She leaned against the white-tiled counter in their small kitchen, unable to think past the wide-eyed silent stand-off Kirill had just ended. They had just come in from their daily game of hide and seek, an excercise she had learned from David Webb during Treadstone and that she and Kirill had been playing near dusk since the first town they had stayed for more than a week. That was seven months ago and this was the third nondescript cottage, ninth place total, they had stayed in.
Normally after the game she would immediately start an evening meal while Kirill set up security measures around their space. Breakfast was Kirill's job while she checked for any news that might indicate pursuit and planned their next move. The middle of day was dedicated to physical training, mapping the area, and any other research they might want to do. Tonight she could not think what to make, let alone gather enough focus to push off the counter and begin.
Neither talked much and not only because Kirill's English was thickly accented enough to preclude easy dialogue and she was still pretending that she understood only a few basic Russian phrases. When they did speak, they used French or Spanish, occasionally German, to coordinate housework or schedules or the business of hiding. They both had too many secrets to view any stories shared anything but a dangerous tie or colored by lies. So conversations were mostly functional, necessary interactions to share immediate facts and plans. Any other discussions had been mutually avoided since Kirill's painful, halting confession of confused assassin's guilt stemming from when Bourne had mercifully let him go in Moscow and Bourne's own cryptic request to keep Nikki safe. That request had likely been to assuage Bourne's own guilt in dragging her into his never-ending cycle of conspiracy and redemption.
Despite their lack of dialogue, they both had enough training in tactics to have clicked easily as a team after only a few days on the run. And while both continued to be wary of the other, most mutual regard was fairly comfortable, anticipation of the other's movements in the dance two people do when in close quarters and not a deep searching assessment of psychological balance.
Because today during their game, just after she had left their turnaround point, it had suddenly hit her that tomorrow was her birthday. And tomorrow there would be no calls home to her mother and sister, no card from her Southern cousin and aunt, no congratulatory tweets from friends, just more of the same tension between her and her temporary guardian/partner as they tried to figure out who they were evading and why. And so she had panicked, not enough to hyperventilate and pass out, but enough to have sent her racing through the narrow twisty streets, enough to have forgotten Kirill's mock hunting in her desperation to get back to something familiar.
He had caught her after only three blocks of panicked running, immobilizing her from behind with long arms and the bulk of his body, whispering shush-shush-shush in her ear, against a brick wall in a shadowed alley. He held her in that strangely claustrophobic-comforting embrace long enough for her breathing to calm, before walking her quickly home, right arm around her shoulders, left hand entangling hers as if they were two lovers who could not bear an inch apart and not almost-strangers who simply shared a common goal of not-dying. Once he had unlocked the door and led her to the kitchen, he had left again to secure the cottage.
She painfully tracked every move he made in their small one bedroom-one bath space by sound, only moving once he went outside to finish the circuit. He returned to the kitchen to find her slumped into a chair, head propped on one hand, elbow on their tiny table. He bodily lifted her, large hands wrapped around her upper arms, manhandling her over to the sink to use the brighter work light there to check her. She stared into his searching hazel eyes for a too short eternity before his face splintered into sympathy and sadness and impatience and something else that she could not read but made her hot and needy. Somehow it was that last unintelligible emotion that made her push him away and square her shoulders. He turned away then, seemingly satisfied that he could leave her alone without further panicking, stalking off to a shower.
Once she heard him step into the shower and pull the curtain shut, she began to move her feet. This was not the first time she had felt his lust, nor her own. After all they were two young athletic people who had seen each other at their most basic day in and day out for months on end. Before she could ignore it, could let her logic subsume the attraction in the interest of survival and a precarious partnership. But tonight she did not have the energy to fight her own barely tamed panic in addition to their mutual desire. She wanted the comfort of touch, the slide of skin on skin to take herself out of her desperation with some personal intimacy. She wanted to exchange something for his careful safeguard, put them on a more balanced footing than protector and protected.
When she entered the bathroom, he looked up startled through the spray, left forearm on the tiles bracing himself upright, right hand still mid-stroke on his erect cock. She maintained eye contact as she stripped down and stepped into their surprisingly large shower in front of him, forcing him upright. When he cupped the points of her shoulders, she turned around, no longer wanting to see the myriad emotions in his eyes, readjusting her goal from gratitude and comfort to fill the void of aloneness to a quick fuck to blunt her whirling thoughts. She spread her feet apart, resting her forehead against her folded arms on the tiles above the shower knobs. She arched her back, presenting her cunt to him. In the long pause after his shocked and aroused gasp she started to feel nervous, but then his arms snaked around her torso to lightly caress her breasts and his teeth nipped at the junction of her neck and shoulder.
