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Always Another Way

I consider this fic the unofficial sequel to either the dreams in which I'm fighting are the best I've ever had or every killer knows his own depending on whether you go chronologically or in the order that I wrote them.  I'm sort of thinking this verse is done now, but I also have an urge to write some more Kirill/Bourne smut pre-amnesia, so we'll see how things pan out.


Title: Always Another Way
Fandom: Bourne Supremacy
Pairings: past Jason Bourne/Kirill; established Jason/Marie;[Additional Pairings]present Jason/Kirill; Jason/Kirill/Marie
Rating/Warnings: NSFW; minor violence, rough sex, dirty talk, etc.
Word Count: 10,449
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Summary: Jason shouldn't go back to Russia, but he does anyway.


Jason doesn't know why he goes back. It's stupid and reckless, practically suicidal considering how hard it was for him to get out of Russia in the first place, and if he isn't careful, the CIA will realize that he's still alive.

What he should be doing is running as far and fast as possible while his former employers are still searching the river for his body and Lundy adds to the chaos by dragging Blackbriar's secrets into light. Not that Jason actually expects her to stop the scheming – men like Conklin are far too good at covering their tracks. The CIA will find some scapegoat for their failures and then go right back to waging private wars around the world. But they also won't be looking for Jason anymore.

Assuming, of course, that he doesn't get himself noticed like an idiot by running back to Russia now. Considering the trail of destruction that he and Kirill left across half of Moscow, Jason is almost expecting to be arrested as soon as his plane touches down. But his alias holds and he clears customs without incident – only his own self-recriminations ringing in his ears.

Because no matter how many times Jason has told himself that he owes his past life nothing, he wouldn't be standing on Russian soil if those words were true. The blond won't be able to rest easy with this last loose end still dangling; he has to know whether Kirill survived his wounds. He has to know whether his former lover is going to try and finish what he started because the Russian isn't the type to miss a second time.

So the blond finds himself a rundown hotel that doesn't ask too many questions and a list of local news reports mentioning his fight. Jason feels a little guilty when he reads the list of injured but that encounter wasn't one he started and he'd finished it as fast as possible.

Only, he hadn't killed the Russian, had he? He hadn't been able to take that final step and even now something in him eases when he doesn't see any of Kirill's aliases amongst the short tally of the dead. Instead Jason's eye is caught by one name amongst the injured, an Alexei Karzimov found in critical condition as part of the massive freeway crash.

That is a name the blond remembers, one of Kirill’s favorites, and he spends the rest of the morning trying to figure out where the other man ended up. It takes about fifteen phone calls, but Jason finally tracks Karzimov to a small neighborhood hospital and the receptionist tells him that his target is still there. Which isn’t all that surprising after the crash they had.

As soon as Jason has confirmed the other man’s location, he grabs a taxi and heads there that afternoon. The hospital is small, the sort of place that cops leave people they don’t want to survive, but they may have actually saved Kirill’s life by dumping him. Because the Russian had never worked for the type of men who liked loose ends and he probably wouldn’t have lasted a day in one of Moscow’s major hospitals.

Particularly not when Kirill can't even defend himself, the receptionist telling Jason that the other man has been unconscious since the accident. However, while the blond should be relieved that the Russian isn't a threat any longer, he just feels a twinge of loss instead.

The Kirill of his memories was always perfectly in control, strong and deadly and prepared for anything, and he doesn't like to think of that man brought low. Jason doesn't like to think of the world without the Russian in it and when the blond enters Kirill's hospital room, his denial finally shatters in his hands.

Because the sight of the other assassin still sends a wave of desire rushing through him even as old instincts are triggered by the bruises strewn across his cheeks. He wants to protect his former lover, to hold Kirill like he remembers doing on those rare nights when the other man would sleep. He wants his future to include the past, the good and bad and ugly of it, and he cannot stop himself from laying a hand on Kirill's cheek.

How did we get here? Jason wonders, whatever anger he felt toward the Russian having all but faded now. He cannot blame the other man for reacting badly to his sudden disappearance and now that he's had time to replay their recent battles, something isn't sitting right.

Because he's seen Kirill in action; he knows the other man's true skill and he had not been using it.

But Jason won't know why until Kirill wakes up so the blond charms a guest badge from reception and settles at the Russian's bedside, holding vigil for his once lover and more recent enemy. He only leaves to make a phone call – his weekly message left to voice mail to prove he's still alive. Any more than that would be too dangerous for the one he left behind.

By the time he's done, visiting hours have ended but the blond just glares the nurses into submission when they try to kick him out. Jason means to wait and no one's going to stop him, though he finds that he has far too much time to think as the days pass by.

Confronting the man who made him seems to have broken open some last barrier inside his mind and while there are still gaps in Jason's memory, they are closing fast. He can remember his parents faintly; an impression of love and kindness that warms his heart even as he knows that he will never seek them out. Their son is dead; he has been dead for a decade and the assassin will not give them false hope without cause.

Jason also remembers meeting Kirill, the blond somewhat comforted to know that he's never been able to do the sensible thing where the Russian is concerned. He couldn't then and he can't now, his thoughts building a future from the remnants of a dream.

For while the doctors seem to think that the other man will recover – when they can be bothered to notice him at all – his convalescence will not be quick and indeed, Kirill may never walk without a limp again. He will need assistance while he recovers, assistance that Jason dearly wishes to provide. The blond wants to help his former lover; he wants to teach him that there's more to life than killing now that Marie has shown him how.

So Jason waits and he thinks and he tries to be patient until the situation finally changes, a faint noise snapping him awake one afternoon. Just a slight hitch in the Russian's breathing, but the sound pierces the assassin's doze as loud as any shot.

“I know you're awake,” he says when Kirill makes no further movements. “And I'm not leaving until you talk to me.”

