FROM RUSSIA WITH LOVE
CHAPTER 1
"Fuck this," I grunt to the cold air and throw the untouched cigarette I can't light to the terrace floor. I'm no-one to waste fags, army taught me that much, but I'm in a shitty mood. I don't know if it's the lighter or this damn cold, but I can't even smoke in peace in this frozen hell. Who had the idea of sending me to fucking Russia in mid-winter? Probably some fat pig, signing the order from his warm office in London. I'm used to warmer places, to work in missions in some desert. Maybe I just annoyed someone in high places, and this is some kind of punishment. It wouldn't be the first time. The mission is important enough for me to be uneasy and I curse when my boss seems busy enough not to answer his phone. I have been trying to contact him three times now, and I'm starting to get cranky. This time he picks up.
"Is this a safe line?" he asks, first of all. Always the paranoid, Harrison. I can't blame him, but I'm a professional, fuck, I'm their best man. I know what I'm fucking doing.
"As safe as it can get" I reply and he seems satisfied, even if he sounds annoyed. Maybe because I called four times in one minute. I can't push myself to care. As I said, I'm in a shitty mood and I want to tell him why.
"What is she doing here?" I ask, trying not to snarl but failing.
"She's your partner."
"I don't need a partner."
"Yes, you do. She's covering your back, this mission is high level, very dangerous…"
I roll my eyes.
"So she's babysitting me?" I look back to the hotel room and my 'partner' is crossing her arms, looking at me with a frown. She's pretty, strong, and dark haired. Just my type. But I don't work well with partners, nothing personal.
"She is. Government fat cats are still pissed about last mission-"
"I obtained the information!"
"Yes, and killed the target afterwards, blew up the base of operations, and cost the British Government half a million quid-"
"Details." I say, cutting him up before he can go through my entire file. We could be here all night, believe me. Maybe my methods are not what those fat pigs would want, but I get shit done. I am their man when things get ugly, but of course when someone fucks up a little bit they are all over my neck. Sometimes I hate the British Government. Pity I work for them.
"Just follow the orders. Get rid of the target, kill him, Moran. Kill him, and flee. You have one night-"
"I know what I have, Harrison, I do read the information you send me." I say, stepping again to the warm room. Natalia is looking at me with an unimpressed expression and I hear Harrison give a long sigh to his phone.
"Just play the loving couple for some hours at the party tonight, and tomorrow morning you kill that Russian bastard. Be careful, we might not be the only ones interested in the target. He's amazingly hated all over the world. Don't fuck up, Moran. Your country needs you." Harrison hangs up in time to hear me saying a very convincing "Sir" as goodbye. I am not feeling particularly patriotic tonight, but at least my country will pay for all I decide to drink. God Save the Queen and her money.
"Are you usually this feisty with your superiors?" the woman asks, taking off some sort of hairpin she is wearing, leaving it neatly in the drawer of the bedside table. I just snort a little at that, and keep fixing my suit. Her accent is strongly Russian; she's talking in English even if I can speak her language. She just wants to show she is capable, and I respect her for that. Again, it's nothing personal, but making another agent babysit me is not a turn on. Although that can change, I think when she slides off her simple dress and slips into her long, ball dress.
"I have booked another room for myself, as far from this one as possible," she smiles "I know we have to play the pretty couple, but I'm not sleeping in the same bed as you, Moran".
"Scared you might like it?" I ask, as smug as I can get, and fix my black bowtie.
"Scared I might stab you during the night, and like that." she says dryly and checks my back slyly when she thinks I'm not watching. I smile.
We both head to the party room of the hotel, her arm locked with mine. I'm not excited to be here, it's just another job, even if dangerous, but I have to say, this is a great fucking place. Casino, ball room, bar… big enough that you can get lost in it. The hotel belongs to my target. A big Russian businessman. When I say businessman, I also mean crime lord, and involved in politics. He has his fingers in every pie. He had recently closed a big deal with some terrorist cell from Middle East, and I'm here, mostly to take the documents of that transaction, and to kill the target.
They had sent me as an important German businessman involved in the oil business, and Natalia here as my beloved wife. The British government is running out of original ideas, but it's not like I give a fuck about it. I'd get the job done even if I had to play the rent boy as my undercover.
The party seems a success so far. Kozlov, the good man I'm about to kill next morning, has set up everything, closing the hotel for this party just for the most important and distinguished people. Apparently Kozlov wanted to celebrate his 43rd birthday in an eccentric way, but I suspect he wants to close that big deal tonight, and he's just using his birthday as an excuse. I also might have been right in not being the only one with an interest in killing Kozlov, judging by the amount of guards.
His men are everywhere, dressed in black, big, and dangerous-looking. You know the type: brawn and no brains. They are too many: they're guarding every door, and this is just the party zone. I don't want to imagine how many of them would be securing Kozlov's own rooms. That's why I'll do it tomorrow morning. The deal is probably going to happen tonight, and I'm not the only one feeling this. I can see people from all over the world, and I remember Harrison's words. You may not be the only one wanting to take him down. I might not be the only one, but damn straight I'm the one doing it. I'm not freezing my balls in Russia to let some other Government or Agency take the medal. Although now that I look around, maybe Harrison is wrong. All these people look like important people, the snob type. The hateful type, looking down on everyone. I know them well, I come from a family of snobs myself. I remember the days I joined my father in those meetings: aristocrats, politicians, and more scum bags, believing they were better than everyone else. How I hated it. I still do, I think as I look around. I need a drink right now.
My partner pats my shoulder and drags me out of my thoughts. She tells me she'll walk around, observe a bit. I suspect she doesn't want to stick with me. I don't blame her: I'm not very chatty, and I'm certainly not being a gentleman. But again, I really hate these parties. I go straight to the bar and order a gin tonic. This helps me settle down and relax, more or less. Just for a little while.
