“You don't but….” Nikita gestured to Chris's erection.
“Fine, fuck me and get the hell out.”
Nikita unzipped and pulled his own cock free. Just a few lazy
jerks had him ready. “Suck me first.”
“Bastard.” The epithet was halfhearted at best, and Chris dropped
to his knees on the cold tiled floor, gripped the base of Nikita's cock,
and took in as much as he could.
Nikita groaned, biting down on a gentle curse. He hadn't
anticipated Chris would be that good at blowing, but it figured, didn't
it? Chris was by far more experienced and, right now, incredibly eager.
He didn't need encouragement, but Nikita still placed his hand against
the man's neck, holding him, feeling the head move back and forth on
his cock, feeling that hot mouth, the clever tongue. He pushed forward
a little, swaying on his feet. Getting head from a man wasn't that
different, he thought, only that, maybe, Chris was better. He knew what
felt good. Nikita forced himself to focus rather than get lost in the
sensation. He'd come in Chris's mouth later. Not this time. “What were
you thinking of? When you jerked off during the night?”
Chris let Nikita's dick pop from his mouth and glanced up. “So
you came here to fuck my mind too?”
“No point in the sex if I leave out your mind, is there?”
“I hate you.”
“You hate yourself for liking this.” Nikita slid his hand along the
top of Chris's head, grabbed the short strands and tugged. “You like
being controlled by me.”
“Fuck you.”
“Suck me.”
Chris glared up, yet remained on his knees. Both desire and
indignation glittered in his eyes. Yet he didn't protest. He lowered his
head, slid his hot, experienced mouth around Nikita's cock, and
continued, adding to the experience by reaching into Nikita's pants to
massage his balls with the perfect amount of pressure, his tongue and
lips continuing their tease.
Nikita closed his eyes and let it consume him, rocking with the
rhythm Chris set up, fucking that moist mouth. So close. So good,
consuming his senses, his reason.
He was barely aware of sounds beyond the bathroom door, hardly
heard the knock and the scrape of the door opening.
“Chris. John and Stefan—” The words broke off into a gasp, the
door slammed shut, and then another.
Nikita jerked away, sudden recognition destroying the mood
utterly, despite Chris's skill. Fuck. He pushed his cock back into his
trousers and was about to head to the door when Chris blocked his path.
“Don't.”
It wasn't about finishing the sex. Chris was preventing him from
following that man. “Was that who I think it was?”
Chris stared at him, his lips still moist, and Nikita wanted to kiss
him the way he looked right now.
“It was nobody important.”
“So you'd have me believe.” It would be child's play to shove
Chris aside, and yet he didn't. “You didn't kill him.”
“I've killed a lot of men.”
“Not Andrei Voronin.”
“Andrei Voronin is long gone.”
“You didn't betray and murder him.”
Chris exhaled, looking resigned. Defeated. It didn't suit him,
looked utterly wrong on the man. “No, I didn't.”
“Why the fuck didn't you tell me? I almost killed you for it!”
Nikita knew he was almost shouting, but he couldn't stop it.
“That's the risk in my job.” Chris still stood his ground,
unapologetic and unafraid. “He got what everyone dreams of at some
point in their life. The chance to start over from scratch. Let him have
it.”
What had his contact written? Unorthodox methods of recruiting?
It made sense. Andrei Voronin had been recruited into GORGON.
Everything else was a ruse, and Chris Gibson had betrayed nobody, just
covered a teammate's ass. Fuck. He'd never been so wrong reading
somebody. Never. “Why didn't you tell me?”
Chris gave a hollow laugh. “On what grounds, Nicky? On what
fucking grounds?” He shook his head and half-turned away, before
the touch but he didn't attack him.
“I apologize.”
“Yeah, whatever.”
“What do you want from me, Chris?”
His laugh was bitter, and Nikita wasn't sure if it was directed at
him or inward. “Fuck if I know.”
Nikita gave his shoulder a squeeze. “Get your bath. We'll talk
later.”
“No, I should go talk to Andrei.” Chris stared at the bathtub,
looking forlorn.
“Then do that.” Nikita pulled a card from his pocket and wrote his
cell phone number down. “Call me.”
“Yeah.” Chris just remained standing when Nikita left.
THE water had long gone cold when Chris decided to go for the bath,
and he slid down into the tub, letting it cover his face. He briefly
considered opening his mouth and drowning himself but decided that
would be a fucked-up end to a fucked-up life, and he'd rather go out on
the wrong end of a bullet.
Someone else's, not his own.
He washed up and got out, already hearing the buzz of angry little
bees in the adjoining room as he wrapped the towel around his waist
and exited.
