Follow up to Spies Part 1- It's always fucking Budapest. Another favourite of mine to write. Rated M for smut and swearing.
She's always thought of herself as a perceptive person, if you want to stay alive in this business you have to be.
Which is why she's furious with herself that she got shot, the bullet slicing cleanly through the muscle and bone and tissue of her shoulder. Whoever her mysterious shooter was thankfully hadn't hit a major artery, but any idiot worth his weight in gold could follow the trail of blood to get to her.
But she doesn't have time to stop and stem the flow, because she's being pursued.
Budapest. It's always fucking Budapest. This time the mark had been Enzo Augustine, the youngest son of the famed and revered crime family. There had been some unpleasantness associated with that particular family, although nothing could ever stick enough for the CIA to make an arrest.
Her mission had been fairly simple. Go in, ingratiate herself into the life of the youngest son, seduce if need be, and gather enough information and evidence before letting the extraction team handle the messy work.
You know, there was the simple drawback that she didn't speak fucking Hungarian, something that was conveniently overlooked by Alaric when she'd been handed this mission. But never let it be said that she'd let something as simple as a language barrier prevent her from doing the job that she was trained to do.
Another gunshot echoes from behind her, muffled slightly by the silencer attached to the barrel of the weapon. That in itself was terrifying enough, because it pretty much meant that they were going to make her disappear.
She's got Bonnie screaming directions in her earpiece, and she's so, so tempted to rip it out and throw it into the fucking Danube river, but she knows that although the other girl is slightly panicked she's also saving her life.
So she lowers her hand, concentrating on lengthening her strides, putting as many objects in between her and her pursuers. She can't, won't fall into their hands. Not tonight.
"That's the spirit sweetheart." An accented voice echoes over the earpiece. Both her and Bonnie groan simultaneously. Of course he would be here. And she hadn't realised that she'd said that last statement out loud.
"What the hell are you doing here?" She asks through gritted teeth, breathing through the pain because her shoulder is starting to sting like a bitch.
"Saving your life it would seem." Klaus replies mildly, and she almost screams at the arrogance in his tone. But at the same time, she's sort of relieved that he's here, because he hasn't failed her yet.
"Where are you?" She breathes out, turning left down a deserted alleyway.
"Perched on a rooftop admiring the lovely lights of this fair city." He quips with a laugh. "I've also got some company in the form of my SR-25. If you'd be so kind as to turn right at the end of this alleyway, i may be able to provide some assistance to you."
It takes her only split seconds to follow his rapid speech, very quickly putting two and two together. Klaus was up on a roof top, in position with a sniper rifle.
"How did you know that i'd run into trouble?" She asks, slightly out of breath as she turns right, hoping against hope that Klaus wasn't bullshitting her because this was a dead end, and the only thing standing between her and the three men pursuing her was a run down dumpster.
"Call it a hunch darling. Get behind that dumpster and put some pressure on that bullet wound."
Bonnie's exasperated sigh is slightly amusing despite the situation at hand.
"I honestly don't know why i even bother." Bonnie continues at a grumble over the earpiece as she takes shelter behind the dumpster. She takes the few seconds of respite to rip off a strip of her shirt and tie it clumsily around her shoulder. It doesn't do a lot, but she at least looks a little less like she's in a horror movie.
She hears the sound of multiple footsteps echoing off the brick walls of the alley, and peeks around the side of the dumpster. Right on cue there's three soft gun shots, each bullet finding their mark in the most ruthless and efficient way possible.
Klaus doesn't bother with going for center mass. When he shoots, he does it to kill, and apparently does so without remorse.
"The rest of the area is clear sweetheart. You should get to safety and get that wound looked at."
"I'll be seeing you." She says before signing off, because it's sort of tradition. She has no idea how Klaus knows the location of seemingly every one of their safe houses, and it's probably something that she should flag with Alaric, but he hasn't done her any harm yet, and he's saved her ass more times than she can count now.
He'll find her. He always does.
She holds her gun before her as steady as she can before pushing open the door and flicking on the lights. The muscles in her shoulder are screaming in protest but she forces herself to do a quick sweep of the building, making sure that she's totally alone before letting down her guard just that little bit.
She uses the bowie knife strapped to her thigh to cut through her shirt, not wanting to go through the painful process of undoing all of the buttons herself.
Clad only in her jeans, boots, and bra she moves into the living room, making a beeline straight for the bottle of vodka that Damon had thoughtfully left for her. She checks the seal before twisting it open against her stomach, trying not to use her injured arm too much.
She douses the wound with as much of the vodka as she can, taking a few pulls from the bottle herself when it starts to sting.
"That's a waste of a good spirit you know." A voice quips from behind her. She tries not to show that she's startled or caught unawares, turning slowly, taking in the almost lazy way that he's seated in one of the armchairs.
The way his sandy blonde hair is slightly matted to his hair is the only sign that he's exerted himself too much. He's dressed all in black, and he takes the time to give her an almost lazy once over as he tugs off his black gloves. He plants his combat boots on the ground as he leans forward.
"I can stitch that up for you if you'd like." He offers, and she waves dismissively at him.
She ignores him, clutching the bottle of vodka tightly, trying not to remember the last time they'd been in this safe house in Budapest, the things that he'd done to her with his very talented fingers and tongue, the feel of his chest pressing her down into the mattress, the way he rolled his hips when he finally took her for the first time.
"I'll do it myself thanks." She finally bites out through gritted teeth, turning and rummaging for the first aid kit. Where had Damon left it?
