Smells Like Teen Spirit
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I’m worse at what I do best
And for this gift, I feel blessed.

-Nirvana, Smells Like Teen Spirit

Alex Rider, for all his grown-up problems, was still just a kid. It was in his clothes, his speech, his movement. It was in his smell. He smelled like a child. That happy-puppy-and-classroom smell. The smell of lockers and bookbags—pencils, glue, text books, bruised, sun-warm apples and gooey, half-crushed peanut butter sandwiches. Fruity punch drinks and bubble gum. Socks and sneakers and the lingering aroma of laundry detergent in his clothes at the end of a long school day. The musk of budding sweat glands and teenage pheromones, parts that were salty and fleshy and private, all the things guarded by hot blushes and quick tempers.

At first Yassen enjoyed provoking that blush and temper—like a cat playing with a mouse, batting it about for his own amusement until the little thing became frantic with fear. Always malevolent, rarely deadly. He didn’t want to hurt the boy—just frighten him. But when Alex was threatened his scent seemed to intensify, and the smell of him during a fight, even just a verbal one, could arouse Yassen to the point of madness. It triggered something base, something rooted in sex, territory and violence. The boy had no idea how much power he held over his nemesis.

The malicious games soon ended. All contact was purposefully broken, and when their paths did cross—as they increasingly seemed to—the Russian made certain their time together was brief. He resented a fourteen year-old boy having such a strong influence over him, and there were times that he wanted to punish Alex mercilessly for tarnishing his self-control.

But it wasn’t Alex’s fault; he was terribly naďve about these kinds of things, for he still possessed a few remaining shreds of childlike innocence that MI6 had failed to rob from him. They would in time, though. It was inevitable. Yassen was aware of this and forced himself to stifle his vindictive urges—for John, for his memory—and eventually took it upon himself to shelter what little innocence Alex had left.

It was an endeavor in which he utterly, miserably failed.



Yassen intersected Alex’s academic life every so often, which was merely a covert way of saying that he picked him up after school from time to time. What began as a random act of compulsion had, after several months, developed into something of a habit. Or at least a comfortable routine.

The vehicle was always different, but Alex had a keen eye for spotting things that were a little out of place. This Friday it was a sleek silver Jaguar with darkly tinted windows, one of which was rolled slightly down. Alex smiled when he saw it and jogged across the street with the bounciness of a young athlete. He slid into the passenger seat, saturating the car with his puppyish kid-smell, and Yassen greeted the boy in his native tongue.

Zdravstvuyt, Gospodín Gregorovich,” Alex replied with a bright smile. He seemed to enjoy exercising his language skills with Yassen.

Kak u tebya dela v shkole?” Yassen asked, pulling away from the curb. How was school today?

It was fine, but this day was long and boring. I am having much mathematic homework.” His grammar was still a little shaky, but he’d only started learning a few weeks ago. Alex had a gift for languages—algebra, not so much.

I hate that for you,” said Yassen, shifting gears as they merged with London traffic.

Alex sighed as if nobody on Earth understood him, and looked out the window. Yassen let go of the gear stick to place his hand on Alex’s knee. “I could help you, if you wanted.”

“Really? I mean, er, vy mne pomozhete?”

Yassen smirked and squeezed Alex’s knee. “Of course.”



Like the cars, the location was always different, too. This one happened to be a small flat in an inconspicuous part of central London—inconspicuous enough for a contract killer and teenage spy, at least. Alex followed Yassen through the door and dropped his bookbag on the nearest piece of furniture, which happened to be an armchair. Then he found his way to the kitchen and helped himself to the refrigerator, where there wasn’t much to satisfy a kid’s after-school snack craving; Alex settled for a carton of grapefruit juice and shuddered at the initial sour shock that washed down his throat.

“Not sweet enough?” Yassen asked, watching the goose bumps rise on Alex’s arms.

“The first swallow is always the worst,” Alex replied coyly, lifting the carton to his lips again. He still grimaced after the second gulp, his nipples visibly hardening beneath his t-shirt while Yassen sedately looked on.

Having drunken his fill, Alex returned the carton to the fridge and stretched his arms over his head, popping his knuckles and showing off a pale sliver of belly between his shirt and jeans. “Well,” he said airily as he sauntered toward the living room, “I suppose I should get started on that homework—”

Yassen caught Alex’s wrist and a second later the boy was pressed tight against him, looking up with those bright, intelligent brown eyes of his. Yassen combed his hand through tousled blond hair and relished the scent it lifted; that boy-scent, all snips and snails and puppy-dogs’ tails, the scent that had (damn himself) driven him to this.

