Archive of Our Own ^beta

Robert Forsythe hadn’t had an awful lot to do with the newcomers to the village, though he knew them of course, everyone knew them. Everyone liked them too, which was unusual when it came to new faces, especially when they were foreigners to boot. An American and a Russian, you couldn’t get more foreign than that.

The two of them kept themselves to themselves but they came into the village regularly, usually had a drink and a meal at the pub when they did. The taller one, the Russian, was a patient of Dr Cloney. He took fits according to the village gossips, who no doubt had been fed the information by Agatha the receptionist at the surgery, because no one at least to Robert’s knowledge, had actually witnessed the man having one of these fits.

There was a lot of gossip about the two of them. There was bound to be really: the two of them living together and all. It wasn’t unkind though, and it stayed within the village. It was taken for granted now that the two of them had their reasons for living in the remote cottage in what was already a fairly isolated village, even by Scottish standards. The villagers respected that, especially after the incident with young Jade Cameron.

The bastards who’d grabbed Jade had driven up from southern England, robbed one of those security vans and shot one of the guards according to the police and the BBC. High on drugs and armed to the teeth apparently. They’d stopped sixteen year old Jade for directions, dragging her into the car with them.

A search had been organised for her as soon as her dad had reported her missing. Most of the village had turned out, but if the two newcomers hadn’t been in the pub that day the results might have been very different. It had been the two of them who had worked out what had happened and tracked down the bastards that had Jade: tracked them to the abandoned McTeague farm, and while the local police were dithering around, uncertain what to do and waiting for an armed response team to assist them, the Russian and the American had got Jade out, overpowering the bastards who’d kidnapped her.

They’d told Jade to say that she’d managed to get free on her own, slipping out while her captors were fighting amongst themselves, which is just what she’d said, at least to the police. Her six kidnappers, and potential rapists, had either claimed to be unconscious at the time, or had ranted on about being attacked by Ninja’s: a claim that had been attributed to the drugs they’d taken.

Jade had told her parents the truth, however: how her two rescuers had knocked out the two lookouts; freed her; then disarmed and beaten the tar out of the other four with very little effort. Her parents had of course told their friends, and word had spread through the village.

Everyone loved them for it; as well they should, and the villagers had become fiercely protective of the two young men’s privacy.

Robert had been a sergeant in the Black Watch for many years before retiring back here at home, and he knew military training when he saw it. You could see it in these two, even in the Russian with his long hair and slight limp.

He greeted the two of them, now, with a smile.

“Can I help you gentlemen?”

It was the American who spoke, the Russian busy looking at his range of Christmas trees.

“We need a tree apparently.” His eyes glanced over at the Russian and there was a slight smile on his face.

“Good one,” the Russian spoke up, not looking over, “with root ball.”

“You know there are enough trees growing around the cottage; we could have dug one of those up for free!” the American pointed out.

“Niet! We don’t take tree out of wild. We take one of these, plantation grown, then plant it out after holiday.”

“He’s right,” Robert told the American, “you shouldn’t take a tree from the wild. What size is it you’re looking for?”

The Russian answered. “Six feet. One that does not…” he frowned, shook his head. “Without big dropping of… Spines?” he asked the American.

“Needles,” the American corrected. “One that doesn’t drop a lot of pine needles,” he told Robert.

“Pine needles, Da.”

“You need to look at the more expensive trees, then,” Robert explained. “Although if you’re going for one with a root ball you shouldn’t have too much difficulty, just don’t let the root ball dry out, keep it watered. Will you be wantin’ a container for it?”

The American studied the size of the tree roots. “We’ve got a couple of buckets in the yard that might…”

“Wooden one,” the Russian cut him off giving the American a look that made it clear what he thought of his idea.

“Good choice,” Robert agreed. “They’re aged oak, nice and sturdy, add a bit of character.”

“They cost twice the price of the trees,” the American pointed out.

“Aye, but you can use it every year. Use it for a planter in the summer too, if you’ve a mind.”

“Planter?” the Russian asked as a tree caught his eye and he pulled it to the front.

“A lot of people grow flowers in them through the summer, or herbs, strawberries.”

The Russian nodded his understanding. “We take this tree.”

“I’ll net it up for you,” Robert told him, going over to take it from the man.

The Russian went over to where the American was still studying the barrels. “We buy two,” he announced.

“Want to explain that to me?” The American was still smiling, had been the whole time, even when he was complaining about the price, so Robert was pretty certain he could be sure of a sale.

“One for tree and then strawberries, and one for herbs.”