My eyes move over the guests, reading them a bit, trying to find something shady, but some fuss from the gambling area gets my attention. I stand up and go there, realizing soon the laughs and angry huffs come from the Poker table. It's packed, so it gets me a couple of tries to get sight of what's happening.
"You son of a bitch!" an older man grunts, face red and throws his cards to the table. "You are cheating, boy, this is impossible".
A few more curses and hard words follow. The men sitting at the table are fuming, throwing their cards to the green table. I smile. Even big fish like these get angry when they lose at cards games. I stick my head farther and catch sight of the boy they are talking to. A dark haired man, sharp suited, and wearing a small smile that for a moment send a shiver down my spine, is leaning back on his chair, legs crossed loosely. That can be my type too.
"You won three times in a row! It's fucking impossible if you are not cheating" another man starts growling and the dark-haired man moves his head from side to side, slowly. It reminds me of a wild animal for no real reason.
"I didn't cheat, Mylord" the man says and that title is so full of sarcasm I can't help but snort to myself. "You just suck at poker" he smiles again and the men at the table are seeing red but of course there is no sight of cheating. Some of them leave with a few quiet threats and others sit for a new game.
The man that has plucked those bastards retrieves his money and his eyes move to me. I swear, I feel stripped down for a second and find myself moving to the table and sitting at a free spot. I want to play, hell, I'm a wonderful poker player and I need some distraction. Also the man has caught my eye; he doesn't look like the typical businessman. Or maybe I'm just too eager to find something amusing in this hateful party.
The game starts, slowly at first. The typical stuff, checking, no-one raising, not betting too high; studying the opponents. I figure almost everyone at the table immediately. The old one at the corner drinks every time he is bluffing. The American at my right has done nothing yet, but doesn't hesitate to match the bets. He has a good hand. The rest are good, but I can beat them. I have the dead man's hand. How appropriate. Two black aces and black eights. So far it's a good hand, two pairs, one of them aces, and I suspect I can get a full hand soon.
The game continues and some of the men have given up, although not my mysterious friend. I take a moment to look at him as a waiter asks for drinks. He orders an Irish whisky, double, no ice. At least he knows how to drink. I order the same, finding gin not as appealing anymore.
I keep staring.
The man has large, dark eyes, so dark and so big that makes him sort of beautiful. And when I say sort of I mean very beautiful. He has long, dark eyelashes and even with such eyes he holds one of the best poker faces I have ever seen. I pout respectfully, lost in thoughts, when the man puts a cigarette between his lips. He pats his suit in search for a lighter and before I can think about it I have my lighter in my hand and I'm leaning forward, lighting his fag. The dark-haired raises his even-darker eyes and holds my gaze, a small smile curling the corner of his lips. I lick mine, unconsciously, and observe his. I want to believe it's just because I haven't smoked since I stepped on Russian ground but the way he pulls from the cigarette leaves my throat dry. He nods grateful and I'm so lost in his gestures that I almost miss my turn.
I clear my throat and just throw to the table the chips I need to keep playing. I look back to my friend and he's still smiling, his emotionless façade dropping a little. He is holding his cigarette case out for me and I take one with a relief I don't show.
"Thanks, Mister-?" I question, just to know his name.
"Bratislav," he says "Alek Bratislav" he tells me. The name doesn't ring a bell, but I'm not really a man of the world; I was supposed to be, but thank God I refused. My father is turning in his grave, for sure. The bastard.
"Klaus Reier" I introduce myself and keep playing, focusing on the game, but also, despite my efforts, on the man in front of me.
Alek Bratislav has a British accent with a note of that strong Russian lilt underneath, and that makes sense, with such a name. I'm always very wary, but I believe this one. Nobody is that good with accents. Nobody. Not even me, even if I'm currently faking a German accent.
As the game continues we whip a few more players and I get a bit more of information from the Russian fellow. He is here because of his boss, a very important Russian businessman, too old for this kind of frivolousness – as Alek himself describes it – but that wants someone to make act of presence at Kozlov's party. So his second in charge, Alek Bratislav, is here tonight.
A few more hands and it's just big eyes and me. Face to face, playing to win the ridiculous high amount of money from the table, although no one of us seems too worried about it. I don't know why but I want to beat him, the more miserably, the better. I try to read him and find a few gestures that make me start thinking he has no good cards but he's trying, he is still here, hanging on like a champ.
"Nice scratch" Alek says after sipping his whisky, eyes on my cheek. I touch gingerly my scar, one of many and smirk a little.
"You like it?" I ask, looking at him, and I know I shouldn't flirt, I'm working - and most of all I'm playing the happily married man - but I can't help it, there is something about that man that makes me both hate him and be attracted.
I watch Alek smile and make a gesture of appreciation. "Suits you" he says, like he knows me, like he knows who I am – not Klaus Reier, but Sebastian Moran, secret agent, British spy. My smile drops a little, but I sip my whisky and I think I cover it well. Alek is still observing me so I play it off.
"I have more where that one comes from" I say, pleased when Alek raises one of his perfect eyebrows.
"Must be quite the sight" he says, and raises his bet.
Is he trying to put me off by flirting back? Keep me distracted from the game? Maybe. It won't work though, I know he's bluffing. I have a better hand than him, I just know.
I feel a hand on my neck, delicate, and I tilt my head to see pretty Natalia. Natasha, in this mission. Her red dress makes the few men that are still observing our game look at her.
Everyone except me.
"Dear," she says and kisses my jaw. "this is for good luck." she whispers sensually, but I'm still observing the table, Alek's slender hand holding his glass, the way his fingertips tap the surface with rhythmic movements, the way he's leant back on his chair, so elegant…
"Pity I'm here alone tonight" the man says and takes me out from my drifting mind, in time, because I'm starting to wonder what is like under that tight, navy suit. I look at him and raise an eyebrow, a little smirk forming on my lips.
I don't care my colleague is still with her arms around my neck.
"Are you offering something?" I ask and hold his gaze for a long moment, in which he just smiles back.