He slid his hands down Alex’s slender waist and around his hips, grabbing his ass possessively. Alex let out a bark of surprised laughter and Yassen seized the opportunity, ducking his head to clasp his mouth over Alex’s. The boy tasted like grapefruit and smelled of notebook paper, tropical shampoo, and the first fleshy-sweet odor of teenage sweat. It was as irresistible as sugar to a fly. Yassen deepened the kiss and pressed his hips into Alex’s, basking in the pleasure of physical contact after nearly three weeks apart.

Alex sucked in a startled breath when he felt Yassen’s erection prod into the tender part of his hip. No matter how many times they had done this, he still became a nervous wreck when faced with Yassen’s adult-sized libido. If only he had known Yassen cared more about him than satisfying his own desires, perhaps his anxiety might have been curtailed.

Alex was still shy about sex and very aware of his inexperience, though Yassen had never taken advantage of his naiveté or coerced him to do anything he didn’t want. It was frustrating trying to play within the narrow field of these self-imposed boundaries, and sometimes Yassen’s annoyance could darken his mood into something quite unpleasant. Lately he’d been sharpening his patience with the boy, hoping that eventually Alex’s curiosity would overcome his fear. God knows he’d already had enough of the latter put into him.

Yassen, who was capable of overpowering a man twice his size using at least ten different techniques, could have taken what he wanted from the boy at any time and easily gotten away with it. But he was not about to let Alex Rider destroy his honor as well as his self-control. A man had to maintain a certain level of integrity in order to be classified as human; Yassen Gregorovich was human—though inhumane at times—and he was unquestionably a cold-blooded killer, but he was not going to allow his lust to turn him into a mindless beast.

He was pleasantly surprised when he felt Alex’s hands slide up his chest and wrap around his shoulders, timid but receptive; the boy seemed to be opening up more readily in these recent weeks, gaining confidence. It was certainly encouraging. Yassen began guiding him toward the sofa, where they collapsed onto the cushions in a hot tangle of black cotton and blue jeans.

Yassen kissed his way down Alex’s throat while his hands slipped under his shirt to find the boy’s nipples. They felt like soft pebbles against his palms; he gave a few gentle pinches and tugs to the warm little nubs, and Alex began to moan in a deep, breathless whisper. “Ah, Yassen. Need to . . . feel you.”

Alex arched his hips into Yassen’s, and he felt Alex’s need through the ridges of stiff denim. He slid one hand down his lithe young body and cupped the hardness between his legs. Alex groaned wretchedly and pushed himself upright.

“All right, hold on, hold on,” he grunted, ripping off his jacket and wrenching his t-shirt over his head. His shaking hands then began to tug impatiently at Yassen’s black sweater, pulling it from his pants and dragging it up over his chest. “Come on, I want to feel you. I nee—”

Yassen grasped Alex’s hands in his own and held them still. “Calm down, Sasha1,” he whispered, hovering nose-to-nose with the eager teen. “Be patient.”

Alex bit his lip and squirmed. “I’m trying, but . . . please, will you touch me? Not through cloth or anything, just skin. Like last time. Please, Yassen?”

That plaintive voice in his ears and that heady boy-scent in his nostrils undid Yassen in one swift blow. He took Alex’s sweet, soft face in his hands and murmured with raw honesty, “I will do anything you ask.”

He watched Alex’s warm chestnut eyes deepen with emotion as a bright pink blush began to stain his cheeks. Yassen leaned forward and nuzzled a kiss onto the boy’s lips. “You are so beautiful to me, Alex,” he said. “Krasivyj . . .”

With those uncharacteristically tender words echoing in his ear, Alex melted submissively against Yassen and was visibly crestfallen when he pulled away. Yassen sat back on his legs and peeled off his sweater, and Alex drank in the sight of the assassin’s lean, muscular torso stretching out in front of him, skin lightly sprinkled with freckles and old scars. Yassen tossed his sweater to the floor and methodically unclipped his holster from his belt, setting his Makarov on the coffee table. He ran a hand through his tawny red hair and fixed his eyes on Alex with a wry smile. Alex felt his body temperature jump a few degrees and he began reaching for the man’s pants.

Net,” Yassen ordered gently, intercepting Alex’s hands. “I have a better idea.”