“You’re really getting into this gardening thing.”

“Never had one before,” the Russian commented. “Never wanted one… until Texas.”

“I remember.” The American placed a hand on the Russian’s shoulder, squeezed. “Two it is then. I kinda like strawberries. You want anything else while we’re here?”

“Niet.”

Jason Bourne finished cleaning off the dog’s paws after she’d come in from her last route around outside the cottage for the evening. When they’d first been given the dog by the farmer, who’d declared her too keen around the sheep, the idea had been that she’d sleep outside. They’d even fixed up a warm dry place for her in one of the croft’s outbuildings. After a third sleepless night caused by her endless howling Kirill had insisted that they either let her in or shoot her. She’d slept on the rug in front of the hearth ever since.

“Where the hell did you find the mud, Galina?” Jason asked her, “Two inches of damn snow out there and you have to come back with muddy paws.”

The dog gazed up at him with those adoring golden-brown eyes that never failed to coax the last sausage from the pan, the last morsel of food from their plates. There was no way in hell either of them could have shot her.

He finished with the dog and locked up for the night, turning off the lights as he made his way through the cottage. He paused in the living room, eyes caught by the Christmas tree.

Kirill’s insistence on the tree, baubles, and lights had been something of a surprise, but then surprising Jason was something the Russian was unfailingly good at. He left the dog alone to curl up happily on the rug and left the tree lights on.

The shower turned off just as Jason entered the bedroom. It was part of their routine that Jason put out Kirill’s medication and was there when he took it. Even on the odd occasions when they were separated he made a point of phoning, of having Kirill get out his meds and take them during the call.

He shook the pills out of their containers now, put them ready beside the glass of water waiting on the bedside table, then went over to the chest of drawers, pulled out the box he’d hidden under his T-shirts earlier that day. This was probably going to get him laughed at he realised, or mocked in a stream of Russian too fast for him to translate, but he didn’t much care. Dr Cloney had explained how this alternative therapy could help Kirill to control his seizures, and eventually reduce the strength of the medication he was forced to take, so Jason was all for giving it a try.

Kirill walked out of the bathroom, towel thrown over his shoulder, to find no lights on in the bedroom. Instead half a dozen or more candles had been lit around the room. It wasn’t until the scent hit him that he realised what Jason had in mind, but he feigned ignorance, biting back a smile.

“Have we blown a fuse?”

“No, I erm…”

“Is this because of Christmas tree and two barrels? Are you like Scrooge in Dickens’ story?”

Jason looked up at him from where he had sat on the edge of the bed. “I bought some things. I’ve been thinking about what the doctor said about alternative therapy. I thought it couldn’t hurt to try.”

Kirill recognised the sincere look, knew the concern was genuine and that he shouldn’t tease Jason.

“What did you buy?” he asked, moving to sit on the bed beside him.

“The candles, some stuff for the bath, and massage oil. I ordered it from this online store a few days ago, picked the parcel up from the Post Office this morning. I just… I couldn’t remember the names of all the scents. There were some she said we shouldn’t use because they could bring on a seizure. The only one I was really sure of was this one.”

Kirill paid more attention to the smell of the candles, recognised the scent. “Lavender?” he raised an eyebrow. “You want me to smell like an old woman?”

“If it helped you control the seizures I wouldn’t care if it smelt like sheep shit! Take your damn pills!”

The tone was suddenly hard, clipped, and Kirill knew he’d overdone the teasing. “Jason…”

“Take the pills,” he repeated quietly.

Kirill took them obediently, letting Jason see, washing them down with the water. He knew what this was about. It didn’t come up between them too often and Kirill kept hoping each time that it did would be the last, that he had said enough to fix things, but that never seemed to happen. That didn’t mean he wasn’t willing to stop trying.

“You have to stop, Jason, stop doing this,” he told him, eyes on the American who had turned away from him the minute he’d put the water down. “What is wrong with me, it is not your fault, we have been over this.”

“Did I say that it was?”

Kirill sighed. “You don’t have to.”

Jason laughed, turning back to face him, but there was no humour in the sound. “What, you can read me so well?”

“I can, but I don’t have to. You think I don’t notice when you have dreams, dreams you try to hide, dreams you don’t write down. You think I don’t know what they’re about?” He shook his head. “You think I don’t lie here and listen?”

He shook his head. “What happened to me, the crash, it was not your fault. I was the one chasing you, remember?”

“I remember,” Jason told him, eyes back on the hands he had balled into fists in his lap, “it’s just…”

“Answer me a question, honest answer?” Kirill asked him.