At this the other man opens his eyes, turning his head to glare at Jason through crusty slits. Although the worse of the bruising has healed, the Russian still looks awful and his voice is rough with disuse when he speaks.

“Come to finish the job?”

“No,” Jason tells him, Kirill's eyes narrowing further at this calm reply.

“Then why are you here?” the Russian asks warily.

“I don't know. Why didn't you shoot to kill?” Jason counters and he knows that his suspicions about their fights were correct when Kirill's eyes flick away guiltily.

“I'm pretty sure I did shoot you,” the assassin replies a second later but the blond has no intention of letting him off that easily.

“I'm not talking about Moscow; I'm talking about Goa. You should have made that shot. If you had really wanted to kill me then you would have done just that.” If Kirill had made his shot then the two of them would probably be having a very different conversation since Jason doesn't know whether he could have forgiven the Russian for Marie.

While the assassin has tried not to think about his lover since he began his final mission – he couldn't and still do what needed to be done – her voice was still his conscience and her life his motivation for bringing Blackbriar down. Marie has always been his conscience and he can't help but wonder what she would think about his actions now. He hopes that she'll support him and indeed, when he'd told Marie about Kirill on his last day in Goa, there had been no judgment in her eyes.

She's never judged him for his past even as she tries to free him from it and that's one of the reasons that he fell in love. Marie has always tried to show Jason that he has another choice and he's finally starting to believe she may be right. Both assassins have a choice, even if Kirill looks ready to leap out of bed and strangle him right now.

“I did want to kill you... I do!” the Russian snarls, his glare daring the blond to make something of his slip. “I just thought you deserved a warning shot. So you should leave now, before I decide that giving Gretkov your head will buy back my good name.”

“Gretkov is dead, I'm afraid; he was killed while awaiting trial about two weeks ago. And I'm not leaving this hospital until you're healed enough to join me when I go.”

“You want to take me with you.” It should be a question but it doesn't sound like one, Kirill's voice gone flat and cold. It's not the news of his employer's death that's rattled him – Gretkov was nothing more than a means to an end and one that the Russian was probably happy to be rid of after failing in his task. Indeed, the Kirill that he remembered had never been very fond of his employers anyway.

But Jason's offer is unexpected and therefore dangerous and the other man clearly isn't sure of the best way to react. So, Kirill being Kirill, he pulls his composure back together and comes out swinging viciously.

“Are you that desperate for company? Did your woman leave you when I shot her?” the Russian asks, his lips twisting bitterly. “Or maybe she is just failing to fulfill your body's needs. Because I'd be happy to show her how to fuck you properly, press your face into the table and shove my cock into your ass. Tell me, Bourne, what would your woman think of that?”

“Honestly, I think she'd probably like to watch,” the blond replies, refusing to let Kirill get a rise from him. The other man has always been vulgar when he's angry and Jason's placid response makes him gape beautifully. Indeed, the Russian has no response to that, his mouth opening and closing a few times before he snorts dismissively.

“Whatever. Your stupidity is giving me a headache. I will come with you just to watch this crash and burn. But do not blame me when it ends in misery.”

Not exactly a rousing endorsement, the Russian's decision probably influenced more by a complete lack of other options and post-coma exhaustion than any desire to rekindle their relationship. But, to be honest, Jason doesn't want that either since neither of them are the men they used to be. He wants to build something better instead, something new and wonderful.

Because the blond still loves Kirill with a fierceness that almost scares him, a wild longing that burns like lightning in his veins. Jason loves Kirill and he loves Marie and he dearly hopes that he won't be forced to choose which one to keep.

Though maybe I'll keep that part to myself for now, he thinks, the Russian's scowl warning off any such declarations most emphatically. It will take time and patience to overcome the other man's suspicions and even then, there's no guarantee of anything.

Kirill may not want to shoot me anymore but that doesn't mean he wants me and Marie might kill me herself when we get back to India.

However, the blond can deal with that once they're out of Russia so he just smiles blandly in reply. “Well then, I'm glad that's settled. Let's see how soon I can get you out of here. You've been flying under the radar until now, but I don't want to push our luck. Gretkov may have some angry business partners just waiting for their chance.”

So Jason calls a nurse to tend to Kirill and then leaves to find the doctor, the man convinced to release his patient easily enough. While the Russian probably should remain under observation for at least another week, he's healed enough that it isn't vital and he'll rest much better once he's out of here. Rest and relaxation are what Kirill needs most at the moment, two things that Jason is determined to provide.

That and a kick in the ass whenever the other man needs one, the blond taking careful notes when Kirill's nurses start going over his medication and the PT for his leg. If the Russian doesn't heal properly, it won't be because of Jason – he feels bad enough about causing the other assassin's injuries.

Indeed, Kirill is furious when he realizes the full extent of the damage, cussing Jason out impressively when he returns. So the blond leaves the other man alone to cool off, heading back to his hotel to shower and sleep in an actual bed for once. He needs to look somewhat presentable for their journey – bad hygiene is conspicuous – and the Russian is in no state to leave without his help. On his way out, Jason stops by the receptionist's desk, a few hundred dollars ensuring that Alexei Karzimov and his blond friend were never there.

Jason returns bright and early the next morning, the sun barely up before Kirill is limping down the hospital's front steps. The Russian's pride won't let him lean on Jason and his mood is still foul enough that the blond doesn't offer, though he walks at the other man's shoulder just in case. However, while there's a few close calls before they reach the sidewalk, Kirill manages to stay upright long enough to step inside a taxi, directing the driver to a warehouse on the other side of town.

While Jason would have preferred to drive straight to the airport, the blond hadn't exactly planned for company and even assassins need passports to cross over country lines. Sure he could have whipped up something serviceable with a few hours and a half decent photo, but Kirill had shot that suggestion down.

“I may be injured, but I am not helpless,” the Russian had snarled, glaring at Jason yet again. The blond was getting rather tired of that expression, though he could hardly blame Kirill for disliking his dependency. “Just get me to a car and I'll do the rest.”