After a few moments of maneuvering on the sofa, Alex was lounged against Yassen’s warm chest, his blond head resting in the crook of the man’s neck while his body lay cradled between his legs. Alex felt surrounded and protected and perfectly content, even despite the ever-present hardness of Yassen’s arousal against his lower back. In this position he could almost relax and forget his awkward teenage inhibitions.

“Comfortable?” asked Yassen, brushing his lips against Alex’s ear while he massaged the boy’s chest.

“Mm hmm,” Alex murmured with a drowsy smile as he watched Yassen’s skilled hands glide over his body, nudging his nipples and caressing his belly, gradually working lower and lower until they dipped under the waistband of his jeans. Alex’s breath quickened and he laid his hands on Yassen’s thighs as if to steady himself.

“Is this good?” Yassen asked him. “Is this what you want?”

“Yes,” Alex said with a short nod, staring with a kind of detached wonder as Yassen’s hands undid his fly and pushed both jeans and underwear down, exposing his swollen cock and patch of dark golden hair. The sight of his own aroused body was in itself arousing, but it was nothing compared to the sight of Yassen’s large hand wrapping around his member finger by finger.

“Oh hell,” Alex moaned, hit by a mind-numbing rush of hormones that made all of his blood drain to his crotch. “Oh . . .”

Yassen kept one hand on Alex’s belly while the other began to stroke his erection. Alex opened his mouth in a soundless gasp and clenched Yassen’s pants in his fists, writhing and slowly arching his hips upward in smooth, steady rhythms.

It was the most sensual thing Yassen had ever seen, this horny teenager lying between his legs and grinding his cock deeper into his fist. Pre-come began to ooze from the boy’s arousal, smearing against Yassen’s fingers, and the Russian was forced to bite his lip as his patience began to waiver. He couldn’t remember being this hard since he was a teenager himself. He would have liked to shove Alex facedown onto the sofa and just—no. No. He had to wait. Had to be patient. He couldn’t ruin this now. This was all still very new to Alex, and the last thing Yassen wanted to do was frighten him.

There was something ironic in that, but Yassen couldn’t focus enough to care.

Alex began to pant softly, his body growing hotter against the man’s bare chest; Yassen let his free hand crawl down the boy’s abdomen to fondle his firm, tight scrotum. Alex groaned hoarsely and laid his head back on Yassen’s shoulder, his pale neck arching sinuously, his eyes tightly shut. The smell of his sweat permeated Yassen’s senses, and he had to fight the urge to buck his hips into Alex’s body.

“You are doing so well, Alex,” he murmured encouragingly as he quickened his strokes. “Such a good boy.” Whimpers turned into whines as semen began to dribble from Alex’s penis. “That’s it, Sashka. That’s it. Come for me, angel, yes—”

Uttering a broken scream, Alex thrust his hips into the air as his seed spurted out in one creamy jet after another. Yassen held tightly to the boy’s rigid body, whispering soothing words in his ear until Alex collapsed down onto the cushions again, spent and dazed. He was as boneless as a jellyfish, hot and sticky with perspiration. Then he looked down at himself and the mess he had made, and his pleasant afterglow ended in embarrassment.

“Oh! Oh my God, I’m sorry,” he stammered, trying to wiggle into an upright position. His cheeks were the color of roses. “I didn’t mean to . . .”

Yassen could feel the heat pouring from Alex’s face. The boy must have been as red as a tomato. “It’s all right, Alex,” he assured. “Nothing to be ashamed of.”

Alex was still trying to overcome his bashfulness when Yassen brought his hand up and licked a smear of Alex’s spunk from his knuckles. The young spy was positively mortified.

“What are you doing!?” he cried. “That’s, that’s my . . . !”

“I am only tasting you,” Yassen replied, savoring the fleshy, salty flavor of his young lover’s emission. The smell of him may have been irresistible, but his taste was incredible.

The look on Alex’s face shifted from horrified to fascinated. “How is it?”

Yassen had to suppress a grin. The boy was nothing if not curious. “Try it,” he said, holding out his hand.

Alex hesitated for a second or two before taking Yassen’s large hand in his smaller one and dragging his tongue over the man’s fingers, collecting what remained of his seed and swallowing it. He licked his lips meditatively, looking rather blank. “Well, I’ve tasted worse .”

“Do you feel better?”

“Yeah,” he agreed with reluctant, bashful smile, maneuvering himself to face Yassen. “Spasibo.”