"I was talking about your wife…" Alek finally says and his eyes move to Natalia. "Such a Goddess and you haven't looked at her once" he says, his voice is smooth and my smile starts to fall. "If you are getting bored with him, sweetheart, please feel free to wish me luck anytime you want" he continues, eyes locked with hers and when I look up Natalia is smiling, a light blush on her cheeks.
"With pleasure, Sir" she says.
I'm starting to hate this Bratislav guy.
Natalia throws me a look, half amused, half accusatory because I'm here playing Poker instead of eyeing the people around. She grabs my fifth glass of whisky and walks away, throwing a last look at the Russian fellow. I huff and frown at Bratislav who is smiling and I swallow the urge to punch his smug face.
"You should focus on the game, mate" I say dryly, forgetting that Klaus would never say mate like that, my old self striking. I don't know why but this guy brings my feral side up, forgetting I'm on a job, and that I should stay in character by all means.
"I am focused, mate" he replies and I make a gesture that is supposed to be a smile, in some other universe.
I am ready to kill this fucker.
"All in" I snarl, pushing all my fiches on the table. I observe with vile satisfaction how Bratislav narrows his eyes and tilts his head. Gotcha, you son of a bitch. I have my full house, two hands ago, and I don't want to play anymore with this little bastard. I throw my cards to the board, three aces and a couple of eights. People around the table smirk and nod and I'm about to collect my loot when Bratislav stands up and throws softly his four Kings to the table.
I freeze in place, observing that quad Kings that of course beat my Full. The fucker made me think he had nothing. He was double bluffing me. He is telling to one of the croupiers to send the money to his account with a bored tone and he is not even looking at me. Smug bastard. The people around are silent, impressed. He goes away, downing his whisky in one gulp and I'm still too dazed to call him, too angry to let it go, and also starting to be drunk enough to do something stupid.
Finally, I move, standing up so quickly that the men around give a step back. I walk firmly where Bratislav has disappeared and I can't see him around. Where is he? I look around and see him, already at the end of the ball hall, sneaking into a door that for my surprise is not guarded. I narrow my eyes and dart there, trying not to drag too much attention. I sneak to the dark corridor and look around. Bratislav stops his steps when he hears someone else. "You" I say and the man turns, his head tilting to the side like before at the table. I don't know why but I have to stop the sudden urge to step back and close the door behind me. What is wrong with this guy? I raise my chin- even if I'm a fair head taller than him- and walk the few steps that separate us.
"You made me believe you had nothing there, didn't you?" I say quietly. I'm not that angry because I have lost, but because I have been unable to read him and because he has fooled me like a naive amateur. I'm better than that.
He looks up at me, measuring me and for my surprise he doesn't look intimidated even if I'm stronger than him, and more trained, although he doesn't know that. Still…I'm starting to think I'm not good at reading this guy at all.
"A double bluff? That's just dirty-"
"Why don't you fuck off, blondie?" he asks, stopping me.
Blondie.
My blood boils and I grab his arm, hard. He looks up at me, his eyes are dark as hell pits. So shockingly deep.
"I'll break that hand" he says, slowly. A fact. I show him my teeth in a feral growl.
"Just try."
He tenses immediately and I'm ready for whatever is coming, but a man's voice startles us both, saying something about how we can't be in that part of the Hotel.
My hand goes to the inside of my suit jacket, itching for my gun; just unconscious behavior, because I don't have my weapon with me right now. Like two wires that connect in my brain. My body acts before I can think. Too many years doing this damn job.
For my surprise Alek does the same, hand already inside his suit jacket and it's a gesture I have done myself too many times to ignore. We look at each other, eyes wide because we have done exactly the same. The Russian is still telling us we shouldn't be there, voice rising annoyed, but we are too focused on each other.
"Sorry…" I'm the first one to react. "We were heading to my room, we are a bit drunk" I throw a wet smile to the guard and my hand slides slightly over Alek's side, who is still tense, ready to attack. The man understands rather quickly and throws us a disgusted look. He points the stairs with his head and doesn't move until Alek and I start walking upstairs to the rooms. I also notice the men are armed to the teeth, I could feel at least two hand-guns under the Russian's jacket. I lose myself in my head for a moment, thinking it's going to be difficult to past through them to get to my target tomorrow. I don't notice my hand is still on Alek's lower back, guiding him to the room.
Once we are at my door I stop in the corridor and Alek looks up at me. He wears the same wary expression I do. I look slyly at him, at his body. That suit fits too well to hide a gun underneath. Maybe I'm over-thinking things. Maybe he wasn't making the same gesture as me. Who else would reach for a gun in that situation? I'm half-drunk, so I might be misjudging him. I'm drunk enough to be ignoring my hunches just because he's looking up at me with those infuriating dark eyes. Everything about him is infuriating.
I hear the steps of at least two men and soon I see a couple more of guards round the corner, looking at us suspiciously. Kozlov has every single point of this hotel secured. I feel a hand on my chest and I snap out of my thoughts again. I lean in and nuzzle softly Alek's jaw, breathing in. He smells surprisingly good, of mint and whisky and something sweet. I blindly open my room with my card and Alek follows smoothly. The guards pass by us without a second glance.
"Not angry with me anymore?" Alek says, stepping away from me even if he doesn't look taken aback by all our touches. He seems to understand it was necessary to get rid of the guards. Why? Why would he? He's just a businessman.
I step in, following the man, as if this is his room and not mine. "You are a smug, hateful bastard" I say, getting it out of my system, and I hear Alek laughing as I switch on a corner lamp.
"You are a bad loser." he says and looks at me, from head to toe, slowly. I feel vulnerable, and that sends heat to my stomach. Hateful.
"I guess," I say, taking off my bowtie. I hate bowties. I hate suits. I hate high-profile parties. I sat down heavily on the end of the broad bed and look up at Alek. He is serving himself a glass of Scotch from the mini bar, shameless, crouching down with the ease of a stray cat. He is beautiful. Beautiful. And I hate him.