He looks slightly bemused by her answer but says nothing, watching as she wipes awkwardly at the blood around her bullet wound, threading some twine through a needle and poking at her skin.
She gives up ten seconds later, recognizing that she can't possibly stitch herself up at this angle.
"Okay, have it your way." She finally relents with a sigh, taking another swig of the bottle before thrusting the needle and thread in his direction.
He smiles at her in amusement, beckoning for her to take his hand. She crosses the short distance between them, pausing slightly, wondering if he's going to make any move to stand up.
He doesn't. Instead he takes the bottle of vodka from her, lips wrapping around the head of the bottle as he takes a swig.
She straddles his lap at the same time that he tugs her towards him, and all of a sudden they're much too close, and she's very aware of the fact that she's wearing only a black lacy bra to cover her top half.
Klaus grips her injured arm gently, pulling it back slightly so he can inspect her wound more closely.
"Do you want anesthetic?" He asks mildly as she just rolls her eyes, breath hitching as she presses down towards his hips slightly.
He manages to do it one handed the bastard. He fucking stitches her up one handed, the other hand rubbing circles into her lower back with his thumb, a taunting smirk on his face as he lets the needle rest against her skin, using the supplied scissors to cut off the end of the twine.
He pauses for a moment to admire his handiwork, before turning those bright blue eyes on her.
"I believe you owe me thanks again."
She reaches for the vodka, pressing it against his chest.
"Here's my thanks. Now drink and then fuck me."
Klaus takes his time, taking another pull from the now half empty bottle of vodka.
"Oh i think it might have to be the other way around darling. Regardless, your wish is my command."
He stands, taking the weight of her easily in his arms. He waits long enough for her to wrap her legs around his waist before he's walking towards the bedroom, kicking in the door and depositing her on the bed.
It's with a predatory smile that he yanks her towards him, kneeling at the foot of her bed and undoing the laces of his her boots. She stares up at the cracked ceiling, and really she shouldn't be doing this again because Klaus is dangerous and she has no idea where his loyalties lie.
"Stop thinking." Klaus orders, sitting her up and pulling her in for a bruising kiss. His lips move harshly against hers and she anchors a hand at the base of his neck. His hands work at the belt of her pants and then the zipper, shoving them roughly down her hips, making her lift them slightly so he can tug them down her legs.
"You're wearing too many clothes." She gasps out between kisses, arching into him as he trails kisses down her throat, nipping at her collarbone. She can feel him smiling against her skin, thumb brushing the underside of a material clad breast.
"Allow me to rectify the situation." He answers, finally getting to his feet and shucking off his clothes. He doesn't make a pageant of it the way others have, he's methodical and quick, pulling his shirt over his head and exposing abs that go on for days, tugging off his boots and socks, shimmying out of his pants and boxers.
She takes the time to admire his body, the lean strength and his cock bobbing proudly before her. She crooks a finger at him, wanting him to join her on the bed.
He rests his back against the headboard, legs spread and waiting for her. she unclasps her bra one handed, pulling the scrap of material from her and depositing it over the side of the bed.
She teases him a little, running a finger or two under the waistband of her black panties, fingers probing at her clit as her mouth drops open with a sigh. His eyes darken as he watches her tease herself, and his voice is rough as he orders her to take them off.
She does, watching as he rolls a condom onto his length. There's no need for lube, the teasing of being on his lap while he stitches her up was foreplay enough for her. He's always had this effect on her and it makes her angry and horny all at once.
She takes his hand, the other gripping his cock and guiding him towards her entrance. She hovers over him for a moment, drawing it out, teasing him like head her.
She meets his eyes when she finally sinks down onto him, taking all of him in as his hand goes to her lower back once more, teasing the soft skin he finds there.
She lets out a soft moan as she bottoms out, and he lets a groan escape through gritted teeth.
She falls into the familiar rhythm they always hit when they're like this, sheets tangled, hands gripping at hips and shoulders as they move together. She lets him lean her back a little, and the new angle has her seeing stars as he brushes up against that spot again and again.
The tell tale tension in her stomach starts to build, muscles clenching around him as he begins to take over, thrusting up into her with a grunt. It's a punishing rhythm, and all she can do now is hold on as her pleasure threatens to overtake her.
It comes suddenly, and for a second her breath catches as she lets out a sigh of pleasure. She throws herself into that abyss, but she doesn't call his name, never does. She won't let herself be that weak.
He follows not seconds later, biting down on her uninjured shoulder with a soft groan as the muscles of his stomach tense for a short moment.
She drags her fingers through the sweat at the hollow of his collarbone, relishing the fact that she'd been the cause of his exertion. She's still feeling the slight aftershocks of their fucking with each movement, and she hums to herself at the welcome sensations.
He pulls out and gently lifts her from his lap, taking a quick moment to dispose of the condom before stepping back into his boxers.
He usually rests for a moment, sleeping the sleep of snipers everywhere as he snatches a few moments of respite.
His eyes are closed, but he's still no doubt totally aware of everything that's going on around him. While he's out she takes the time to slip back into her bra and panties, stealing a shirt from his bag still out in the living rooms.
It's usually at this point that she wakes him and kicks him out, throwing his clothes at him and pushing him out the door.
She leans against the door frame, taking the time to look at him, the gentle rise and fall of his chest, the way his brow seems to finally smooth over. He looks peaceful. Almost innocent.
She crawls back into bed with him, pulling the sheets up to her chest, the pain in her shoulder already fading to a dull ache thanks to his excellent stitch work.
She lets him stay the night.