Indeed, the other man moves with purpose once their taxi reaches its destination, walking into the warehouse and removing a duffel bag that was hidden in the walls. Then it’s back to the taxi, the driver very wisely keeping his eyes fixed on the road instead of his passengers.

“Do you have everything you need?” Jason asks, the other assassin nodding shortly in reply.

Although Kirill has relaxed slightly now that he isn't entirely reliant on the blond's charity, he hasn't let his guard down any further, still watching Jason warily from the corner of his eye. And yet, Jason knows the Russian would already be gone if he didn't want to be here, his lack of options and injuries be damned. Even bleeding out, Kirill was always a stubborn bastard – that's one reason he and Jason got along so well.

Of course, the other man may not want to leave but that doesn't mean he plans to stay once he's recovered and the blond will have to work hard to change the Russian's mind. While it wasn't intentional, Jason broke his promise and Kirill isn't the type to give out second chances easily.

So he doesn't ask the other man how he's feeling or rest a hand on the taut line of his shoulders as he so dearly wants to do. Instead he just directs their cab to Vnukovo airport, reminding Kirill to take his medication once they reach the terminal.

“I know,” the other man growls before shutting down completely, accepting his ticket and following Jason onto the plane without another word. It's just a short hop to start, enough to get them to a smaller airport with less security before they start their circuitous route back to India. After all, the assassin didn't survive this long by being reckless – his current mission notwithstanding – and he has far more to lose now than he ever did before: his freedom, his past and present lovers, and the hope of lazy kisses beneath a sun-drenched canopy.

With this in mind, it takes the assassins almost two days to reach Goa, Kirill as silent when they land as he was when they set off. But this silence is more tinged with pain than bitterness and as soon as Jason collects Marie, he needs to find a place for them to hunker down. He used to love this town but now it makes his shoulders itch with the thought of sniper rifles and he only left Marie here because he couldn't move her at the time.

So Jason buys a burner phone in the terminal and then steals a phone book, dialing three hotels before he gets his lover on the line. He had forgotten that she would be waiting at the Grand Budapest on second Thursdays instead of the Hyatt or the Goa Hostel, his brain gone fuzzy from far too many hours traveling.

“It's me. I'm back,” he says when Marie finally answers, the sound of her voice making his knees go weak. He hadn't realized how much he'd missed her and how much he'd subconsciously feared to find her dead or gone.

“How was your trip?” Marie asks, her worry coming through clearly though she won't mention any details while on a public line.

“Messy. But it's over now,” Jason promises, smiling at his lover's loud sigh of relief. While she's always had a gypsy soul and more than her fair share of wanderlust, Marie has never liked being hunted. Neither has Jason, though he was far more used to it, and while they still need to be careful, they are freer now than they've been in years.

“I'm glad to hear that. The news looked bad,” she replies, the blond wincing when he realizes which reports she probably saw. “Are you still at the airport?”

“Yeah; we just landed,” he tells her. “Do you have a car or should we take the bus?”

Jason doesn't realize what he's said at first, his thoughts skipping ahead to their reunion, and it's only when Marie asks, “We?” that he comes back to earth again.

He hadn't meant to say that. He'd meant to tell Marie about Kirill in person since he isn't actually sure how she'll react. But it's a little late for obfuscation and he won't lie outright.

“I brought my Russian friend; he's been injured,” the assassin says, trusting Marie to know exactly who he means and hoping that she takes this news as calmly as she's taken every insane new revelation in his life. Amnesia, assassins, and government conspiracies – honestly, she’s dealt with a lot of it better than Jason has himself and this time is no different than the rest.

“Okay; I'll be there to pick you up,” is all she says in answer and while Jason knows they'll have to talk about this later, he’s glad for the reprieve. Phones leave too much open to interpretation and the mess of emotions in his head is going to be hard enough to articulate without adding that as well.

So the blond just murmurs an “I love you” before hanging up and turning back to Kirill, the other man staring at him with an odd look on his face.

“You told her about me?” the Russian asks and for the first time since their reunion, Jason finds his expression utterly opaque.

He can’t tell if Kirill is angry, pleased or baffled but when in doubt, the assassin has decided to err on the side of honesty. He does want the other man to trust him after all. “Of course I told her. I tell Marie everything that I remember from my old life and you had just shot her after all.”

This answer makes Kirill's mouth twist into a sneer, the Russian lifting his bag and limping toward the exit without looking back to see if Jason’s following. But even so, Kirill clearly isn’t trying to leave because he makes no move to hail a taxi, instead settling down on the bench that Jason indicates.

If the other man is angry, and he seems to be, it’s not enough to overcome his sense of self-preservation and learning this new version of his former lover is going to be interesting. Because Kirill is both like and unlike the man in Jason’s memories, the familiarity lulling the assassin into a false sense of ease. But the blond shouldn't complain when this situation must be even stranger for the Russian, Kirill lacking the vague fuzziness of amnesia to take away the sting.

So Jason sits down next to the other man and settles in to wait, watching Kirill as he stares fixedly at the traffic driving by. The Russian seems intent on avoiding any further conversation so they sit in silence, the blond waving off the taxis that keep stopping to offer them a ride.

They're dressed too much like foreigners to avoid attention, though Jason knows that a whole new outfit wouldn't make Kirill invisible. Blending in is one thing the Russian never mastered and even now: tired, worn and slightly filthy from two straight days of travel, the other man still draws the eye. He simply cannot help it and Jason is getting a little twitchy by the time he sees Marie, his lover driving a beat-up hatchback barely one step from the dump.

She lurches to a halt in front of them, Jason pulling her door open before the car is even parked. They fall into each other’s arms desperately and then they're kissing, the rest of the world disappearing when their lips meet adain.