“Sure.”

“Is it why you are with me, because you feel sorry, guilty?”

“No.” Jason shook his head and then answered more vehemently, “No! Don’t think that, don’t ever think that.”

“Truth?” Kirill needed to know.

“Absolute truth. I don’t know what the hell it is about you that drives me crazy, I’m not even sure now when it started, but it…” He looked up, met Kirill’s eyes with that sincere blue gaze. “It’s love, not guilt,” he said softly.

It wasn’t a word they used love. It wasn’t that they denied the feeling, it just wasn’t a word either of them found easy to say, even to each other.

“So…” Kirill spoke, not wanting a long silence to hang there between them, “There is massage oil?”

Bourne nodded. “You remember what the doctor said about using aromatherapy? We train your body to associate a certain smell with a feeling of relaxation.”

“Da, I remember. You think it will work?” Kirill had been sceptical when Dr Cloney spoke about it.

“Can’t hurt to try,” Jason told him, smiling once more. He reached out a hand to the back of Kirill’s head, started to draw him close for a kiss and then stopped. “Your damn hair’s soaking, give me this!”

He grabbed the towel still slung over Kirill’s shoulder, moved to kneel behind him on the bed and started to towel it dry.

“You are like mother hen.”

“I told you,” Jason said, voice low, and Kirill felt the soft touch of his lover’s breath on his shoulder before he felt the kiss, “I love you.”

The massage felt so good that Kirill didn’t much care about the smell. He liked Jason touching him, remembered the first time he really had; pulling him from a nightmare memory with firm, gentle touches from those strong square hands of his. The hands had lingered, soothed, long after he’d been fully awake, until realisation of what he was doing had hit Jason and he’d moved quickly away. Kirill had known then though; known that what he had been feeling wasn’t one sided.

Jason had given him a massage before, though never quite so thorough as this. He was good at it; kneading out his knots and aches with lightly oiled hands, whilst Kirill relaxed in the soft flicker of candle light, eyes drawn to the man above him. Looking at Jason was never difficult, seeing him naked was something he couldn’t get enough of. Bourne wasn’t as comfortable as he was when it came to walking around without his clothes on, he even slept in boxers. It might be some Treadstone thing, that was always a possibility, but Kirill was more inclined to attribute it to the fact that deep down Jason was innately shy, though he had no idea why that would be. He had a good body; strong, solid, the body of a soldier. That he was a soldier, and such an exceptional one, was at odds with the gentle, unassuming man Kirill had come to know, care for, who cared back with such intensity and passion.

“Feel good?” Jason asked him as he straddled his thighs and smiled down at him.

“Mmh,” Kirill let out a long contented sigh. He felt incredibly relaxed, the scent from the candles seemed to have seeped beneath his skin, and he felt like he was floating in that space between asleep and awake. “Almost everything is limp.”

Jason grinned, looking down at his erection that wasn’t quite as relaxed as the rest of him. “So I see. I’m pretty sure that’s gonna subside eventually.”

Kirill struggled to sit up a little, supporting himself on his forearms. “What do you mean eventually?”

“You’re supposed to associate this smell with being relaxed, not with sex,” Jason explained, and Kirill wasn’t sure if the American was being serious or not.

He frowned up at him. “Will not work then.”

“I guess you can’t be fully relaxed if you’re feeling a little frustrated.” There was a small but smug grin on Jason’s face.

“More than little. I am thinking that cannot be good for me.”

The smug grin grew a little wider. “Maybe I should take matters in hand.”

“I wasn’t thinking about hands so much.” Kirill prompted.

“This is a massage, remember?”

Kirill grinned. “Doctor called it alternative therapy.”

“So,” Jason raised a questioning eyebrow, “you’d prefer an alternative to this?” He slowly, softly, ran the pad of his thumb along the underside of Kirill’s erection, following the vein from root to crown.

Kirill gasped. “Eto horoshno!”

“That feels good huh?” He repeated the action, intense eyes locked on Kirill’s, and it was a look Kirill knew.

“Bystree,” he urged him.

“This is fast enough, a massage should be slow. I like taking my time over you.”

Jason continued the gentle stroking with the pad of his thumb, barely touching Kirill at all. He wondered how long it would take for Kirill to come just from this, but tonight wasn’t the night to find out.

“Do you want more?” he asked, knowing what the answer would be.

“Da! Sejchas!”

“Now, huh? Anyone ever tell you you were impatient?”

“Please?” Desire had already thickened Kirill’s deep, heavily accented voice.

