Fic: The Old Tradition
It is love at first sight-a Skorpion vz. 61, the beautiful 7.65 mm staring straight at her face. Malory Archer is content that if she has to die at least she won’t be going out like a pussy. Shot point blank in the face by some Russian cocksucker while working as a black ops field agent is adequately badass.
She doesn’t die that day however. The fuck-hot gun is held by a strangely attractive Russian spy. Luckily Malory is steadfast in her habit of wearing expensive lingerie under her black ops, dark-black, cashmere turtleneck.
The rest is history.
“Nikolai, really, we could get caught.”
“Is that not the fun in this, yah?”
“Well, I’ll admit, fun wasn’t exactly how I would describe what just happened but I’m not completely opposed to it either.”
“I told you, my sweet American; it was not supposed to go there like that. It was accident, I swear.”
“So you said. Where’s the bottle of Stoli-I don’t know how you expect me to be able to wash down this Xanax.”
The first time she tries to teach Sterling the art of concealing weapons doesn’t go exactly to plan. Malory knows that any son of hers has to be a first-rate secret agent to retain her reputation. She has her doubts about Sterling but then she also has vodka.
The gun is tucked neatly into Sterling’s waistband.
“It’s stabbing me mom, I suppose you don’t care about the pain of your only child though.”
“Sterling, really, until you’ve had an assault rifle up your vagina I’m not listening to this whining.”
“What?!”
Malory looks up from her Grey Goose martini. “What?!”
“You just-vagina-coming out of your mouth-”
“WHAT?!”
“Not out of your actual-”
The thud of a solid silver cocktail shaker smacking off of Sterling’s forehead resounds around the room.
“Woodhouse! Get the soap and water-someone has a dirty mouth!”
“Mother!”
“I’ve fetched the soap and water. Come along, sir.”
“Get off me you wrinkled fag!”
“Please sir; it’s time for your bath.”
“Woodhouse! I said wash out his mouth, not wash him. Sterling go with Woodhouse now! When you get back your mouth had better be so clean I can see my pores in your teeth.”
“Well that won’t be very difficult with skin like yours, will it mother?”
“Go! Now!”
“Come on, Woodhouse, let’s go take a bath. And you better use the loofa this time you old queer.”
“I’m sorry, sir, you said the loofa was too harsh on your scrotum...”
Malory drains the rest of her drink as Sterling manhandles Woodhouse towards the master bath. There are times when she imagines it would be easier to have a father around for Sterling. Perhaps he would have even turned out a civilized human being rather than an over-sexed, gin-soaked tearaway.
Then again maybe he takes after her more than she has ever thought. There’s hope for him yet.
There is an unfortunate incident where Nikolai aims directly at the webcam and Malory is subjected to a widescreen, 80 inch, high-def view of his jizz slathering against the camera.
“You’re lucky I don’t vomit into my tumbler of scotch.”
A strict edict is passed regarding use of Kleenex and proximity to the webcam.
“Nikolai, please! Your balls look like two hairy sumo wrestlers fondling each other every time you lean over to switch off the camera!”
“Ugh, woman. You are all same-as if your saggy thighs do not look like ears of elephant!”
The embassy is crowded and Malory’s gun is perched between her trussed up breasts. It is impressively hidden considering the cut of her skin-tight silk dress which as a sloshed state official tells her at the beginning of the night showcases her areolas spectacularly.
It’s surprising how many undercover operations require dressing as a whore. Malory is well-versed in the subtleties-high-class call girl, side-street hooker, courtesan, pimp-led prostitute, escort, hopped up harlot...
“Excuse me! What does it take to get some service around here? You’d think with all the Mexicans around someone would know how to pour drink. You! Donde se martini?!”
Nikolai watches her from across the room. It is always difficult to steal some time together. More often than not the best places are in plain sight. Spies mix with spies frequently in these overcrowded ballrooms and hotel bars.
Later, once Malory has offended several people of different races and a guy who turns out to be just really tanned-“he looked dirty, how was I supposed to know he was from California?!”-it is with sleight of hand that Nikolai slips the room key between her buttocks from the vantage point of the incredibly low back of Malory’s dress.
Berlin is really where it all ends. Not because of the pregnancy scare-and it is a scare, especially decades later when Malory looks over her desk at ISIS and sees the product staring back at her with a half-empty scotch and some woman’s panties falling out of the pocket in his tux-but because of those three fateful words.
Malory cannot ever remember saying “I love you” to anybody. Certainly not to Sterling, that’s why they employed Woodhouse. Definitely not to her own mother and father. Perhaps to Dutchess...
However, no matter how many inappropriate relationships she will go on to form with dogs at that moment in Berlin, under a bridge, with the stars shining brightly and only a handful of Oxy in her system Malory knows that she does not love Nikolai.
Or perhaps she does not want to love him.
After all, do not form attachments is lesson number one. Either that or call girls are always called hookers when they’re dead, she can never remember which one comes first.
Either way, she does not love Nikolai Jackov.
There is an incident, with a half-full champagne bottle. She can feel the neck of the bottle rubbing against his cock while they’re both inside her separated by very little. A svelte blond woman is rubbing her cunt all over Malory’s nipples and another man kneeling over her head has his balls in her mouth.
Thirty-seven minutes later she narrowly avoids serious injury when gun fire lets loose, the bottle smashes and the blond pulls a pocket knife out from her garter belt.
After slaughtering both the man and the blond-along with several of the hotel staff and half of the curious couple from the room next door-Malory walks to the front desk to book a cab wearing high heels, a bellman’s coat and three people’s come.