There they were: Stefan Wudarczek by the desk, glancing up
from the portable printer attached to his laptop, his expression that of
an affronted school headmaster forced to deal with his most
problematic student. John, smugly wearing his most holier-than-thou
aura, and Andrei, sitting at the foot of Stefan's bed looking like he
wanted to throw up.
Stefan snatched a couple papers from the printer one after another.
“You're alone now?”
“I don't think you three would be here if I wasn't.” Chris dressed,
black jeans, button-down blue shirt.
John breathed a weary sigh.
God, that had gotten on his last nerve these past few months. “Get
it over with, John. Give me the „I told you so' and fuck off.” He sat in
an upholstered chair between the windows, pulled on socks and a pair
of black lace-up boots.
“It wouldn't do any good. It's like I don't know you anymore.”
John sat next to Andrei, rubbed his hand across the Russian's back.
Stefan came forward, held out the papers he'd printed to Chris.
“You're off the mission, and I hope to fuck you haven't
compromised what little we've held onto after that botched raid.”
Chris took the papers and tossed them to the floor. “I didn't
compromise jack shit. I don't do that.”
“It doesn't matter,” Stefan said. “I won't have you on this case.”
He pointed at the paperwork. “There's the word from on high, and
there's your e-ticket back to Geneva. I suggest you clear out your desk
once you get there. I don't think you'll need it much longer.”
Chris picked up the papers and stood. He tore them one by one
and threw the pieces back at Stefan. “Fuck you. Fuck your mission, and
fuck GORGON for all I care.”
He tossed his clothes into his suitcase and snapped it shut.
“Chris….”
Chris stopped at the door, turned to John. He couldn't deny that
he cared for the guy, him and Andrei both, but sometimes three was too
much of a crowd. “I hope to God they bring in a shooter who will
watch your back, babe. You be careful. These Russians are some mean
motherfuckers.”
“Chris, I'm sorry,” Andrei said, sounding so miserable it made
Chris's heart clench. Fuck him. Not for walking in on him and Nikita,
but for finding that weak spot.
“Good luck with this shit,” he muttered, to himself more than
Andrei, and he was out of the door, his heart beating painfully under
the roof of his skull. He half-expected John or Andrei to come after him,
but that was an idle hope. They'd talked this through while he'd been in
the bath, made up their minds, and presented a unified front against the
renegade.
Fuck them. He hadn't betrayed GORGON. How was it that
people kept thinking he was a traitor? Nikita thought he'd betrayed
Andrei, now his teammates—ex-teammates—thought he'd betrayed
GORGON. What the fuck.
And who'd back these guys up? Andrei was a rookie, Stefan was
more a researcher than a fighter, and John would have his hands full
just watching Andrei's back, let alone taking the fight to the enemy.
Fuck.
He stood outside the hotel, at a loss as to where to turn in this
foreign city, with its unfamiliar skyline and dour natives. The anger and
disorientation was a low hum in his bones. Cut loose. Just like that. For
fucking the wrong guy. Why did they care, anyway?
He went into a Starbucks, mostly because it didn't serve alcohol,
and settled with a large coffee. Cell phone sitting on the table in front
of him. Not on silent. No calls came in.
It’s like I don’t know you anymore.
That makes two of us, buddy. Chris fingered the card Nikita had
given him. Well, if he was officially suspended, he could at least meet
the Russian and fuck him, get fucked, whatever. Might as well scratch
that itch that was driving him insane. Sex was one way to take his mind
off things. It wouldn't compromise the mission, either. And it wasn't
like he had anywhere else to go.
He picked up the phone, punched in two numbers, and then shut it
down. He was not some Moany Mary who had to go running to his Big
Daddy because he'd gotten his hand slapped. And the last thing he
needed was to have Nikita be all gaga over the fact that Andrei was still
alive and ready for whatever plucking had given him that hard-on for
the guy in the first place.
Fuck. He couldn't win for losing these days. Maybe he could re-
enlist in the military. He wasn't near the upper age limit, and they
certainly could use the skills they'd taught him in some place in
Afghanistan.
Then again, with his luck that prick Wudarczek would see that
GORGON HR made no secret that he'd been openly bisexual during
his stint with them. They had no grounds for kicking him out. He
hadn't compromised the mission. Once in Geneva, he'd take that to the
Dragon Lady.
Bastards.
Maybe he should just go do what everyone was so ready to
accuse him of—take a walk on the wild side and work for the Bad
Guys. It was certainly lucrative, judging from the kind of money the
criminals tossed around. But most criminals who could get him in were
locked up or dead. Apart from Shkadov, who was the next on the list.
He could tip Shkadov off. Question was, how would he react to that,
and would that change any of the things Nikita and GORGON had in
store for the criminal? He should fly back to Switzerland and talk to the
Dragon Lady. Maybe grovel a bit, but she'd only send him to one of
those psychological evaluations, and wasn't that a joy, being asked just
about everything with a polygraph attached.