“Do you want to spread your legs for me?”

He was always careful to make every request a question, never an instruction, to let Kirill make the decisions, let him have the control. The odd times he’d forgotten, been too aroused and eager to think, he’d lost his Kirill to the shell that Nikolai Uspensky had created, a mere ghost of the real man, and getting him fully back took days, even now.

Kirill had his own fair share of nightmares, most of which he remembered and diligently wrote down. He seldom spoke about them, about Uspensky, but he’d leave his book in the drawer beside the bed and at some point, when Kirill was distracted, occupied with other things, Jason would read it. In his imagination he killed Uspensky in a thousand different ways.

They shifted on top of the bed; Jason moving between Kirill’s spread legs and lowering himself slowly to rest his hands on either side of the younger man’s head, leaning down to sweep his tongue over those incredible lips, nip lightly at the top one before feasting on the fullness of the bottom one. Kirill’s hands came up to rake through his short hair, pull him down, as he deepened the kiss. Kirill tasted of toothpaste and mouthwash, there was another flavour too; citrus, a hint of the orange he’d eaten earlier. His now dry hair still held the smell of coconut shampoo.

As he relinquished his mouth, kissed his way, down over the jaw to the neck that was so willingly exposed for him he took in the scent of Kirill’s skin, the smell of the lavender oil, the freshly washed, soap clean aroma from the shower, but beneath it was that warm, somehow exotic dark musk that was all Kirill.

Jason kissed his way down the long arch of his neck, to the broad chest, one arm propping him up, the fingers playing in Kirill’s hair. The other hand roamed down Kirill’s flanks to knead his ass as his mouth latched on to a sensitive nipple and coaxed low groans and murmured streams of senseless Russian from the man beneath him.

Kirill’s skin, always soft, felt like silk under his hands, from the oil. Bourne could taste the lavender, bitter on his lips as he slowly kissed and licked his way down the lean, muscular body, targeting every sensitive spot he knew of, and always searching for more.

Kirill groaned loudly. “Ja shozhu po tebe s uma.”

Jason chuckled. “’Bout. Time. I drove. You. Crazy.” Punctuating each word with a kiss. “Want me to stop?”

“Niet, niet, don’t stop. Want to be in your mouth. Want to come.”

“Maybe I should stop, it doesn’t seem like you’re relaxing.”

“Fuck relaxing!”

Jason laughed, palming Kirill’s balls with his hand as he placed a kiss on the pre-come glazed crown of his erection. “Rather fuck you.”

“Then do it, fuck me. Do it now Jason, please!” Kirill was breathless, head thrown back, eyes half closed, hips moving, seemingly uncertain whether they wanted to writhe or thrust off the bed.

Jason stilled him, took the crown between his lips, tonguing the slit for a moment before slowly taking the entire length into his mouth, relaxing his throat and swallowing.

“Chort!” Kirill came almost immediately, jerking beneath him, almost gagging him. Jason swallowed all he gave. He was comfortable with doing that now, hadn’t been at first. He hadn’t been comfortable with giving oral sex at all, but he loved it now, loved anything that caused Kirill to lose every shred of control like this.

He moved back up the long body and claimed a long deep kiss, their tongues eager, fevered, their hands kneading each others flesh with bruising want. Jason was surprised when he was flipped skilfully, finding himself suddenly the one on his back, looking up into intense eyes that seemed almost entirely black in the flickering candlelight.

He grinned up at Kirill. “You like that?”

“Da.” He lifted a little, ran a hand from the top of Jason’s thigh to his abs where the fingers feathered over taut muscle. “I like, want more.”

Jason reached up to place a palm to Kirill’s cheek, running his thumb over those extraordinary lips until they parted, sucked it in.

“The offer’s always open Kirill, you know that,” he invited.

Kirill’s teeth held onto the tip of his thumb while he smiled around it, shook his head.

“What then?”

Kirill released his thumb with a soft, sucking kiss before reaching over to the bedside table, opening the draw. He pulled out the lubricant, handing it to Jason before hastily rearranging the bed so he could sit propped up by pillows.

Jason moved to kneel between legs that splayed wide for him, snicking open the cap and liberally coating two of his fingers. At the first breach of a single finger Kirill tensed a little and Jason waited for the slow shaky breath that would tell him it was okay to continue. The moment it came he moved, slowly, deliberately, to stroke against the velvet of the walls that held him, waiting for the fidgeting movement that accompanied the soft whisper of “More.”

