly returning to normal.
“Bed?” Jason asked after a long time and pressed a kiss to Kirill's wet hair, right over the surgical scar.
He heard Kirill chuckle. It was a beautiful sound. “If you carry me there...”
***
When Jason woke the next morning, the sun hadn't risen yet. He needed a moment to orientate himself, to remember where he was. He felt a warm body under his and found that he had cuddled up to Kirill's side. The Russian's arm rested securely around Jason's shoulders, his face was relaxed in sleep.
Jason took the opportunity to watch him undisturbed. Until now, he'd always woken to find Kirill already gone. He let his hand brush away a few strands of dark hair that had fallen into the sleeping face, then he bend down and pressed a lingering kiss to Kirill's neck.
“Good Morning, Kiryusha.”
A soft smile spread over Kirill's face.
***
Gretkov was greeted by the familiar sight of his assistant waiting for him with a cigarette when he entered the meeting cell. He knew immediately that something had gone wrong.
“There have been complications, sir.” Nemov confirmed his suspicion only a moment later.
“What kind of complications?” Gretkov asked while he blew out the blue smoke in a straight line.
“Our man was found dead in Tangier, sir.”
Gretkov narrowed his eyes and gritted his teeth. “This rogue agent is far more trouble than he is worth.”
“That's not everything, sir.” Nemov continued, his face impassive. “Vetrov was killed last night, sir.”
“He goes after those who ordered the hit on him. He will come after me, now.” Gretkov said in a low voice, a frown on his face. He took a deep pull from his cigarette and leaned back in the metal chair. This was not good. He was relatively safe behind the walls of the prison - what perfect irony - but he didn't doubt the assassin would find a way to get to him if he really wanted to kill him. This problem needed to be solved once and for all. “Take care of this situation, Andrei. Get him out of the way.”
Nemov nodded. “Yes, sir.”
Gretkov gave him a hard stare. “And do it right this time.”
***
“Here he comes.” Kirill said and watched Andrei Nemov get into his car. Nemov started the motor and drove off the parking lot of the prison, turning right to get back to the city centre. He had gone through all the moves Kirill had predicted and they'd easily found his car in front of the prison this morning. It had been a matter of seconds to install the tiny explosive device.
Jason pulled into the traffic to follow the black Mercedes in some distance. Kirill sat in the passenger seat, the remote trigger in his right hand, a scope in the left. He observed the traffic carefully, waiting for the right moment to press the button. The detonation would only be strong enough to make Nemov lose control of the car, so it had to be perfectly timed that he would end up in an accident that would be fatal. When Jason saw the shape of a huge truck approaching a crossing in some distance, he knew Kirill was going to aim for it.
He had been right. When Nemov wanted to brake to stop in front of the red light, Kirill set off the bomb and the car spun out of control. The brakes failed and Nemov couldn't keep the car from driving straight into the line of the crossing traffic. The truck crushed into the driver's side of the car with the harsh sound of bending metal and shattering glass, compressing it to half its size. There was no way Nemov could have survived that.
Kirill and Jason mixed with the onlookers and stayed at the scene long enough to see their assumption confirmed when the paramedics wrapped the body of the car's driver in a black plastic bag.
***
'The trial of oil magnate Yuri Gretkov has taken an unexpected turn today. New evidence was presented by the public prosecution this morning, cementing the accusations of fraud, international conspiracy and murder. A recording of a conversation between high ranking FSB director Stanislav Vetrov and FSB agent Kirill Morosov, who according to the files served as Gretkov's assassin, brought unmistakable evidence for Gretkov's involvement. Vetrov died two days ago in an armed confrontation between the Moscow Police and the FSB, Morosov drove off a bridge into the Moskva River when the police tried to get hold of him after an anonymous tip.
With the new evidence, the case of Yuri Gretkov can be linked to the murder of the Russian politician Vladimir Neski in the late 1990s and the recent trial concerning a governmental assassination program called 'Blackbriar' which has been the topic of many heated discussions of late. The fate of David Webb, also known as Jason Bourne, who was the source behind the exposure of the Blackbriar program, is still unknown. After three days of unsuccessful search, his death seems a certainty.'
***
“I am free.” Jason heard Kirill say, his voice sounding astonished, as if he couldn't believe it. Then the corners of his mouth rose slowly.
Jason felt his heart stop. Kirill's smile was just incredibly beautiful. It transformed his whole face, made him look young and carefree and gorgeous - and Jason had never expected to use that word to describe Kirill, but it was the only one that seemed appropriate. He felt himself return the smile, felt it in his very being as the realisation sunk in that they were really and absolutely free to go wherever they wanted, to live how they wanted.
Jason leaned back against the headboard of the bed. “So, what are you going to do now?”
Kirill grinned at him. “Live.”
Jason chuckled. “A good idea.”
Kirill switched off the TV, then he turned over to Jason with a slow, predatory movement that made Jason's skin prickle. The Russian crawled over him, straddled his thighs, then his hands came up to take hold of Jason's face and he claimed his mouth in a deep, thorough kiss. Kirill pulled back after a moment, only to nip at Jason's bottom lip.
“So, where do we go next?”
*** The End
*** GO TO PART A***
***