Ne za—mm.” Yassen lost the end of his sentence when Alex kissed him. He gladly reciprocated, snaking one arm around the boy’s naked waist and easing him backward onto the sofa. Alex spread his legs and Yassen settled between them, fitting together like pieces of the same puzzle. He slipped his hand between their bodies and undid his pants, releasing his heavy cock from its confines. It was a welcome relief, though he felt Alex grow tense in his arms; he stopped kissing him for a moment and looked down into his worried brown eyes.

“Are you all right with this?” he asked.

“I . . . I don’t really know what ‘this’ is,” Alex confessed quietly. “I’ve never done anything like this before.”

Yassen rubbed Alex’s shoulder soothingly. “I would not be offended if you told me to stop.”

“No, please, don’t stop. I like this. I’m just . . .”

“Nervous?”

Alex nodded sheepishly.

“We’ll go slowly. You’ll be fine.” Yassen sat up slightly and pushed his pants down farther. Alex caught a glimpse of the assassin’s large red cock bobbing between his muscular thighs and broke out in a cold sweat.

“Please don’t hurt me, Yassen,” he murmured under his breath.

Yassen visibly winced at the frail words. Every time he thought he had put his crimes behind him, a reminder always came back to cut little pieces out of his heart and take them away. He once delighted in hurting Alex Rider, almost made a game of it, but things had changed these last several weeks. Allegiances had been altered and new information was revealed. It was different now, but that still didn’t change the fact that Yassen had murdered Alex’s uncle and introduced him to a world of corruption, deceit, and death. And it didn’t change the fact that he was fucking up this poor kid in more ways than one. Yassen Gregorovich was still a Bad Guy. He just happened to care about the Good Guy.

He combed the blond hair from Alex’s eyes and kissed the boy’s soft lips. “I am finished with hurting you, Alex,” he muttered, and repositioned himself so that his cock lay pressed against Alex’s lower abdomen. He gazed down at him with winter-blue eyes. “Tell me if I am hurting you.” He began to move his hips, rubbing his hardness against Alex’s smooth, firm belly.

Alex’s eyelids fluttered and he boldly reached down to cover Yassen’s arousal with his hand, holding it against his flesh. The Russian clenched the throw pillows in his fists and thrust harder, never breaking eye contact with Alex.

“Is this good?” the young spy asked with a delirious smile.

Yassen nodded with a mute grin. So precocious, he thought, yet still so innocent.

He leaned into Alex’s hips, pressing down as he ground himself into the boy’s groin in an attempt to generate more of that glorious friction. Alex’s brow creased with slight discomfort. “You’re so hard . . .”

“Does it hurt?”

“No. But . . .”

Yassen forced himself to stop—it was a fearsome effort, but he managed it. “But?” he prodded breathlessly.

“You. You could put it in me, couldn’t you?”

Yassen went completely still. “You do not want that.”

“I think I do,” Alex answered, his eyes steady and his voice confident. He nudged his hips into Yassen’s, just in case his verbal response had been ignored.

Yassen closed his eyes and shook his head, but his self-restraint had already begun to crumble. He would have liked nothing more than to fuck Alex Rider right here on this couch. There was nothing stopping him. Nothing except his conscience, but that had died in Russia twenty years ago and now lay buried in the same frozen grave as his innocence.  

“Yassen, please,” Alex insisted gently, latching his arms around his shoulders. “I’m ready.”

“You are not. You are still a child.”

Alex’s eyes flashed. “That’s never stopped you before.”

Yassen clenched his jaw and glared at him. He glared back—and was getting quite good at it, too. Probably something he picked up from a contract killer somewhere.

“This is different, Alex,” he explained emphatically. “This is not a game. You cannot undo it.”

“I know that. I’m not an idiot.”

“Of course not. But you are young and prone to make impulsive decisions that you may later regret.”

“This won’t be one of them.”

“How do you know?”

“I don’t. But, damn it, I know what I’m feeling, and I wasn’t born yesterday.” He pulled Yassen down until their noses touched. “Please, Yassen. I want you to be my first.” He brushed his lips against Yassen’s and sighed his heavy, warm, grapefruity-breath into his mouth. “Ya tebya lyublyu.” I love you.

It was the last thing he could have expected to come out of Alex Rider’s mouth. Yassen hadn’t taught him those words, so he must have learned them on his own. God damn it. The boy was only fourteen, he had no idea what love was. But Yassen, to his dismay, found himself wishing otherwise.

