by Yorgi'sBitch
Disclaimer: Sony and Revolution Studios own TripleX, the characters, the everything.
A/N: A pointless little insight into Kirill and Yelena's relationship. Or lack thereof. Hopefully I'm not the only Kirill fan out there :P Thanks to Marina for spellchecking my Russian! Watch out for swearing and adult themes.
"Stupid American," Yelena muttered, wisely choosing to channel her anger at X even though it was only fair to be angry at Yorgi. "Pig!" She hissed, meaning her estranged boyfriend this time and targeted a slate grey office chair abandoned on the chequered tiles of the empty reception hall for kicking. It slammed into a desk and the metallic thud echoed. Yelena turned suddenly, feeling unwelcome eyes on her.
Frowning at her, his teal-speckled eyes peering over the couch, was Kirill. Blue wisps of smoke curled around his angular, chiselled cheek bones. Yelena shuddered and suppressed the urge to kick him as well. In the balls. Creep, she thought. He probably gets off on seeing me like this.
"What?!" She yelled, her dark Russian eyes aflame with resentment.
Ignoring her, Kirill settled back down to his cigarette. Like he always did. Better for her to spit in his face than kick him in the balls. Or what was that old Russian saying? Kleen kleenom vsheebaty. Either way he was still the sad loser on her list. She'd do the American before she'd do him. It was enough to know that his fetish attention made her aware of his existence. Lucky enough, he thought miserably.
Shit. Yelena regretted her outburst; she hadn't meant to snap at him. Of all the fucking perverts in this place he's the only one who shows me some respect. "What are you doing?" With returning dignity, she pulled up the chair she'd just kicked and sat down, hands tucked beneath her legs.
Surprised by her unexpected interest and suspicious of it for all of a second, Kirill frowned again, studying her from his comfortable position on the sofa. "Getting drunk," he explained cheerfully. As evidence he held up a bottle of vodka. Even an optimist wouldn't have argued it was half full.
Yelena snorted and shuffled herself and the chair closer. "Shouldn't you be fucking someone?" The Russian woman tossed her head over her shoulders, indicating his comrades who had vanished to their respective rooms.
A polite, pointed smile slowly laced Kirill's lips as he chose not to answer the question. Yelena was grateful. "Because of me?"
"Because of you what?" Kirill's gentle, accented voice drifted up to her from where he was lounging.
"That you are getting drunk."
The smile remained, framed by thin, nicotine-coated lips. "Yelena, you are the reason I get up in the morning."
Probably because you think the sun shines from my ass. But she couldn't tell if Kirill was being serious or not. "Well I'm going to get drunk. He's a pig," she muttered again and reached for the vodka bottle on the cork-topped table stained with alcohol. "That American?"
"Xander Cage? Yes, he is a pig as well. But I mean Yorgi. He's pimping me off on X. He might think I'm one of his bitches, but I'm not." Yelena was angry enough to risk her opinion on Kirill. If he passed it along to Yorgi, what could she do? And he might; she suspected he would take Yorgi's side over hers in the same second she would take his over Xander's. Because Kirill was paid.
Kirill was silent long enough for his cigarette to burn down to the butt. He stubbed it out and reached for the crumpled pack lying on the table-top. Without meeting her eyes, he said, "You're right. He's a pig. He treats you like shit. Why do you stay with him?" When he looked at her it was with damning accusation. Kirill was angry, or irritated – at the very least.
Yelena shrugged. "I need him. More than I need you. Right now." She sipped at the Smirnoff bottle and wiped her lips with the back of her hand.
"It's about the money?" Despite her cold, calculating exterior, Kirill had not thought Yelena possible of capitalist manipulation. He'd always thought Yelena actually cared for Yorgi in the same way abused dogs still wag their tale for their owners. Until they turn on them.
"Everything is about money. And power. What's it with you?" Yelena asked. "Is it my tits? My ass? My beauty?" Her laugh mocked him as much as her vanity.
Resting his arm on the couch and exhaling a cloud of smoke, Kirill replied quietly, "It's about who you really are."
It was all Yelena could do to choke up a disbelieving laugh. "Who I really am?"
"You're a fake, Yelena," Kirill dished out the criticism. "I don't care about how nasty you are. Maybe Yorgi, he cares. But your act is cheap."
For a moment she panicked, wondering what Kirill had meant. Now that it was revealed, his remarks cut. Even coming from him. Especially coming from him. "You seem to like it."
"I do. Just that I prefer you as a person, not an actress. You're not that good you know."
Yelena grit her teeth and yanked out one of the 9mm heaters she carried, aiming it squarely at the space between Kirill's sharp eyes. If he only knew! "You know, Kirill," she said sweetly, "I've always wanted to shoot you. But Yorgi won't let me."
"You must be having a bad day, Yelena my love." Kirill slipped the cigarette behind his right ear and sat up, refusing to be intimidated. He slid over and flipped the catch near the trigger. "The safety's still on. Now you can shoot me." Grinning like the Cheshire cat, he waited patiently for her to follow through with her threat. When she didn't he chuckled. "Maybe you never meant to shoot me. You like me."
"No, I don't." Flustered, Yelena drew back, the weapon still pointed at Kirill. "You're a paedophile who fishes my hair out of the shower drain to make a hair-doll."
Kirill smiled, leaving things to Yelena's imagination. He leaned forward, feeling the cold barrel of the gun pressing against his chest as he pressed his lips to hers. They had barely touched when the sniper felt Yelena's gun pointed decidedly lower than his chest. Releasing her, he flashed a fleeting, toothy grin and stood from the couch. At once she reached for the vodka and emptied the dregs sloshing at the bottom of the bottle.
"You like me." Taking the cigarette between his fingers once again, Kirill headed for the door. "Good night, Yelena."
Yelena paused, evaluating her integrity and how weak it must be to have let Kirill slip past her defences. Did she really want attention that badly? Just to get back at Yorgi or even X? "Hey, Kirill, do you really love me? Or you just want to fuck me?"
"Yes," he replied cryptically and took a drag of his cigarette.
Yelena nodded slowly. A bit of both. "Hey Kirill!"
He turned on his booted heel, blithely, attentive.
"If you ever kiss me again I really will shoot you in the balls."
Kirill bit back a smile despite the threat levelled at his manhood. He knew she didn't really mean it. "Good night, Yelena," he said again.
"Good night, Kirill."
The End.