"At least this Kozlov lad has good booze."
He returns to me and hands me a second glass. I nod at him and nearly gulp half of the content.
"You are annoyed because you got it all wrong not because of the money" he says, spot on, pacing around the room. He is looking around but it looks absent enough to consider he's not looking for anything. I have all my weapons hidden anyway, all my documents. Fake, at any rate. I'm safe.
"Don't be so grim. You are very good, I'm just better" he continues, and I snort, drinking some more.
"Do you fake everything?" I ask, before I can stop myself. Definitely getting drunk, bad thing. I either get touchy or feisty.
Alek stops and looks at me, again that small smile that makes my knees wobbly. Good thing I'm sitting.
"Almost everything," he replies.
His lips are wet from the scotch and I can't tear my eyes away from them.
"You don't like this kind of parties, do you, Mr. Reier?" he asks me, his voice softer than I had expected.
"No, I don't. And call me Klaus" I reply.
"Klaus" he repeats with a knowing smile I choose to ignore.
He is closer now, almost standing between my parted legs and I wonder how on earth I haven't realized that until now. I'm too focused on those damn lips. He is looking down at me, his position relaxed even if we literally don't know each other. A strand of dark hair is falling over his forehead elegantly, and I have to restrain myself from pulling him down.
"Your wife likes them, then?" he asks and I have to blink to remember who the fuck he is talking about. Natalia, of course.
"She's not my wife, she's just…" I shrug and I don't even know why I have said she is not my wife. Goddamnit Sebastian. "She even booked another room" I add.
"Ah," Alek smiles briefly, as if understanding. Couple with problems, pretending to be together. It's very usual in this kind of parties, just sticking together for the appearances.
"Will she mind, then?" he asks, leaning closer even if I don't acknowledge it, I'm too focused trying to understand the question with my drunken brain.
"If you go to her room?" I ask quietly, giving it a guess. She'll be delighted. Alek smiles as if he can't believe me.
His hand touches my shoulder and my hand grabs his wrist. "If I spend the night here…" he says just as quietly. Again, I haven't noticed but he has leaned down and we are inches from each other. The last bit of my self-control slips from me and my hand drops Alek's wrist in favour of his nape. We both move in sync, our lips colliding at last. He leans against me, between my legs, kissing me hard. I have kissed lots of people, men, women, both- and I haven't tasted a pair of lips like those. They are warm and wet, with a faint taste of whisky but also what must be Alek's own scent. Despite myself I inhale and my eyes almost roll back. Good God in heaven. I have missed men.
Alek kisses me deeper, fingers disappearing into my hair and our glasses fall to the floor, not breaking thanks to the carpet. I couldn't care less. We part from each other's lips, breathing hard and shallow. Time seems to slow down and we stare at each other but neither of us is going to stop now. I shove my shoes and socks away while Alek settles on my lap, straddling me. I'm looking up at him, lips parted while slender hands smooth over my shoulders, pushing my jacket off. It joins the glasses on the floor and so do Alek's shoes, socks, bow tie, jacket… no holster, no gun under his suit, as expected. I strip him in the dim light of the Hotel room. I'm hard. As hard as I can get because this Russian devil is kissing me again, all teeth and tongue, not giving me a break. Rough, like I want men to be.
Alek pushes me hard on the mattress and I grunt, aroused. He's not better though. He's just as hard as I am, I can feel him. These suits, so tight, leave nothing to the imagination. Our shirts are loose, we have half-stripped them, but, as if reading each other's minds, our hands move to our belts. I unbuckle Alek's and he does the same with mine. We are frantic, kicking our trousers out of the way while we kiss, hard and passionate. I know I should be focused on the mission but who would be focused when you have a man like Alek Bratislav biting at your neck and rocking his hips against yours. And Harrison wouldn't mind, would he? He would probably roll his eyes at me. I'll kill the target and get the information tomorrow anyway so I might as well take something good out of this. And God, isn't Alek something extraordinary good.
I still don't trust him, he has something weird I can't put my fingers on but I'm too drunk and too horny to care. I move my hands down his back, to the small curve of it, to his arse and he leans against the touch, rocking his hips against my hands. He is muscled, slim, but his body is trained. He is also stronger than he looked like under that suit.
"Fuck…" I can't help but whisper, closing my eyes. Alek has found my scars and he's dragging his teeth and his tongue along them. They are sensitive but he is not hurting me. He knows the exact balance between pleasure and pain. Like me.
"You didn't lie, mmh?" Alek whispers, voice rough and he pulls away to look down at me, roaming his dark eyes over my strong chest, also very scarred. I'm not self-conscious, but almost every lover usually chooses to ignore my scars, some are disgusted, some don't care. But Alek seems to like them. It's new. "Military…?" he asks softly, moving a thumb over my hip where I have a bunch of torn scars, broken skin from a landmine. I don't want to know how he knows, how on earth he knows that. I grab his wrist and flip him around. It's my time to observe him and I want to change the topic.
I stroke his chest and find some scars Alek owns himself. Nothing as mine, I am quite a veteran but his scars look also painful. "Shot…" I whisper as I drag my finger over a scar on his right shoulder, surprised to find something like that on a businessman's body. His mouth pulls to a thin line but he doesn't stop me. "Stab…" I whisper, stroking my thumb under his pectoral, rubbing softly his nipple, very by-the-way. He drops a quiet moan and I breathe hard against his breastbone, my tongue poking out. My hand is sliding yet to another scar over his side, but before I can touch it he grabs my wrist and I'm face down on the mattress, letting out a surprised gasp. Holy shit. He is way stronger than he looks like and even if I should feel alarmed I don't care the slightest, I just want him to fuck me hard against the mattress to be honest. He can kill me for all I care.