Then those vicious old feelings came stealing back like ghosts, filling him with the desire to teach this unruly brat a lesson for getting involved with him, for not running away when he had the chance, for being too trusting and too forgiving—he’d killed the boy’s uncle, for Christ’s sake—and yet here they were, lying on a sofa with Yassen’s aching cock pinned between their bodies and fuck it, fuck it, if Alex Rider was old enough to face death, he was old enough to have sex.

“Wait here,” Yassen muttered, tearing himself from Alex’s arms and disappearing.

Alex sighed wistfully and stretched out against the sofa pillows, already missing the man’s weight and warmth. He idly began to play with himself, vaguely surprised when he felt his penis begin to harden again under his fingers. He wondered if sex was going to be anything like what they showed in the movies, all gasps and tender kisses and discreet camera angles so that the people always looked perfect. He wondered if it was going to hurt, if he was going to claw up Yassen’s back like a wild cat when the throes of passion—

Yassen reappeared and grabbed Alex by the arm, quickly pulling him from the sofa. Alex stumbled and yanked his jeans up with his free hand. “What’s going on?”

“We are going to the bedroom,” Yassen snapped. “I refuse to take your virginity on a fucking couch.”

He led Alex down a short hall and into a bedroom. The afternoon sun was muted behind the shades, casting the room in a dim, yellowy light. Yassen let the door slam shut and then he was on Alex, wrapping his arms around the boy and kissing him hungrily. Alex tried to keep up as best he could, but it soon became apparent that he was outmatched. Yassen grabbed Alex’s thighs and crouched slightly, then picked him up in one swift, graceful motion. Alex instinctively clamped his arms and legs around the man’s hard body, his heart pounding with excitement and his head spinning dizzily.

This was really about to happen, he thought. He was about to have sex with Yassen Gregorovich.

The world pitched backward and Alex flopped down onto the cool bed. Yassen divested him of his sneakers and socks, then worked his jeans and underwear down his slender legs until Alex lay completely pale and naked on the dark blue duvet.

With astonishing speed Yassen was soon free of his pants and boots, and he climbed onto the bed, prowling forward on hands and knees until Alex was trapped in his shadow, smiling up at him with far too much deviousness in his eyes for someone so young.

“If you had any sense, you would be running from me now,” Yassen muttered, trailing his hand down Alex’s cheek, jaw, throat, chest. “This is your last chance, Alex.”

Alex, still grinning obscenely, reached up and pulled Yassen down onto him.

It felt so much better to be nude, unrestricted by layers and buttons and zippers. Here it was just Yassen’s skin against Alex’s skin, Yassen’s mouth on Alex’s mouth. Alex locked his legs around Yassen’s hips, purposely pressing himself into the man’s erection and swallowing the grunt that was produced.

Yassen grasped him by the hips and rolled over in one smooth tumble. Alex sat astride Yassen’s thighs, a little surprised to find himself on top and in a position of some control. After giving him an impish grin, Alex reached down and grasped Yassen’s sweaty cock, fisting it in long, slow strokes. Yassen slid his large hands onto the boy’s pale thighs, his fingers pressing into his flesh. He stared up at him, almost as if trapped in a state of permanent disbelief to have this beautiful, naked teenager in his lap.

Alex shifted forward a little and brought his arousal into contact with Yassen’s, rubbing it against the larger one. Yassen muttered a pleased growl and moved his hands around to grasp Alex’s warm, fleshy ass, squeezing and kneading it and spreading the cheeks until they were bright pink.

Alex practically purred, his eyes half-lidded and dark with desire—he was a gorgeous sight, Yassen thought, staring at the slim young body flexing above him, nipples taut and cock rigid, golden hair falling messily into his eyes. He was surprised when Alex suddenly ducked his head and stretched out, then grasped Yassen’s member in his hand and guided it into his mouth.

The universal gyroscope abruptly tilted when Yassen felt Alex begin to suck him, and he knew he wouldn’t last long at this rate. Not when he was looking down at the boy’s hollowed cheeks and closed eyes, his cock vanishing and reappearing through those tight, rosy lips. There was never a more achingly erotic (and incredibly unlawful) vision as fourteen year-old Alexander Rider right now.

Yassen allowed the boy to amuse himself for a minute longer, then he reached down and grabbed a fistful of blond hair. He lifted Alex’s head gently, and watched his dick slip from those glossy wet lips, trailing strands of saliva.

“Was that your first time?” Yassen demanded.

Alex just smiled a goofy teenager’s smile.

God damn this kid. He knew way too much.

Yassen let go and urged him upward; Alex slithered over the man’s body like a snake until he lay face to face with him. Yassen slipped an arm around his waist and rolled over, putting Alex back on the bottom. He did not look disappointed in the least.