“I missed you,” Jason murmurs between kisses, cupping Marie's face carefully between his hands. He wants to bury himself inside her, wrap the scent and feel of her skin around him until he forgets their time apart. But this is not the place for that and eventually the assassin's self-control manages to win out over public indecency.

So the blond steps back, tucking a loose strand of hair behind his lover's ear. The sooner they leave, the sooner he and Marie can have a proper reunion and that is something very much worth waiting for.

However, Jason's joy dampens somewhat when he finally remembers that he has an audience right now. The blond looks over and finds Kirill's face completely blank, though the emptiness of his expression failing to hide the raging fire in his eyes. That probably wasn't the best way to introduce his past and present lovers, though Marie – God bless her – takes the Russian's stony gaze in stride.

“You must be Kirill. It's good to finally meet you,” she says, holding out a hand. “I'm Marie.”

“I know; I'm the one who shot you,” Kirill replies, baring his teeth in a parody of a smile even as he reaches out to shake her hand. Then he moves to the car, tossing his bag into the backseat and getting in without another word.

“This is going to be interesting, isn't it?” Marie asks with a bemused shake of her head. “But if he's going to be an asshole, at least he's easy on the eyes.”

She steals one more quick kiss before climbing back behind the wheel, waiting until Jason settles in the passenger seat and then joining the stream of traffic headed east. While she drives, Marie keeps up a steady stream of chatter, giving the blond a summary of what she did while he was gone – her words punctuated by bouts of vicious cursing whenever another driver cuts her off. Jason appreciates the distraction even though his thoughts keep turning back to Kirill, his eyes seeking out the shadow in the backseat of the car.

The Russian didn't exactly hold out an olive branch with his introduction but the part of Jason that remembers is cautiously optimistic anyway. Because the opposite of love isn't hate, it's indifference, and if the other man still cares enough to be angry then the assassin has a chance.

Of course, there's also the possibility that Kirill is only here to finish his last mission and is planning to kill both of them once Jason's guard is down. But that's a slim chance – nine or ten percent, tops – and the blond has completed missions with much worse odds than that. Still, he makes a mental note to hide his weapons once they reach their destination, a small three-room hutch several towns away. He and Marie set it up as a safehouse when they first arrived in this area and while it's a long drive from the airport, all of them should sleep better once they leave Goa far behind.

---

“Wake up. We're here.”

Marie's voice rouses Jason, his lover knowing better than to touch him when he's just waking up. Instead she waits until the blond murmurs her name in recognition before reaching out to grab him by the hand. She pulls Jason upright, the assassin groaning as the muscles in his back protest.

A quick glance in the mirror reveals that Kirill had dozed off as well, though the Russian wedged himself upright against the car door so that it isn't obvious. But Jason recognizes the way that the other man shifts his shoulders when he wakes, a full body stretch ending with a sudden wince instead of the usual happy sigh.

However, the Russian's face shutters as soon as he notices Jason watching, the other assassin still unwilling to show any weakness to a potential enemy. That's just basic survival and the blond knows that Kirill will probably be in the wind as soon as he's strong enough.

Which means that he has to convince the other man to trust him while he's still injured, a few short weeks before his only chance is gone.

Or maybe months. Jason adjusts his estimation when Kirill gets out of the car, his eyes cataloging every hole in the Russian's once perfect guard. While he hates to see his former lover brought so low, the blond also knows that he'll probably need all the time that he can get since convincing Kirill of anything has never been very easy and Marie may not adjust too quickly to the thought herself.

Honestly, Jason needs to talk to Marie before he gets too far in his planning because nothing is going to happen without her consent. He has no intention of throwing away his present by holding on too tightly to the past.

So the blond pulls his lover aside to talk after they've settled Kirill in the spare bedroom, the other man taking the bag of medicine from Jason and then shutting the door firmly in his face. But once Marie is there and waiting for his explanation, the assassin's words fail him utterly. He doesn't know where to begin this story – he could start in Paris or in Moscow or in Goa and still fail to quantify the choices that brought him and his lovers here. Yet, as always, Marie picks up his slack.

“So that's Kirill. He's attractive if you go for the tall, dark and broody type,” she says, her lips quirking at Jason's startled laugh. “Though he didn't seem too happy about meeting me.”

“To be honest, I think he's still angry that I disappeared on him, even if the assassination attempts were mostly just a job,” the blond replies, his paralysis broken now that she's spoken first. He was so worried that she'd be furious and her willingness to listen calmly is a definite relief.

Though Jason is much less relieved when Marie pins him with a pointed stare, “Does he know what you want from him? For that matter, do you know why he's here?”

He doesn't say anything at first, hoping that his lover will take pity on his failures yet again. But this time Marie seems content to wait, the silence stretching on and on as she watches him steadily. She wants an answer; she deserves an answer, and there's only one truth the blond can give.

“Kirill's here because I had to know he was protected and because I want him if he'll have me,” Jason admits before reaching out to take his lover's hand. “But not if you don't like it. If you ask me to, I'll cut him loose the moment that he's healed.”

“So that you can spend the next twenty years wondering if you sent him off to die?” Marie asks before answering her own question with a firm shake of her head. “No. That would break us and while this wasn't where I thought my future was headed, it's not that much of a surprise. I had a lot of time to think while you were gone.”

“What are you talking ab-?” Jason starts, this turn of events very much unexpected in his mind. But Marie reaches out to cover his mouth before he can complete the question and then proceeds to answer it anyway.

“I told you; I had a lot of time to think while you were gone. You may be a great assassin, but you are not good with emotions and your mixed feelings about Kirill were obvious to me. So there were some days when I wondered if you'd be coming back at all; some days when I feared that death might take you and some when I feared him instead. But you did come back, Jason. You came back and you asked and that's enough. I know you love me; I don't need you to be miserable to prove it and I'm sure your grumpy Russian will grow on me in time.”