Perfect white teeth came down to rest over Kirill’s bottom lip as Jason pushed back inside with two fingers, breath coming in small almost silent exhales, his large dark eyes almost impossibly wide, coming up to meet Jason’s as he relaxed at the intrusion, the tip of his tongue flicking out to moisten his top lip…

Jason couldn’t look anymore, not without losing what little control he had left. He tangled his free hand in Kirill’s hair instead, pulling him into a kiss as he continued to stretch and loosen him.

“Enough,” Kirill broke the kiss, pulling away, hands stroking over Jason’s hair, his own hair mussed, wild. “Now?” he asked him.

Jason nodded. Gently withdrawing his fingers he knelt between Kirill’s legs, waiting as the younger man hunted over the bedding to find the discarded tube of lube then sat up a little more to give himself better access to Jason’s achingly hard cock.

Kirill’s hands were large, long fingered, even the smallest gesture from them expressive. Whatever they were doing, from petting the dog to stripping down a weapon with that almost unconscious level of concentration Kirill had, Jason loved to watch them, having one of them wrapped around his length, slicking him up was almost overwhelming.

“Do-don’t… Not too much,” he warned, “or this’ll be over before it ever gets started.”

He got a nod, no words or smiles, as Kirill finished then lay back against the pillows, raising one of those endlessly long legs over Jason’s shoulder.

In his eagerness Jason’s first attempt missed, drawing a hiss of frustration from him, but at the second, he grazed the blunt head of his cock against the slick hole, thrusting slowly into Kirill’s waiting body. That feeling, the slow breaching of that still tight ring of muscle, was always incredible, watching Kirill’s face as it happened, seeing that moment where discomfort changed to pleasure, was icing on the cake.

Kirill was breathing heavily, his body staying tense until Jason was fully sheathed inside of him

Jason rocked at first, small movements that he knew drove his lover insane. Then he began to fuck him slowly. Kirill lost his command of English. He always did when Jason was inside him, but he was never quiet. He murmured endlessly in Russian between hitching breaths and low deep throated groans that seemed wired directly to Jason’s cock. Jason didn’t make the effort to translate very much of what Kirill was saying, though he was pretty sure some of it was obscene, knew for certain that was the case when he adjusted his angle slightly and began to hit Kirill’s prostate.

He speeded his strokes, starting to thrust hard and fast into the tight sheath that massaged his length so completely.

He watched Kirill wrap his long fingers around his own growing erection, start to stroke himself in time with Jason’s thrusts, and it undid him, sending him over the edge until he was unable to stop himself from coming, shaking, losing himself in the sweat slick body beneath him.

Still shuddering and slightly dizzy as he withdrew, he put his hand over Kirill’s, taking over the jacking of his cock until the Russian came, crying out, his body arching off the bed.

They fell into each other, a sated tangle of legs and trembling arms, to stroke and kiss.

“Not too sure that was what Dr Cloney had in mind when she suggested alternative therapy,” Jason told him when he’d regained the power of speech.

“We could ask her.”

Jason laughed. “You want to keep her as our doctor?”

Kirill pretended to think about it. “I could ask her in Russian.”

“Don’t expect me to translate.”

“Your Russian stinks! Even the dog understands more of language than you.”

Jason reached up, trailed fingers across Kirill’s cheek. “Ja Ljublju tebja,” he told him, not certain the phrasing was right but knowing he would understand.

Kirill cupped Jason’s chin, tilted his mouth into a slow, tender kiss.

“Ja Ljublju tebja,” he repeated.

They lay there later beneath the covers, spooned together comfortably, Jason’s arm around Kirill, his fingers tracing invisible patterns over his belly. The candles had been extinguished but they lay facing the open door, able to see the lights from the Christmas tree in the adjoining room.

“Do you remember Christmas, from before?” Kirill asked him.

“No, not a one. Do you?”

“From when I was boy. There was never enough but the memories are still good.” He turned a little so he could see Jason. “You and I though, we make new memories, for each other?”

“Is that what this is all about, with the tree and everything?”

He gave a nod. “Da.”

Jason leaned in, kissing him softly. “Sounds good to me. Hey, do you have any idea how to cook a goose?”

“Niet, but if it go wrong we can always feed it to dog.”

“Damn dog eats better than I do.”

“Told you to shoot it.”

“You should have shot her.”

“Shoot her? Have you seen those eyes? Besides… dog loves me.”

“Yeah well…” Jason smiled at him, combing his fingers through his hair. “Make memories, huh?”

He nodded before pulling Jason down for another kiss. “Lots of them.”

~The End~

Ja Ljublju tebja - I love you.