"Shut up" he breathes to my nape, pinning me down. I can fight him and see if he really knows something about wrestling but to be fair to myself, I love how his lips feel against my spine. He kisses his way down, skilled hands slid down my underwear and I grunt again, rocking my hips. I feel his lips smiling against my lower back and I look back at him. I'm on all four as he removes my boxers and throws them away. I feel exposed but before I can regret anything his breath is too close and my lips part in a long moan. His tongue is lapping at my entrance and it feels…it feels maddening.
"Fucking Hell, I…" I forget how to talk in my own language when I feel his tongue deeper. The moan that escapes me makes me blush, and I thank whoever I have to thank that my face is against the mattress. My hands tighten forcefully on the sheets and I drag a high moan out every time his tongue withdraws. This man is fucking insane and is taking me down with him.
My back is arched in a nice bow, arse up in the air and I rock back against him, the little bit of pride I had with me is gone. It feels too good, so fucking good I could cry. I feel his hand stroking my hip and wrapping around my aching cock. He gives me a few slow strokes, the fucker, nothing close to what I need. The sounds I'm making, Jesus Christ, I don't want to think about it because I am completely unable to stop them. I have never been this loud. Even the slow sound of music downstairs is muffled.
After a while, when Alek seems satisfied of the sweet torture he's putting me under, he pulls away and I'm wasted, gasping against the pillow, sweaty and needy. I have really been under lots of torture sessions, unluckily. I would always choose Alek's tongue among all them.
"Ah, fuck" he whispers, sounding just as breathless and I turn around to look at him, still panting heavily.
I don't stop getting amazed by how beautiful he is. His lips are swollen and he's sweating as well, looking ethereal in this light.
I pull him down just when he leans in. We read each other perfectly. So the kiss that follows is hard and passionate and leaves us both breathless again. The idea of roughness has slipped from my mind for some reason and I turn Alek around in my arms, his back against the mattress, our legs tangled… He has lost his boxers and I bit my lower lip, looking down as I roll my hips against him. We both are proudly big and hard, leaking already.
"What do you want?" I find myself asking, leaning in for another kiss, our foreheads pressing together. Has he tamed me with just five minutes of rimming? Hell. I don't care the slightest. "Do you want to fuck me?" I breathe against his mouth, our lips brushing together, half parted and we don't stop grinding against each other. "Or do you want me to…" I don't finish my breathed question because teeth are pulling from my lower lip and I'm getting distracted.
"Fuck me" Alek whispers and my lips part some more, letting out a quiet moan. I'm desperate for it. My hand darts to the night side table, where I have put before the condoms and the lube the Hotel provided. I almost knock of the lamp in my rush. The Russian is kissing heavily my neck and has taken hold of my nape, viciously. I get my fingers nicely lubed and slide my arm under his knee. Alek gets the idea and slides his leg over my shoulder, spreading wide for me. Heat shot to my cock and I throb just at the sight, at the thought. I start making slow circles against his entrance with a couple of fingers and the sound he makes almost makes me fuck him dry. I introduce my fingers a bit more each time and I know he can take them but I'm getting my revenge from that wicked tongue of his.
Finally, I push in a couple of fingers, to the knuckle and he groans, lowly. I twist them and start fucking him. He groans every time I push them deep and rocks his hips towards my hand, meeting my eyes. Fuck. He's getting me on fire.
A few moments later I add another finger and soon enough we can't wait anymore. I grab the condom and tear the package with my teeth, feeling his eyes on me, his hand stroking yet another scar. I roll the plastic over myself, torn between turning him around and fucking that perk arse as rough as humanly possible or keep facing him. I decide watching his face coming must be a religious experience so I position myself between his legs and when he gives me the nod of consent I roll my hips and enter him. He makes a sound like he is dying, like an animal that hurt himself, and I feel it as well while I get myself deep, deep inside him.
I settle my arms to both sides of his head, balls deep inside him, stilling. We are both breathing heavily and I feel his legs circling my waist, dragging me even deeper. Our eyes meet for a shockingly long moment and I rock my hips forward, keeping the eye contact. He wails and throws his head back, baring his throat. I kiss and suck at it while I fuck him slowly, barely keeping a steady breathing. He feels so good, so fucking good.
"Kiss me" he says firmly after a while, completely breathless. I look up at him. It's an order I'm more than glad to obey and I comply immediately, crushing his lips in a deep kiss, my hips never stopping, never.
He is rocking his hips down against me while I thrust forward, in perfect sync. I change slightly the angle and he breaks the kiss unwillingly, a long groan escaping his lips to mine.
"You like that?" I breathe and do it again, harder, deeper and he groans again, clawing at my back. I take that as a yes, and I fuck him harder, watching his face with a soft frown of pleasure and concentration. His moans are high and breathless and I fucking love them. His heels dig on my lower back and I take it, fucking him even harder, rougher. "Oh fucking hell, oh God!" he groans, eyes closed in ecstasy. I don't know if I'm too gone but I swear his accent is slipping, he doesn't sound Russian anymore, not even British but something completely different. I don't know, I really don't know, I'm a hopeless man right now. I'm not holding my German anymore, either. I just can't.
We fall together into a spiral of quiet curses and moans, moving hard against each other. I'm getting close and big eyes too, we are becoming erratic, rutting like animals. I shift again and he moans, so loud that makes me moan too, and I know I'm hitting the right spot. I thrust merciless and he writhes, trying to reach between us to stroke himself. I grab his hand and pin it to the pillow, intertwining our fingers. "Want me to touch you?" I ask when he grunts in frustration. "Yeah" he moans quietly against my mouth and ruts harder against me, the sound of skin slapping gets louder. "You wanna come?" I breathe and he whines, the sound so wet and hot that almost send me over the edge, just with that.
"You are driving me insane" I whisper, not realizing of actually saying that out loud. He squeezes my hand, and I kiss him again, so close the kiss is too wet, too sloppy. I move my hand and wrap my fingers around his cock. He's throbbing and leaking and I swallow the sounds he makes when I start stroking him as hard as I'm fucking him.