“You are amazing, you know that?” the assassin says, shaking his head in disbelief. “You're a freaking miracle and I'm don't know what I did to deserve you in my life.”

“Maybe you're my reward for being wunderbar. Normal men are just so boring nowadays,” Marie replies, his lover always needing the last word in everything.

However, the blond is hardly going to argue with her when she's just offered him his deepest fantasy. Instead he just nods faintly and wonders if he's dreaming as Marie kisses him gently and then turns the conversation to more domestic things.

“Come on; I'm sure you're starving and Kirill should probably eat something if he's willing to.”

So Jason sits at the kitchen table while Marie makes dinner, chopping vegetables and stirring when she asks. By the time the food is ready, the assassin finds himself smiling, the familiar spices leeching the tension from his back. Because this is home; Jason is home now that he's back with Marie where he belongs.

The blond is still smiling when Marie sends him to get Kirill and even the other man's obvious wariness can't put a dent in his good mood. For despite the Russian's doubts – and there are sure to be many – he didn't bar his door or try to run and that's enough right now.

The assassin never thought that he would make it here. He never thought that he would be free and alive and have his two favorite people with him, whatever configuration their relationship may or may not take later on.

Of course, I'll certainly be happier with sex involved, Jason thinks to himself, watching the play of muscles in Kirill's hands as he accepts a bowl of food. The other man doesn't start eating until both Marie and Jason have taken their first bite, Kirill watching them carefully for signs of poisoning. But once he's satisfied that the risk is minimal, the Russian digs in hungrily.

This first dinner together feels both awkward and anticipatory, a preview of better days to come. Jason and Marie fill the silence with casual conversation while Kirill says nothing, the Russian starting visibly every time they include him in their talk.

Marie in particular seems to threaten him with kindness, her attempts to make sure that the other man has his fill of food and water met with consternation and mistrust. But then again, everything that Jason remembers of the Russian tells him that Kirill isn't one for either trust or sharing and someone who had shot him would not be met with kindness the second time around. He doesn't know what to do with forgiveness any more than Jason would have before Marie and his faulty memory turned his whole world upside-down.

Thus Kirill will keep waiting for the other shoe to drop until he finally realizes that no one is going to fuck him over here. Not on purpose anyway.

Jason's only goal is a much more equal kind of fucking. Although, as he watches his former lover, the assassin is struck with an epiphany. He can't make the first move as much as he might like to; Kirill would see that as a bargain for his safety and he doesn't want any obligation here. Jason needs to know that the other man actually wants this as much as he does and Kirill needs to know that his intentions are honest if not exactly virginal.

Trust first. Once he gains the Russian's trust again then the rest can follow and until then, Jason will be perfectly happy rediscovering how to make his other lover scream. Loving Marie is not a hardship, it's a privilege, and whatever happens with Kirill, Jason knows that truth is fact.

So he bids Kirill good night once the three of them have finished eating, leaving the dishes in the sink for the morning and following Marie into their room. Once the door closes behind them, they come together as Jason had wished to do at the airport, his lover making him forget all his worries for a time. He's missed this; he's missed her kisses and her softness and the way she moans his name into the night. He's missed Marie and he sleeps better that night than he has since leaving India.

Jason wakes refreshed, prepared to begin the waiting game that he hopes will see his fondest wish come true.

Indeed, the assassin makes no move toward Kirill that could be construed as anything but friendly, seeing that the Russian is comfortable and well-medicated but keeping his hands to himself. He treats the other man as the friend slash colleague that he used to be and draws him into conversation whenever possible.

They discuss the latest firearms, the best knives for concealment, and the weirdest improvised weapons they've ever used to kill. Kirill wins that contest with a combination masquerade mask, lock pick, and garrote and Jason has to remind himself that he's playing the long game here to keep from kissing the triumphant grin right off the Russian's face. Though, to tell the truth, he pretty much wants to kiss the other assassin constantly.

Every smile, every chuckle, every raised eyebrow wears against the blond's control and it almost seems unfair that his former lover is so damn beautiful. Because he is, even injured and cantankerous, his mood always growing bitter when his body will not answer him the way that he expects.

But no matter how slow it seems, Kirill does heal. Each day he's a little better until Jason starts to find him outside every morning, running through his PT exercises and then practice katas before the sun gets hot. The intensity of these sessions increases as Kirill works to get back in fighting shape and when he's finally well enough for them to spar together, Jason nearly breaks.

The blond almost loses a few matches because he's too busy relieving old encounters or admiring the Russian's muscles and it's amazing how often Marie's chores bring her outside right when one of their sparring sessions is about to start.

She always watches them spar with the same little half smile before heading inside to make breakfast and given some of the nights they've spent together lately, Jason isn't the only one feeling horny now. Indeed, his lover has decided that she likes Kirill even if she doesn’t love him and while she hasn't told the blond exactly what won her over, he's sure the Russian's skill in the kitchen is part of it. Marie has always despaired of Jason's inability to cook anything without burning half his dishes and the first time that Kirill made dinner, she took one bite and told him, “You can stay.”

However, even if Marie has softened, the Russian still doesn't seem to know what to think of her. Marie's kindness is met with suspicion, her trust with confusion, and her easy acceptance of the two men spending time together results in incredulity.

So even as Kirill is slowly starting to open up to Jason, his walls slam down again whenever Marie comes near. It's frustrating – very, very frustrating. The assassin is pretty sure the other man would like his lover if he only allowed himself to feel it and the Russian is definitely sending more carnal glances Jason's way. If their sparring sessions have been leaving the blond frustrated, he's pretty sure Kirill hasn't been any better off in that regard. But the other man won't make a move and while the assassin is glad to know that every day is making the Russian stronger, he's also running out of time.

Maybe Kirill is waiting for him to act just as Jason is waiting for the Russian, their standoff showing no signs of breaking down. Indeed, Marie has told him that he's being stupid about this and he should just ask the other man to stay.