He leaned back again, his balls and the base of his arousal pressing into the cleft of her buttocks. He began stroking down her back, starting each stroke at the top of her shoulders, fingertips grazing over her clavicle or briefly clasping her shoulders or upper arms. The water was endlessly warm, bouncing off his chest onto her lower back, the occasional droplet hitting her upper back in syncopation with his even regular strokes. She felt herself melting, every touch of his long fingers and broad palms guiding the tension out of her body to pool in her gut.
Long minutes passed as Nicky slid past simple arousal into blinding want. She did not understand how her legs were still holding her up, her back was so limp she felt as if she hung between her arms and cheek against the tiles and her buttocks pressed against Kirill's hips, her breasts grazed the cold shower knobs with every asymmetric stroke of Kirill's hands. Her breath came in long sighing gasps, drowned out by the noise of the water. Finally Kirill's hands stopped, sliding around her body again to cup a breast and palm her mound, pulling her so that she leaned limply against him, her head on his shoulder. He leaned back so that the soft spray hit her just below her collarbones and dipped his head to delicately lick at her neck. Her legs were still slightly spread so his long fingers dipped into her slit to stroke her labia and bring her natural slickness up to her clitoris.
Kirill was just as methodical about stroking her sex as he was her back and Nikki was soon curving her hips up to add pressure to his firm-gentle touches. Her gasps were coming quicker as her climax approached. He had been softly cupping her right breast with his left hand, keeping her upright with a taut forearm across her chest, now he tweaked the nipple hard. Nikki bowed up into the pleasure-pain and then curled forward as her orgasm clenched a straight line into her gut, stronger than anything she had felt in years, let alone the miserable last few months of furtive self-relief.
Her head thudded back on his shoulder and she heard a quiet, "Okay?" in her ear, warm breath scudding over her lobe to shiver afterquakes up her body from his still hand loosely cupping and pressing the front of her mound. Nikki took a couple of deep breaths before nodding and mouthing a breathy okay in return. He shifted his right arm across her lower abdomen and bodily lifted her off her feet, spinning her so that she now faced the back of the shower away from the spray. Putting her back on her feet his hands skimmed down her arms until he grasped her palms and placed them against the tile at shoulder height. His hands then skimmed down her torso to her hips and again he lifted her off her feet. She felt him bend his knees before the thick slide of his cock into her sensitive cunt cut off all thought and drew an involuntary moan from deep in her chest.
Her toes dangled an unknown distance above the tiles - he was holding her up by her hips, fucking into her using mostly his arms and long hip rolls. He set a slow pace, punctuating every slide with a little thrust of completion, drawing gasps and further clenches of arousal. Something hotter and brighter grew out of their sliding connection, bursting from her vagina and gleaming down her legs, out thru her arms and the top of her head. Everything she was clenched around the centerpoint of his cock inside her as his moan mingled with her own.
He pounded harder and faster into her until he abruptly tightened his hands on her hips and lifted her up, depositing her back on numb feet. One more arch against her back and heat striped along her spine, soft deep-seated groan next to her ear. His hands had not loosed their death-grip on her hips, and harsh breaths sounded in her ear for at least a minute, before he let go and turned away, letting the shower sluice away the semen on her back. A second later his hands were back on her, this time with soap and a washcloth. She limply allowed him to wash her and then himself, shuffling them in and out of the spray. He shut off the water and grabbed a towel, drying off first her body and then his own before wrapping the thin terry cloth about his waist.
"Brush your teeth." His voice was low and bemused as he walked out of the bathroom. She moved to the sink, complying slowly in her dream-state. He was back a quick minute later, bare-chested in loose shorts, her pajamas draped over one arm. As she dressed, he brushed his teeth, watching her in the large framed mirror above the sink. She stood watching him while he finished, blissed out and almost asleep on her feet. When done, he took her hand and drew her to the double bed she had been using in the bedroom. He usually slept on the pullout sofa in the seating alcove next to the kitchen, but tonight when she lay down on top of the covers in the middle of the bed, she drew him down behind her, pulling his arm around her like a blanket.
He followed her easily, scooting into her back, pillowing her head on his unoccupied arm, nuzzling into the soft hair at the back of her neck. She spared a passing thought for their missed supper, but was much too relaxed to bother doing anything about it. Soon his even breathing lulled her to sleep.
A/N: This is my first fanfiction. Reviews are appreciated. I got the hide and seek game from a Jason/Nicky fanfic I read a while ago and that I am having a hard time finding. There will be more in this world, post-Bourne trilogy.