It takes us a few more thrusts, unrestrained and feral and we come, hard. We do it together, moaning nonsense against each other's mouths, spasms travelling our bodies. I empty myself and stroke him until he is done, rocking my hips slowly now. I'm still fucking him, for a while more, both panting and sensitive. He looks at me through heavy lidded eyes, hands against my chest. It's slow now but he still moans every time I roll my hips. I don't want to stop, for the world, but finally, I can't take it anymore and fall over him.
For a moment, we regain our breath, Alek's arm around my waist, my lips against his sweaty neck. Our hair is sticking together, we are soaked in sweat even if it's freezing out of this bed. I pull away enough to throw the condom to the nightstand and I concede myself a moment to look at him.
His hair is messed up, sticking to his forehead. I move it back in a gesture way gentler than I have wanted and we move to each other, like reading minds. We kiss. Slowly, but getting deeper as time passes. And we kiss and kiss until we are out of breath and even then we return to pull from each other's lips some more. And it's been long, too long when we finally stop.
Alek's thumb strokes my jaw and my cheek, tracing my more visible scar, relaxed. Jesus Christ. He's even more beautiful when he is well-fucked. "Do you want some more whisky?" my handsome friend asks, his voice quiet. "Sure" I nod at him and move so he can slip from bed. I lie on my back, arms under my head and observe shamelessly his strong back, covered in some other small scars, his perfect arse moving. I could fuck him all night long. He pours two glasses, standing there like some Greek God and when he returns to bed I say to myself, with that and a cigarette I would die happy.
I give a sip to the liquid.
And I don't remember anything else.
I wake up next morning with a massive headache and the dim light of the Russian winter on my face. I stare dumbly at the window, forcing my eyes to blink and then I remember everything, memories hitting me like a train. I rush out of the bed but I return to it with a whoosh of air. I look up, lips parting in disbelief. I'm cuffed to the fucking headboard, with my own pair of handcuffs. I look around frantically and my jaw drops. All my guns and knives are displayed at the end of the bed. All of them. All my documents, all the information from the mission. I reach for the glass of whisky with my free hand, which had dropped the content on the mattress, presumably from when I fell unconscious. I sniff at it and grimace. "Son of a fucking bitch!" I snarl, throwing the glass to the wall.
Alek Bratislav, if that's his real name, has fucking drugged me and tied me to the bed.
I remember suddenly why I hated him in the first place. If I would just follow my guts instead of my cock. Just one fucking time. Ever. I had to choose the fucking psycho of all the people to shag in that party. Just my luck.
I'm still very naked and I can imagine Alek's smug laugh when he left me like this. My blood boils. I have to act quickly, if just someone from the hotel staff comes in I would have a dozen of guards here, pointing me with a gun. And I'm not very sure they wouldn't just execute me right here. If I die for that bastard, like this, I swear, I'll haunt him for the rest of his life.
I can't get out. I try and try but these handcuffs are professional. You can't just open them like that. I know. Hell, of course I know they are fucking mine. I curse in at least four different languages and kick the mattress with my heels.
Once I'm out of my tantrum I'm breathless and also more focused. I remember Natalia. Maybe she would come- No, she was tasked with watching over the surroundings. She would be already out there, doing her job, because unlike me, she is not fucking stupid.
Luckily, I'm not that stupid and remember Natalia put her hairpin in my nightstand when she got changed. I find it quickly and fight with the lock of my handcuffs. It takes me several tries but eventually I'm out. I dress as quick as I can and get armed, locking everything down.
I dart out of the room and I'm on the upper floor within a minute.
I'm careful, avoiding every guard I can. The ones I can't avoid are unconscious and tied up in some supplies room. I don't want to alert them and start a rush, suicide-like mission. Those usually finish with my clothes covered in blood, some explosion and the government in the red. So I do try to be careful.
I reach the safe room in an incredible small amount of time, even for me, almost avoiding every guard. The anger moves me. Just the memory of that Bratislav bastard is enough to shoot adrenaline to my veins. I want to meet him again, just to put a bullet in his head.
We planned the mission to start a bit sooner but it's good enough, Kozlov would still be in his office, for sure guarded like gold. My first stop is the room where the Russian has his safes. My orders are clear. Open the safe, take the documents, find Kozlov, kill him. Easy-Peasy.
I'm surprised when I find no guards at the door but I won't complain. Pointing my gun down when I see no-one I scroll inside to the opposite wall where the biggest safe is.
"You have got to be kidding me" I say, stopped in front of the already open safe. I can't fucking believe this. I search through the few papers left inside, frantically, pushing the money aside. No sight of the documents of the terrorist cell deal. I curse under my breath and I'm about to turn around when I feel the cold barrel of a gun pressed to the back of my skull. The sound of a safety going off. I freeze.
"Were you looking for something, blondie?"
My jaw tightens and my body tense like a wild animal smelling blood. This fucking bastard.
"Alek" I say, tilting my head to look back at him, a small smile on my lips even if I'm seeing red.
"Ah-Ah" he tuts with that hateful smirk of his. "Hands up, sweetheart"
I do as I'm told, raising my hands slowly after letting my gun drop to the floor. Of course I'm not helpless, this kid doesn't know who he is playing with. He has bitten more than he can chew.
I slid my small dart from my sleeve, slyly and it will take me just one right movement and this dark-haired nightmare will drop dead in the spot.
The gun tilts to the side in warning and Alek growls quietly: "Don't even think about it"
I'm starting to think he reads my mind. I let my spike drop to the floor and I'm so furious I might get on fire at any moment.
"How did you know?"
"Are you kidding? Your rifle was sticking out of your closet last night"
"You handcuffed me to the bed"
"I couldn't resist"
"Smug asshole-"
"Horny idiot-"
"Enough!"
We are bickering like an old married couple and I grunt, turning around, the gun pressing to my forehead now and I don't care. At all.