“Tell him what you want and let him make his own decision,” she says on several occasions but Jason cannot follow her advice. It's not just pride or the need to avoid any sense of obligation; it's guilt that stays his hand. The assassin already hurt Kirill too much by forgetting and if the Russian truly will be happier living a new life without him, how could Jason ask the other man to stay?

Except, Jason wants him to stay. He wants Kirill to realize how good their future could be if they just chased it and because he cannot ask, the blond assumes instead. Jason acts as though the other man's departure is not an option even as it terrifies him and eventually, such dissonance must break.

This is some six weeks after the two men first arrived in India and indeed, it's time for them to be moving on again. So Marie goes into town to check on their travel options while Jason and Kirill clean up after breakfast, the Russian always willing to help with the household chores. He sees it as a way to repay them for their hospitality and thus reduce his debt, Jason still unable to convince him that no debt is owed.

“I was thinking that I might like to see China,” the blond says, musing on the possibilities as he dries their bowls. “And Marie has always been fascinated by Mongolia, so the three of us could take the scenic route. We'd stand out as foreigners, but you being Russian would actually help allay suspicion and it should be all right if we're only passing through. You don't have any outstanding warrants in East Asia, do you?”

The other man mumbles something in Russian, staring down at his sponge as though it holds the secret to eternity.

“Sorry, what?”

“I said, what... the... fuck... do... you... want... from... me?!” Kirill snarls, enunciating each word precisely as he only does when he's truly furious. Indeed, the other man's hands are actually shaking as he sets down the bowl that he was holding and then rounds on Jason, the blond taking an involuntary step back at the anger in his eyes.

“Shall I follow you around the world like a dog? Watching you and your woman pretend at a normal life? I am not your pet. I am not a toy for you to play with and then put back into its box.”

“Of course not! Kirill, you're... you're family,” Jason chokes out.

“I am not your brother, either,” the other man growls before taking two steps forward and slamming their mouths together hard enough to bleed. But the pain barely registers because this is what the blond has been missing for so long. This is the hard line of Kirill's body pressed against him and his lips demanding everything.

So Jason gives it, pulling the Russian closer and letting him take the lead. As much as he wants to throw the other man on top of the kitchen table and make him forget everything, this is Kirill's show right now. It has to be if they're ever going to move past their shared history and it's not as though the Russian doesn't know how to make him moan. Indeed, the other man does exactly that when he spins Jason around and shoves him over the edge of the table. The blond had forgotten how much he enjoys being manhandled but the Russian's iron grip on his wrists just makes him burn hotter and he's not the only one, the other's cock a hot line against his ass.

“Fuck, Bourne. Look at you,” the Russian groans, mouthing at the back of Jason's neck and then biting down hard enough to bruise. He shoves the blond's pants out of the way, stripping Jason with a few efficient motions before pushing him back down onto the wood. Then Kirill kicks his legs open wider, one hand tightening on Jason's neck until he moans again.

The assassin needs this; as much as he loves Marie sometimes he craves a rougher edge. Because he can let go with the Russian in a way that's just not possible with someone softer, let go without fear of hurting one he loves.

“What are you waiting for?” the blond whines, struggling against Kirill's grip when the other man makes no move to fuck him, instead just brushing over his entrance teasingly.

But where the Russian might once have answered him with laughter and a filthy joke, today he just snarls, “Shut your mouth. You do not get to say anything right now. You fucking left, you bastard, and now I am taking what is mine.”

Kirill's tone is angry and yet his hands are gentle when he begins to open Jason up and the blond has no intention of stopping anything. This is exactly what he wanted – what he needs – and given the Russian's words, the other man needs this just as much.

“I do not wait for anyone,” Kirill is whispering into Jason's back. “I do not care about anyone but somehow you got inside my skin. You made me want you and then you disappeared. No word, no warning; I thought that you had died and then I learned that you had run off with some woman and left our life behind. As though any woman could give you what you need. Look at you. You are ready to beg for my dick and I have barely even touched you. You are aching to be fucked the way that you remember in your dreams.”

The other man is slipping in and out of Russian now, three fingers buried inside of Jason, but he doesn't seem to require a response. Kirill just needs to say this, every word lancing that old wound of bitterness.

And it's not as though he's wrong. Jason does want this; he wants his former lover to reclaim him, to stretch him open and burn his mark so deeply that the assassin can't forget again. Though Jason hadn't entirely forgotten Kirill even when he'd forgotten everything and indeed, the other man's hands are so familiar. The way they push inside him, teasing at the edge of what the blond can handle; pain and pleasure mingling underneath his skin. The way Kirill strokes across Jason's body in ownership and comfort, soothing the assassin's trembling.

Indeed, the blond cannot hold back a groan of disappointment when the Russian's hands disappear and it takes a moment to understand the question growled against his ear.

“Are you clean?” Kirill asks, the words blindsiding Jason as true as any strike. Because the other man is trusting him not to lie. He's trusting the blond with his life – with the only thing he has – and all he can do is answer honestly.

“Yes, I am.”

Barely a second later, Kirill finally pushes into Jason – one long slow slide that doesn't allow him to adjust – and yet, despite the burn, the assassin welcomes it. He just digs his fingers into the wood of the table, holding on until the other man bottom's out. Every inch of the Russian's cock throbs within him, the hard length forcing him open even as strong hands grab his hips.

Kirill holds Jason still until his body finally relaxes around the intrusion and then starts to fuck him brutally. Only the hand around his neck stops the blond from slamming face first into the table, Kirill pulling him back into each thrust until the Russian's cock is the only thing that he can feel.

There's just Kirill: his strength, his anger, his own twisted type of love, and the Russian's every touch is a brand on Jason's skin. The ache and the pleasure overwhelm him quickly and the assassin doesn't realize how close he is until he falls. His body shakes beneath Kirill but the other man just fucks him through his orgasm, driving into Jason even as his inner walls clench spasmodically. It's too much, the drag of the Russian's cock almost hurting now, and yet the assassin doesn't want Kirill to stop.