“I thought you were going to fuck me, Mr Gregorovich,” he said with a lazy, sultry smirk, ghosting his finger over the faint white scar on Yassen’s neck. The assassin suddenly seized his wrists and pressed them into the pillow, and for the barest moment a shadow of fear flashed in Alex’s eyes.

Yassen lowered his head until his nose brushed the teen’s. “I will,” he promised. “But first I need you to relax and be quiet. Can you do that for me, Alex?”

Alex bit his lower lip and nodded. Yassen released his wrists and shifted his weight to the side, grabbing one of the nearby pillows. “Put this under your hips.” Alex did as he was told while Yassen reached over to the bedside table and retrieved a rather plain-looking lotion bottle. Alex watched him pop the cap and squeeze out a generous dollop of clear jelly, desperately wishing he could ask what it was. Luckily, Yassen was aware of satisfying Alex’s curiosity as well as his desires.

“This is glycerin,” he explained, rubbing his fingers together in demonstration. “It is a common ingredient in many products. It is also a very effective lubricant.” He reached down and grasped Alex’s arousal, smearing it with the gel before tightening his grip and giving a few quick, slippery strokes.

“Oh!” Alex gasped, reflexively jerking his hips up off the pillow.

Yassen smirked. “You see how nice it can make you feel.”

Alex nodded, panting slightly and looking quite astounded. Yassen went for the bottle again and squirted more gel into his hand, which then disappeared between Alex’s legs. He moved up and petted Alex’s flushed red cheek. “Now relax,” he murmured, “and I will make you feel even better.”

Alex gasped when he felt cool, slimy fingers brush against that sensitive area just behind his balls, then slip lower and lower until they began to rub circles on and around his asshole. It was invasive and psychologically uncomfortable, but Alex was afforded no opportunity to move away. Even if he could squirm out from under Yassen, the assassin had him fixed in a Siberian-blue gaze that was impossible to break. So he bit his lip and fretted but remained quiet, his legs spread wide.

“That’s it, Alex. You’re doing very well,” Yassen coached, pressing one finger into Alex until his body opened and wrapped around it tightly.

Alex grimaced and gave a small shudder; Yassen stroked his hair and whispered to him like a child even as his finger began to work deeper into his warm channel. “Relax, Sasha. That’s it,” he mumbled against Alex’s throat. He moved his finger almost completely out, then pressed back in again, each time going a little deeper and faster. Soon—too soon for Alex—he had added another finger. And after that, a third.

Alex shut his eyes tightly. Three long, man-sized fingers sliding in and out of his ass, knuckle by knuckle. He felt so full, so penetrated. It didn’t quite hurt, no, but there was pressure. A great, stretching pressure that he feared his body couldn’t handle. Surely something was going to tear down there, and then there would be blood and it would hurt so badly—

“Alex. Look at me.”

He wrestled his eyes open. Yassen was looking down at him, his expression flat and serious. “Don’t be afraid. It will not hurt if you do as I say. Now relax your muscles. Keep your eyes on me. Can you do that, Alex?”

The boy nodded. Yassen smiled ever so slightly and dipped his fingers out and in one last time. Then he crooked them and began to nudge around inside Alex, as if looking for someth—

“Ohhhhh—auugh!”

Right there.

“Yassen!”

Oh fuck that felt good, oh Jesus, holy shit—

Alex’s arms shot out to wrap around Yassen’s neck for support while his balls tightened and his cock throbbed, leaking pre-come against his belly. “Ah, fucking hell, Yassen! What . . . !?”

“Are you ready to take me, Alex?” came the warm, breathy murmur in his ear.

“Yes. God, yes, please, I’m ready.”

“One more minute.”

Alex groaned in disappointment when the fingers popped out of him and Yassen sat up, removing something else from the bedside table. Alex recognized the square envelope with a tiny pang of awkwardness.

“A condom?” he asked, watching Yassen carefully tear the wrapper open. He’d never seen one outside of a classroom, had certainly never seen a real-time demonstration. He observed with great interest as Yassen rolled the latex onto his cock, covering it snugly.

Alex grinned nervously. “You afraid I’ll get pregnant or something?”

Yassen’s face didn’t so much as flicker from its stern expression. Alex felt his disapproval and tried to backpedal.

“I don’t have anything, if that’s what you’re worried about,” he insisted.

“I know you don’t,” Yassen said. “But I might. This is for you, Alex. Because I love you.”