Malory keeps the Skorpion vz. 61 in her underwear drawer.
No maid has ever dared to steal it.
She doesn’t die that day however. The fuck-hot gun is held by a strangely attractive Russian spy. Luckily Malory is steadfast in her habit of wearing expensive lingerie under her black ops, dark-black, cashmere turtleneck.
The rest is history.
“Nikolai, really, we could get caught.”
“Is that not the fun in this, yah?”
“Well, I’ll admit, fun wasn’t exactly how I would describe what just happened but I’m not completely opposed to it either.”
“I told you, my sweet American; it was not supposed to go there like that. It was accident, I swear.”
“So you said. Where’s the bottle of Stoli-I don’t know how you expect me to be able to wash down this Xanax.”
The first time she tries to teach Sterling the art of concealing weapons doesn’t go exactly to plan. Malory knows that any son of hers has to be a first-rate secret agent to retain her reputation. She has her doubts about Sterling but then she also has vodka.
The gun is tucked neatly into Sterling’s waistband.
“It’s stabbing me mom, I suppose you don’t care about the pain of your only child though.”
“Sterling, really, until you’ve had an assault rifle up your vagina I’m not listening to this whining.”
“What?!”
Malory looks up from her Grey Goose martini. “What?!”
“You just-vagina-coming out of your mouth-”
“WHAT?!”
“Not out of your actual-”
The thud of a solid silver cocktail shaker smacking off of Sterling’s forehead resounds around the room.
“Woodhouse! Get the soap and water-someone has a dirty mouth!”
“Mother!”
“I’ve fetched the soap and water. Come along, sir.”
“Get off me you wrinkled fag!”
“Please sir; it’s time for your bath.”
“Woodhouse! I said wash out his mouth, not wash him. Sterling go with Woodhouse now! When you get back your mouth had better be so clean I can see my pores in your teeth.”
“Well that won’t be very difficult with skin like yours, will it mother?”
“Go! Now!”
“Come on, Woodhouse, let’s go take a bath. And you better use the loofa this time you old queer.”
“I’m sorry, sir, you said the loofa was too harsh on your scrotum...”
Malory drains the rest of her drink as Sterling manhandles Woodhouse towards the master bath. There are times when she imagines it would be easier to have a father around for Sterling. Perhaps he would have even turned out a civilized human being rather than an over-sexed, gin-soaked tearaway.
Then again maybe he takes after her more than she has ever thought. There’s hope for him yet.
There is an unfortunate incident where Nikolai aims directly at the webcam and Malory is subjected to a widescreen, 80 inch, high-def view of his jizz slathering against the camera.
“You’re lucky I don’t vomit into my tumbler of scotch.”
A strict edict is passed regarding use of Kleenex and proximity to the webcam.
“Nikolai, please! Your balls look like two hairy sumo wrestlers fondling each other every time you lean over to switch off the camera!”
“Ugh, woman. You are all same-as if your saggy thighs do not look like ears of elephant!”
The embassy is crowded and Malory’s gun is perched between her trussed up breasts. It is impressively hidden considering the cut of her skin-tight silk dress which as a sloshed state official tells her at the beginning of the night showcases her areolas spectacularly.
It’s surprising how many undercover operations require dressing as a whore. Malory is well-versed in the subtleties-high-class call girl, side-street hooker, courtesan, pimp-led prostitute, escort, hopped up harlot...
“Excuse me! What does it take to get some service around here? You’d think with all the Mexicans around someone would know how to pour drink. You! Donde se martini?!”
Nikolai watches her from across the room. It is always difficult to steal some time together. More often than not the best places are in plain sight. Spies mix with spies frequently in these overcrowded ballrooms and hotel bars.
Later, once Malory has offended several people of different races and a guy who turns out to be just really tanned-“he looked dirty, how was I supposed to know he was from California?!”-it is with sleight of hand that Nikolai slips the room key between her buttocks from the vantage point of the incredibly low back of Malory’s dress.
Berlin is really where it all ends. Not because of the pregnancy scare-and it is a scare, especially decades later when Malory looks over her desk at ISIS and sees the product staring back at her with a half-empty scotch and some woman’s panties falling out of the pocket in his tux-but because of those three fateful words.
Malory cannot ever remember saying “I love you” to anybody. Certainly not to Sterling, that’s why they employed Woodhouse. Definitely not to her own mother and father. Perhaps to Dutchess...
However, no matter how many inappropriate relationships she will go on to form with dogs at that moment in Berlin, under a bridge, with the stars shining brightly and only a handful of Oxy in her system Malory knows that she does not love Nikolai.
Or perhaps she does not want to love him.
After all, do not form attachments is lesson number one. Either that or call girls are always called hookers when they’re dead, she can never remember which one comes first.
Either way, she does not love Nikolai Jackov.
There is an incident, with a half-full champagne bottle. She can feel the neck of the bottle rubbing against his cock while they’re both inside her separated by very little. A svelte blond woman is rubbing her cunt all over Malory’s nipples and another man kneeling over her head has his balls in her mouth.
Thirty-seven minutes later she narrowly avoids serious injury when gun fire lets loose, the bottle smashes and the blond pulls a pocket knife out from her garter belt.
After slaughtering both the man and the blond-along with several of the hotel staff and half of the curious couple from the room next door-Malory walks to the front desk to book a cab wearing high heels, a bellman’s coat and three people’s come.
Malory keeps the Skorpion vz. 61 in her underwear drawer.
No maid has ever dared to steal it.