He eyed the phone with increasing desperation. John knew him
better than that. He did.
It’s like I don’t know you anymore.
Maybe he could at least explain this to John? John had to know
he wouldn't just fly back and clear out his desk. Then why did the
bastard not call him to talk some sense into him, or whatever John
would call it? That felt like betrayal.
And yet there he sat, doing nothing beyond feeling sorry for
himself and dicking around with a cell phone game until his battery had
run down. Only then did he leave the coffee shop, to find a seat in the
sun to use his solar charger.
He noticed the tail a little later than he should have and cursed his
GORGON ex-teammates for both the mental distraction and the
shadow. Holy fuck. Did he really come across as that level of a
traitorous bastard?
Christ. Maybe he needed to use this unexpected vacation to hone
his people skills. Well, if they wanted a juicy report to send back to HQ,
he'd give them one.
NIKITA waited, eye on his phone, in a parked car, staying close
enough to have a strong signal. When Chris moved after a good two
hours, it was toward the parties and night clubs, where, knowing the
man, he'd pick up some form of company or other and take care of that
frustration. One of them had to give, he thought, and wasn't it ironic it
would be him?
He followed Chris to a nearby club, with enough distance that
Chris wouldn't see him. When the signal paused, he knew Chris must
have checked in his jacket, so he went into the club, too, spending the
next fifteen minutes looking for him in the cold blue strobe lights.
There he was, pushed up against the bar, looking pale in the blue light.
His neck was bent; he didn't scan the crowd for somebody to chat up.
In fact, he looked tired, worried, and sad. Nikita moved closer, right
next to him, and placed a hand between Chris's shoulder blades.
“I was waiting for your call.”
Chris swallowed, hard, but didn't push him away, didn't even
turn.
“I wanted you to call,” Nikita added.
“Yeah, well, I wanted lots of shit I never got.” Chris sipped his
beer but did not look up. “I imagine you know all about that with good
ol' Andrei, eh?”
“Wanting and needing are different things, aren't they?”
Chris's muscles tensed beneath his hand, and Nikita rubbed his
palm up and across the tight shoulders.
Had he ever wanted or needed anything as much as he did this
man's submission?
Chris pulled away, glanced over. “This is fucked up, is what it is.”
Nikita nodded. “So much in the world is.”
“Don't you have work to do?”
Nikita shrugged. “It's a quiet night, all things considered.” He
placed his hand on Chris's back once more. Chris did not pull away,
and his glance lingered for one telling moment.
“I'm not a replacement
for Andrei,” Chris said. “Not your next
best thing.”
“Andrei Alexeyevich made me aware of something I wanted. I
needed him to be safe. I promised him he'd be safe. My failure to keep
him alive was what… made me hate you.” Nikita brushed against Chris.
This wasn't about guilt anymore. “That was all it was. Avenging his
trust.”
“At least you'll stop now, going on and on about it.” Chris hung
his head. “That shit was getting old.”
There was the need, couched in vague terms, veiled innuendo.
Would Chris ever admit it aloud? Had he even admitted it to himself?
“Did he see it? Did he tell you what it meant?”
Chris looked up once more, shifted his stance so that his stamp of
ownership was facing away, hidden.
“It's sick bullshit that will fade. It already has.”
“The meaning will remain. Indefinitely.” He reached over, took
Chris's glass, and finished the beer in one gulp. “The time for playing
games has passed. Come.”
“What the hell, I was looking to get laid anyway.” Chris pushed
himself away from the bar, turned, the sense of exhaustion palpable
around him.
Here was a man who'd fought as long as he could, not unlike a
stallion that had to be broken before he could be trained. There was still
resistance, but it wasn't as fierce anymore, tempered by the need for
acceptance. A gaping, hollow wound marked the man, a desperate need
to be touched and explored and eventually filled.
Chris stopped by the coat check, grabbed his jacket and a suitcase
from the girl in charge of the wardrobe. Nikita didn't comment on that,
but it explained why Chris was so frayed around the edges. Some kind
of fight, undoubtedly including the Asian who'd had the air of a lover.
He wished he'd left that camera when he'd exited the room. Even
without sound it would have been telling. But that would never do.
They'd undoubtedly searched, and if it was found, all fingers would
have pointed to Chris. He didn't set up anyone unless they deserved the
fall.
Leading the way to his car, Nikita took them to the club where
Katya had once worked as a cocktail waitress. It wasn't the more
hardcore place like the one in London where they'd sometimes played.
This club was posh, strictly vanilla on the main floor, but up above, the
businessmen and bored couples came to dally in slightly more wicked