Alex’s heart thudded in his chest. He felt every hair on his body stand on end as Yassen leaned over him on his hands and knees, staring down at him with eyes that seemed to express both affection and predatory hunger. Alex would have been frightened if he didn’t love this man so much.

To his credit, Alex had tried his best to hate him in the beginning, thoroughly and vehemently, as was naturally expected of him, offering the assassin no chance to pry his way into his heart. But he had failed; no matter how many times he relived Ian’s death in his dreams and no matter how much pain Yassen Gregorovich had caused him since they first met, Alex knew that denying this man was physically impossible.

How unlucky they were. Born twenty one years apart and on opposing sides of a secret war. But love has always found its own way, against odds even grimmer than theirs.

Alex sighed a long, moist breath against Yassen’s cheek and bent his legs at the knee, spreading them open like a butterfly’s wings. Yassen propped himself up on his elbow and used one hand to guide his cock to Alex’s entrance. “Relax, Sashka,” he murmured, pressing himself forward. “Let me in.”

He kept pressing and pushing and Alex felt his body trying to resist being penetrated, but he listened to the soothing, hypnotic words and forced his nervous muscles to loosen. And then, in a slow, graceful movement—he’d expect nothing less from Yassen—the man was within him. Large and (thirty-five) hot and (deadly) fucking Christ, that was Yassen Gregorovich inside of him, they were one person now, one inside the other and it felt so good to be filled and loved (by a killer) . . .

“Oh . . . oh.” Alex’s mouth gaped as he punctuated the air with his soft groans. He squeezed his thighs against Yassen’s body and slid his arms under the man’s, curling his forearms back to clutch his broad shoulders. “Ah, Yassen. Yass . . .”

The assassin bit his tongue—the pain gave him focus—as he dared to slide a little farther into Alex. He was so tight, so soft and warm and young. Fuck, he shouldn’t be doing this, this was a mistake, he was just a child, barely a teenager, but . . . how good he felt. How sweet and needy and vulnerable. And that smell. That boyish scent of sweat and come and hormones. The smell of messy blond locks and citrus breath and blossoming puberty. And now Yassen was having them, having Alex. And nobody was there to stop him.

He let his coppery-red head rest upon Alex’s chest as he pulled out and pushed back in. The boy clenched around him, his body clasping his length as if it didn’t want him to leave.

“Are you alright?” Yassen asked, pausing when his pelvis was flush against Alex’s ass, buried to the hilt. “Is this good?”

Panting and red-faced, cheeks afire and hair beginning to mat against his sweaty forehead, Alex offered up a drunken smile and nodded quickly. “Yes. More. Please, do it.”

Yassen began a slow rhythm, his hips moving almost independent of the rest of his body, his cock driving through Alex’s wonderfully slippery hole and into that grasping heat. “You feel so good, Alex,” he muttered, gradually increasing his speed while the boy rocked beneath him against the pillows. “You are perfect. Beautyfool.” His accent was beginning to sound more pronounced as his mind and all of the languages he knew, native included, receded into the primal parts of his brain.

Alex tightened his arms around him and hung on to his every word, absorbing them with pride and pleasure; he had aroused this man, tempted him, driven him almost mad, and now he was satisfying him to the point of speechlessness. Not bad for a virgin, he thought with a smirk.

He squawked cutely when Yassen pulled out and grabbed his shoulder, rolling him onto his side and hooking Alex’s leg over his shoulder. Alex barely had time to adapt to the new position before Yassen plunged in again, striking hard and deep with smooth efficiency. Alex dropped his head onto the pillow and moaned. Was there nothing this man could do that would feel any less incredible? He slid his hand down his belly and grasped his arousal, stroking it in time to Yassen’s thrusts.

God, sex was great. If he’d known it would be this good, he would have thrown himself at Yassen the day they—

The Russian pulled out again and turned Alex onto his stomach with wordless haste. He grasped the boy’s hips and pulled him upward; Alex got the hint and crawled to his elbows and knees. Not a second later he felt Yassen’s cock slam into him and hit his sweet spot.

Alex had no idea he could swear like that. It was absolutely vulgar.

Yassen paused and asked between labored breaths, “Right there?”

Alex swallowed and clutched the covers in his fists, barely clinging to the bitter end of his sanity. “Right there.” He pushed back against the man, urging him to continue. “Fuck, yes, right there, Yassen. Please—ah!”