“I told you that you needed this,” the other man growls against his neck when one particularly forceful thrust makes Jason moan again. “I told you that you are mine.”

The blond has no desire to argue, not when Kirill has taken him apart so easily. The Russian has cracked him into pieces without allowing him to shatter and now he intends to do it all again. Jason doesn't have to think, doesn't have to guard his back or control his instincts; all he has to do is feel.

But he wants to do more; he wants to show the other man that he still loves this as much as he did before. So Jason takes a more active role, holding onto the table for leverage in order to shove back into the Russian's thrusts. He spreads his legs wider, lifting his ass up until the other man's next stroke grazes over his prostate and sparks dance before his eyes.

“Fuck, Kirill! Right there!” Jason moans, twisting around to kiss Kirill again. It's wet and sloppy, the angle awkward, but none of that matters when the Russian kisses back. Their tongues slide together, rhythm matching the thrust of Kirill's hips until the blond pulls away to breathe. He pants against the other man's mouth before nipping at his bottom lip, as full and plush as it was in his dreams.

“There's my Bourne,” the Russian chuckles, the mask of his anger disappearing beneath a wicked grin. He must have been waiting for this because his strokes become gentler, what had been fucking turning into something more like loving, though Jason has no idea what he did to bring the change.

Still, he welcomes it when Kirill whispers to him sweetly, rolling his hips in a steady rhythm that soon has the blond's cock standing to attention once again. There's no urgency now, the Russian's pace is slow enough that the assassin can feel every tiny movement, every shudder of Kirill's body as he chases ecstasy. This is slower than any encounter that the blond remembers, slow and far more intimate somehow.

Because this isn't about pleasure even though it feels amazing. It's about connection, about bridging what was broken by their past, and the assassin can't imagine anywhere else that he'd want to be right now. He feels almost drunk, drunk on heat and old memories and the slow burn of pleasure as the Russian's fingers dance across his skin.

Indeed, the man that Jason was and the man that he's become are in complete agreement for the first time in his memory – neither of them is willing to lose Kirill again.

So the blond twists on the the other man's next thrust, pushing Kirill backwards and hooking one leg around his ankle to drop him to the floor. He follows the Russian down, taking his face between his hands and kissing him with everything he has. Jason keeps kissing him even as Kirill presses back inside of him and the assassin just wants to drown in this. They rock together, one of the Russian's hands gripping Jason's hair while the other wraps around his cock.

He comes almost instantly when Kirill twists his wrist, groaning the other man's name against his mouth. This time the other assassin follows Jason down, grinding their hips together one more time before his face twists in pleasure and he comes with a choked off shout.

It's perfect, fucking perfect – messy, rough, and unsanitary though it may also be – and the assassin knows that this memory will never leave him now. This is one to keep and Kirill seems to agree since he doesn't move away after pulling out of Jason, instead rolling them over onto their sides so that he can curl around the blond more comfortably.

“I thought you were dead when you did not meet me,” the Russian murmurs into Jason's hair. “You had never missed a meeting without contacting me beforehand and I was certain that your luck had finally run out. You always did take too many risks. So I mourned you and then I learned that you had gone rogue instead and I had never hated anyone as much as I hated you that day. Did you truly forget everything?”

“Pretty much. I remember more now, but for a long time there were only flashes in my dreams. I knew there had been someone but I didn't know that it was you until you tracked us down in Goa and then I assumed it was too late.”

“It was, then. If you had tried to speak, I probably would have shot you,” Kirill admits even as his arms tighten around Jason possessively. “But I am not angry anymore. I have not been truly angry for some time.”

“You have no idea how happy I am to hear that,” the blond says, tucking himself more comfortably against the Russian's chest. “I missed you a hell of a lot while you were gone.”

“I have missed you too,” Kirill murmurs in reply before the two men fall silent, drifting in a pleasant post-coital haze.

Indeed, Jason is nearly asleep despite the hardness of the floor when he feels the Russian stiffen suddenly and an amused voice says, “I see you worked out your differences. I was wondering how much longer this would take.”

The blond raises his head to see Marie standing in the doorway with a shopping bag over her shoulder and a wide grin upon her face. She clearly has no problem with their recent activities – given that smirk she's probably just happy that she won't have to listen to Jason pining anymore – so it's Kirill's reaction that will make or break them now.

But even though the Russian looks incredibly uncomfortable, he doesn't make any move to pretend that the last half hour never happened, instead looking up at Marie and asking, “You expected this?”

“Jason told me everything about you when he remembered and he told me that he still loved you when he brought you back,” Marie explains with a shrug as she steps over their outstretched legs to put down her purchases. “So I knew that you would probably end up in bed together once you'd worked your issues out. Clearly, I should have known that you would use the floor instead.”

“You are not angry? You should be angry,” the Russian says, a flash of guilt crossing his face.

“Why? Jason doesn't love me less for loving you and this is hardly an unattractive sight.”

Kirill seems more perplexed by Marie's acceptance than he would have been by anger, though Jason takes the other man's guilt as a good sign. If the Russian likes Marie enough to feel bad about their infidelity then maybe this will actually work out. Assuming Jason can convince Kirill that it's okay to want. So the blond sits up and pulls Marie down beside them even as he reaches out to grab the Russian's hand.

“This isn't a trick,” Jason promises. “It's not a lie or any sort of scheme. We mean every word, the both of us, and we want you to stay for good. We want you here 'cause that's where you belong.”

“With both of you?” Kirill asks, his eyes flicking over to Marie. There's heat there, heat that Jason had not expected and the assassin momentarily forgets how to speak. Somehow he hadn't considered that his lovers might also want each other but now it's the only thing that he can think about.