"Where are the Afghan papers?" I ask. He pats his suit jacket with a smile.
"I'll take them from your dead, cold body." I say, barely keeping the anger from my voice. He laughs softly and nods.
"You can try,"
"Kozlov is mine." I growl lowly.
"Not a fucking chance, darling" he says, smile dropping and I know it's time to fight. I move quickly and before he can shoot me I have kicked his gun away. I pin him to the wall, hard, and he grunts in pain. He kicks my side before I can punch him. He hits exactly where I have those scars from the landmine that still hurt and he breaks free while I'm there, seeing stars.
He is quick and terrifyingly clever. But I'm stronger and have the military training behind my back. This will be interesting.
We are about to launch ourselves against each other again when we hear sounds and yells in Russian. They must have found the guards I left unconscious already. Before we can react at least five guards run inside the room and we freeze, forgetting our own fight. The guards are as surprised as we are and they don't hesitate to yell the order to kill us.
Everything happens too quickly and Alek reacts first, grabbing a handful of my shirt with one hand, with the other flipping around a table desk that is near us. He is strong. The shots start to fall on us just when we drop behind the robust desk. I slid my hands in my suit and take out from my holster a couple of handguns. Alek does the same and we look at each other, side by side. We hear the caps falling to the floor and I know they are just wasting bullets. The sound of shooting stops and I hear a few Russian words as they reload.
This is the moment. Our only chance. As it seems we have dropped our fight to get out of this alive. They outnumber us by so many men I don't even want to think about it. But I smile because I was born for this. Alek meets my eyes with a smile of his own. I nod and we both launch ourselves each side of the desk, shooting the guards and running to cover somewhere else. We are quick as hell and the guards drop dead while others come and shoot and the same procedure starts again. We reload as well, discharging guns as we run out of chargers, each one of us in one side of the room, big enough to allow us to maneuver. We force our way out of the room, killing when we have to, and I find myself reading my friend as good as he does with me. We fight like we have been doing this our entire life. It feels glorious.
I'm behind a column in the big corridor, panting and throwing away another charger. I'm getting out of bullets and so is Alek. I look at him when he reaches the next column. He has a good range of vision. He makes a gesture with his hands I understand perfectly. Four men coming from the east side. Five or more from the west. I make another gesture that means I'm running out of bullets. Indeed, a couple of men come from where we have just run out and I shoot. Yes, out of bullets. I look at Alek and he smiles. He makes another professional gesture that means hand-to-hand combat. Fucking madman. He throws his last gun at me and he darts out of his hidden spot, the men already there. I turn on myself and shoot, covering him. I have a hell of an aim and when I'm out of bullets I have taken away most of them. They are still five of them and more coming but Alek is fighting already. And Jesus Christ, he is good. The Russians have no way to reach him with the guns and he is using the men as shields, twirling and spinning, hitting, and kicking, wildly. A perfect technique with a hint of cheating. He is a wonder to watch.
I reach him soon enough and start fighting hand to hand with him, getting rid of the guards as we advance, still alive, against the odds.
"Blondie!" I suddenly hear and spin around in time to watch one of the men drop to his knees, my spike nailed in his forehead, avoiding him to kill me for sure, his gun pointed to my head. "Watch out!" Alek complains and I watch how a man throws him to the floor, hitting his face with his fist so hard Alek spits blood. I'm over him before he can blink, and hit him with a force that surprises even myself. I'm sure I have killed him and I'm panting when I feel a hand on my collar, pulling me up. I am pushed to somewhere dark and narrow before another wave of guards can reach us. I look around and see some kind of supplies closet. It's full of things and it's too small for us. Alek is pressed against me, panting softly, walls against our backs.
The man looks up at me and raises an eyebrow. "Are you hard?" he whispers in disbelief. I tilt my head to the side, shameless.
He huffs softly and shakes his head. "Adrenaline junkie. I should have known."
Images of last night come to my head and I smile a little. "Maybe I just like you too much" I whisper back.
He tilts his head and raises an eyebrow. "I'm sure you tell that to all the boys".
"Just the pretty ones," I say and reach for his face, stroking with my thumb the bleeding lip he earned for saving my life. "Are you going to tell me your real name before we get killed?" I ask quietly, talking in whispers because we are still hearing guards running outside, looking for us.
He raises his eyebrows and smiles. "Would you tell me yours?" he asks. Of course we both know by now we are not who we pretended to be.
"Sebastian Moran," I say without missing a beat. I don't care the slightest even if I can hear Harrison in my mind scolding me.
I watch how Alek narrows his eyes, probably recognizing it. I have made quite a name through the years. I'm the best spy the government proudly claims not to have.
"Sebastian Moran," he drawls and my name just sounds right in his mouth. "Well… it's about time we meet." he says, a little smile on his lips once he's recovered from the slight surprise.
"I'm Jim" he whispers and I lean my head a tad closer.
Jim. I like it.
"Moriarty" he adds finally and my smile drops.
James Moriarty.
My mouth opens slightly. I have heard rumors about him. James Moriarty. Hit man. Spy. Thief. Assassin. Magpie. The Devil. The Spider… people call him lots of names.
He is dangerous and well known around this world. He is the Government nightmare.
I should kill him right away.
"Who are you working for now?" I ask, and he smiles, of course.
"For who paid the most."
"I need to know."
"To tell your superiors like the good dog you are?"
"You think I'm a dog?" I ask softly, because I'm probably the worst agent following orders from my superiors. Nothing close to a lapdog.
"Well, you do look good on all fours…" he says and makes me blink, if not blush. Hateful prick. I really should kill him, they would give me a fucking medal.
I drop the idea soon enough though, it would be a pity - a waste and to be fair- I don't know if I would be able to win that battle.