Another jolt of intense pleasure ripped through his youthful frame as Yassen pounded into his prostate. Alex became instantly and deliriously addicted to the feeling. “Yes, Yassen, yes! Yes!” he barked mindlessly, not caring if he sounded like some trashy skank in B-grade porno—he was getting fucked by Yassen Gregorovich, by the world’s deadliest assassin, by the man who had killed his uncle, by the man who loved him, and there were no words in any language fitting enough to describe Alex’s feelings at this point.

When Yassen rolled him over onto his back, Alex was shocked at how red and sweaty his face had become. He looked ready to erupt. He lifted Alex’s legs onto his shoulders and leaned forward, entering him in one long, velvety glide. Alex’s eyes fell half-closed and every muscle in his body seized reflexively when he felt Yassen’s cock find that special spot again. Yassen bent over further and deepened the angle of penetration, pushing harder into the boy’s prostate. Alex began to shudder and shake as beads of perspiration burst out on his skin.

“Touch yourself,” Yassen commanded, his accent thick and his R’s as hard as his dick. “Keep your eyes on me. I want to see you when you climax.”

Alex obediently reached down between his legs and began stroking himself. Yassen began to move again, in and out, hitting that spot time after time as Alex jerked himself off and oh, oh dear God, he could feel it in his balls, in his groin, the cobra coiling for the strike and fuck, Yassen had the most beautiful blue eyes he’d ever seen, God, Alex didn’t want him to look at anyone else like that, only he was allowed to love this man and no one—

“Ya, YASSEN!” he shrieked, arching his back and bucking viciously as his cock jumped and semen began to leak onto his belly.

Yassen was as ferocious a lover as he was a killer; he grasped Alex’s thighs and pounded violently into him, shaking both boy and bed, snarling like a tiger as he came. Alex gritted his teeth and braced himself, riding out the storm of the Russian’s powerful orgasm until its fury, thank God, finally began to wane.

As the last tremor rippled through him, Yassen went down and captured Alex’s mouth in a ravenous kiss, thrusting his tongue into the wet warmth and digging his fingers into Alex’s thighs until he let out a warbling moan of pain. Yassen immediately released him, and the teen’s legs thumped limply onto the mattress.

He leaned on his hands over Alex, catching his breath and composure, but he didn’t pull out. Alex could feel the pulse of the cock still embedded in him, and he reached up with trembling fingers to take Yassen’s hot face in his hands, pulling him close until their foreheads met and their sweat ran together.

“That was amazing,” he uttered with a winded smile, his breath mixing with Yassen’s. “Thank you.” He tilted his head just enough to brush his lips against Yassen’s in a gentle kiss.

Yassen returned it in kind, much gentler now that he had begun to calm down. He broke the kiss to pass a concerned look into Alex’s dark, dreamy eyes. “Did I hurt you?” he asked softly, his words returning to their English inflection.

Alex shook his head. “No. But I’m bloody spent.”

Yassen grinned sardonically and combed the sweaty blond locks from Alex’s feverish forehead before pressing a kiss there. Then he sat up and pulled his softening cock from the teen’s body. Alex winced at the raw friction, but his expression relaxed after a few moments. Yassen rose from the bed and disappeared into the bathroom, and Alex slung his arm over his eyes, thinking about what he’d just done. His only regret was not doing it sooner.

He didn’t hear Yassen return until he stretched out on the bed beside him. He had a towel, which he used to mop Alex’s sticky mess from his belly. Alex smirked up at him and lay still, basking in the attention he was being given.

“What now?” he asked when Yassen tossed the towel aside and rolled over onto his back.

“Rest. Recover.”

“Repeat?”

Yassen turned his head to glare at Alex’s delighted, mischievous face. “I am not an amusement park ride.”

“Well, that’s a relief. I hate standing in line.”

Yassen rubbed his face tiredly. “Alex . . .” But he was cut off as he felt the boy’s bare body nestle up against his side like a kitten, warm and affectionate. Oh well. There would be time for scolding later.

He swallowed the rest of his sentence and slid his arm around Alex’s shoulders, holding him close. He pressed a kiss into the golden hair and breathed in the scent of failure, vanished childhood, innocence lost. Alex Rider, because of his grown-up problems, was no longer a kid. It would have happened sooner or later, Yassen rationalized. At least now he had nothing left to lose, nothing that MI6 could wrench away from him.

Well . . .

Yassen watched Alex fall asleep, his head resting over an old knife-scar on his chest.

Almost nothing.

Chapter Endnotes: 1. Sasha


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