“I... yes! If she... if she agrees,” the blond finally manages to stutter, looking over at Marie to see what she thinks. Letting Kirill share Jason is different than actually being a part of it and this is her decision now.

“Well, I'm not going to say I love you both the same,” Marie answers slowly, turning this suggestion over in her mind. “But I do like Kirill and I wouldn't say no to a bit of fun from time to time. If you can live with that?”

This last is directed at the Russian and Jason can't stop himself from grinning stupidly when Kirill pulls Marie into a kiss. I am the luckiest bastard ever, the assassin thinks as he watches them make out, the sight one of them together the hottest thing that he has ever seen.

Indeed, his lovers look good together, Kirill gentler with Marie than he was with Jason, and while the blond probably should be jealous, he's mostly just turned on. Particularly when the other man reaches out to Jason, guiding his hand beneath Marie's shirt to cup her breast.

She arches into their touch, moaning against the Russian's mouth when Jason strokes a thumb across her nipple and then down her chest. His other hand goes to her back, pushing Marie forward until she's straddling Kirill and it's his turn to groan when she rocks down against his dick. Marie's always been something of a flirt in bed and she's no different now, doing her best to drive the Russian mad.

It seems to be something of a competition with them – Jason does have a type – their hands roaming across each other's skin. When Kirill breaks their kiss to press his mouth to one firm breast, Jason feels Marie shake beneath his fingers and when she bites down hard on the Russian's shoulder, his cock jumps in response. But even though Kirill already has Marie stripped down to her underwear and the other assassin lost the remnants of his clothes a while back, neither of them moves to take it further now.

Instead they stick to heavy petting, the Russian's dick nudging the inside of Marie's thighs with every roll of her hips. She's already wet when Jason slips a hand between her folds, stroking slow circles across her clit. But even as Marie throws her head back with a sigh, he realizes what his lovers have been waiting for.

They're waiting for him.

So Jason moves to straddle Kirill as well, pressing close to Marie and looking over her shoulder to meet the Russian's eyes. He smirks down at Kirill, wrapping his free hand around the other assassin's cock even as he continues his slow strokes inside Marie.

“I want to see you,” he says. “I want to watch you fall apart in each other's arms.”

“That was the plan, Jason,” Marie gasps, rocking her hips into her lover's hand even as she waves vaguely toward her bag. “I just need supplies”

It's actually Kirill who swipes her bag off the table since both of Jason's hands are rather occupied. He dumps the bag out, swiping a condom from the pile of receipts and change on the floor before handing it to Marie with one sardonic brow.

“I know where that thing of yours has been,” she replies before ripping the condom open with her mouth.

Marie rolls it down over Kirill and then Jason guides her forward, his hands as gentle as he can manage on her hips. All three of them groan in unison as she sinks onto the Russian, an achingly slow penetration that makes Jason's own cock throb. But just when he thinks the two of them couldn't get any hotter together, Kirill hands close on Marie's waist and he yanks her down.

The Russian thrusts up into the motion, his cock sinking deep as Marie throws her head back with a cry. Jason has to press closer then, his left hand resting on her abdomen so that he can feel the hard length of Kirill's cock beneath her skin.

Jason knows exactly how she feels right now, the way the other man is stretching her open, deep and hard and strong. And Jason knows exactly what is putting that twist of pleasure on the Russian's face, the softness and heat enveloping his length whenever Marie rocks her hips.

They're both so beautiful, the long pale lines of Kirill's body contrasting with the golden tan that Marie picked up in India, and for one split second, the assassin wonders what they see in him. But then the other man is shifting, pushing himself up off the floor and pulling Jason into a filthy kiss. Their lips move together hungrily as Marie moans between them, their bodies pressed closer than should be possible. Jason can feel her every shudder while Kirill steals the air that he was breathing, reason left behind by the Russian's wicked tongue.

Only when his head his spinning does Kirill release him, grabbing Jason's hand again and guiding back down their lover's chest. Their fingers stroke across her clit together even as Kirill moves to kiss her next, the blond's cock twitching at the sight. Then it's Jason's turn again, Marie turning her head to press their lips together fervently.

She kisses him like she's drowning, every breathe a gasp as Kirill finally starts to fuck her properly. Every thrust slides the Russian's cock across their joined hands, rubbing their fingers against Marie's clit to the rhythm of his thrusts.

So really, how could Jason possibly be jealous when he knows that it might be him in the middle next time, his turn to sink into Marie while Kirill takes him slow and easy from behind? Or perhaps he'll fuck the Russian while she watches, the thought of her eyes upon them making his cock throb dangerously.

All three of them are close now, he can hear it in their breathing and so the blond slips one finger inside Marie the next time Kirill pulls out. She's so tight around him, around both of them when the Russian thrusts up again and Jason takes himself in hand.

A few quick strokes and he loses it, pleasure washing over him like a tidal wave as he comes on Marie's back. It's a different pleasure now, weaker and yet deeper from coming in such quick succession and he barely has the presence of mind to press his knuckle against his lover's clit again. But this is enough to send her over when Kirill matches Jason's move with a hard thrust of his own. Marie shakes against them, her whole body clenching with her orgasm even as the Russian curses fiercely and follows his lovers into bliss. Then the three of them fall into a tangle of sweat-soaked limbs and sticky skin, too tired to clean up just yet.

But it's a satisfied exhaustion - a well-fucked exhaustion - and Jason doesn't think that he's ever been happier than he is right now. Because that had been fantastic and with a repeat in his near future, life is looking bright indeed. The assassin can almost see it, stretching out in front of them in a sea of sex and laughter, traveling and sparring and living as none of them were free to do before.

So Jason takes each of his lover's by the hand, shifting over to kiss them one after the other, and then flopping back onto the floor with a happy sigh. He knows that life won't be all wine and roses even now, but it seems pretty damn great at the moment and he intends to enjoy the good times for however long they last.


End