We both seem to have dropped the idea of fighting because he is stroking again the scar from my face, the one he seems to like and I drag my bleeding knuckles over his cheekbone. We are already breathing the same air in that limited space and the soft touches are asking for it. We lean in to kiss, our lips brushing slowly, but, before we can deepen it and kiss like we like, we hear Russian voices, too close. They have spotted us, finally. I push Jim back with difficulty and don't think about it too much. I usually just act in this kind of situations. I kick the door open despite the small range I have and we get out, ready to fight again.
They aren't too many men now but I hear shots. I turn quickly, worried about Jim, but that little devil is already hitting yet another man. I don't even know why I worry. I shouldn't care. If they kill him they are doing me a favour. With those thoughts I turn to the end of the corridor, knowing is now or never. I know Kozlov is near. I remember the plan of the Hotel. His office is one of these doors, presumably the last. I turn to look at Moriarty who is still fighting but seems to have everything under control. Sorry, buddy. I pick up a discharged gun from the floor and launch myself to the last door, opening it with a kick.
Kozlov is there, sitting at his office desk, finally. No men guarding him because they are all fighting big eyes. He points me with a gun and I do the same, stepping farther in, slowly.
"One cannot make a deal nowadays without the American sticking their noses in. I miss the USSR days" he says, his accent strong.
"I'm not American" I say, eyeing him warily, ready to shoot.
"Ah, British. It's all the same, the same scumbags." he says and smiles in a way that makes my stomach turn. "You can't kill me, comrade, you British pussies always want neat things, don't you?"
I'm about to make a bad James Bond joke about my license to kill, but I stop myself in time. I'm really just volatile temper and bad puns.
"Even if you do kill me you can't escape this alive, I have more men than you can take down alone." he says.
"I'm not alone," I say as I hear noises coming near from the corridor.
We both shoot at the same time and I throw myself to the side. I'm quite sure I'm alive but he almost reaches my arm. My suit is torn but I'm not badly hurt.
The door kicks open again and Jim storms inside, bloody and frowning. "Son of a bitch!" he grunts when he sees Kozlov with a hole between his eyes, dead over his desk. Too late, I think as I jump to my feet.
"That was dirty of you." Moriarty says.
"My bad." I smile dryly, even if I'm very glad he's alive. We hear more sound of yells at the corridor and I'm starting to wonder how many men Kozlov had here. We have no escape and we can't fight anymore, we are too beaten. We both think the same and look at the big window of Kozlov's office. We start running to it and jump, breaking the glass with our bodies and we fall to the near terrace.
This is starting to look like one of my suicide-like missions. We have no escape, it's either the Russian fellows or a six floor fall.
"Fuck," I whisper as I look around frantically, thinking of something. I don't know if I hear my name or it's just my imagination.
"Moran!" there it is again.
I look over the edge and see Natalia, down on the ground waving her hand in circles. Helicopter?
I look around and after a moment I hear over the noise of the wind the indisputable sound of helicopter blades. Soon I see Harrison, giving the pilot instructions to get closer while he prepares a ladder to throw. I have never been this glad to see Harrison's face.
I turn to Moriarty and extend my hand. "Give me the documents!"
He throws me a determined look and gives a step back.
"Come on! You have no other escape, give me the documents and we take you out of here!" I yell, losing patience. The Russians will be here within seconds.
He just pushes himself over the little wall of the rooftop and smiles at me. "Don't get killed blondie, I would love to do it myself someday"
With a last wink to me I see with wide eyes, horrified, how he jumps back, head first. I run towards him, choking out a distressed 'No!' but I'm not fast enough to grab him.
I look down over the roof wall, in time to watch how the little shit has jumped to the huge Hotel swimming pool. Even with that it's a hell of a jump and he must have hurt himself somehow. I feel a shiver when I see the water moving. He could have killed himself, the fucking madman, he could have hit ground so easily. Also that water must be freezing cold.
I stare for a few seconds more and even from this height I manage to watch him get out of the pool, soaked to the bone.
Harrison is yelling at me and I blink, coming back. I turn in time to see the Russians reaching their dead boss's office. I run like a devil and reach the other side of the rooftop, jumping with all my strength. I grab the ladder in the nick of time, hearing shots behind my back as the helicopter scoots away. Harrison grabs a handful of my jacket and pushes me to the inside roughly.
He seems pissed but he will be even more once I tell him I don't have the documents. James fucking Moriarty. If you survive this one I'll make sure to end you with my bare hands.
It's been weeks. Harrison is not that pissed with me anymore. At least I took down the target without any explosion I told him once we were back in London. His face was priceless. The poor man will ask for early retirement because of me, I'm sure. It was a bit awkward to explain why I didn't have the documents of the Afghan deal but as soon as they heard Moriarty's name they moved their attention from me to whatever they thought that might be done. I didn't have to tell them about our night together and how he played me, they didn't ask that much, thank God.
I find myself thinking about him more than I should. I wonder if he survived. I kept hearing shots long after my helicopter was out of reach. Even if I should be glad of his potential death, I know I wouldn't. It would be good for the business. Getting rid of Moriarty would be the best news in years for the Government. With all that, I would be happier if I just know he's out there, alive and kicking. There's no way to know, of course, the man is a ghost, just like we are. I feel annoyed with myself, but I can't help it. I can't take him out of my mind.
It happens one morning, a few weeks later. I look up from the documents I'm reading -my next mission, somewhere in South America- because Harrison enters the office and strolls to me, throwing an envelope to my lap.
"Came for you this morning with the official letters" he says and his mouth is a thin line, like if he doesn't understand how. It has to be official to get into this base so I don't understand why that face. "I don't want to know a word about it, Moran" he says, turning around to leave.
I grab the envelope and turn it on my hands. No name, no address, nothing but a line and my name, hand-written.
From Russia with love
I tore it open quickly, my heart slamming against my ribs, and I drop the content on the desk.
Four Poker cards.
Four Kings.
The people in the office are looking at me like I've finally lost it, like I'm fucking insane but I can't stop laughing out loud. I can't. I'm so relieved.
He's alive.
I can't wait to see that bastard again.