Title: Chapter Seventeen Remix
Disclaimer: Any mention of 'Stormbreaker', 'Alex Rider', any associated entites, or any copyrighted material pertaining therein is reasonably protected by the Fair Use Rule of the United States Copyright Act of 1976, and is not intended to infringe upon any copyrighted material.
Spoilers: Literally set in Chaper 17 of Stormbreaker/the last few scenes of the movie.
Warnings: Porn. Underage?? OH NO, OF COURSE NOT. Non con?? AHAHA WHEN HAVE I EVER DONE THAT? (Except in like ever other fic I have ever released.)
Summary: The missing scene from Stormbreaker: Chapter 17. AHORZ is careless sometimes, and loses these fragments. Yassen/Alex slash. Helipad pron.
Author's Notes: I'm really really sorry. I tried so hard not to write Stormbreaker era slash, really I did. I stuck to that three-years-later rule like a total hardass! But it got me. It snuck right up. And yes, there is a soundtrack in my lj.
Yassen stepped towards him, uncomfortably close. Alex felt the infringement on his personal space and he wanted to step away, turn away and recollect himself. But the man who'd just carried him out of danger was staring at him pretty intently.
It was a show down, a stare out. If Alex broke their gaze first, he would probably fail some kind of test. He had no idea why; it was a ludicrous thought in itself, but Yassen gave off that vibe. He challenged Alex, just by standing before him.
Alex pursed his lips, chewing the inside of his cheek. What was he supposed to say? Thank you, he had to grudgingly admit to himself. But this was the man who'd shot his uncle. It would be almost demeaning to thank the assassin. In this world, Alex guessed, one life was supposed to be able to serve as payment for another. He supposed that Yassen felt that saving him made up for killing Ian. But, Yassen had been right on one count – Alex wasn't a part of this world. He couldn't forgive Yassen quite so easily.
He opened his mouth to make some sort of pithy remark. Usually they just came to him on the spot – but this was apparently not the case this time. What did you say to an assassin who had doubly hurt and helped you?
There was a split second of balancing there, Alex's lips barely parted on any number of bitten back words, both scathing and cordial - and as he teetered, Yassen Gregorovich's brow furrowed a little before clearing, satisfied and decisive.
Time seemed to skip a second, and there was a rush of air and then a soft pressure against his mouth. Alex's eyes widened and his lips seemed to part on their own volition, automatically responding to warm coaxing.
Yassen Gregorovich was kissing him.
He struggled to pull away, wrenching his head to the side, breathing heavily. "What the hell are you doing?" Alex said, half furious at the further invasion of his personal space, and half dazed by the hot blow of Yassen's breath on his cheek.
Gregorovich had somehow managed to catch both his wrists behind his back with a single hand. One simple slip of a hand and Alex's years of training at the Chelsea dojo were rendered obsolete.
He seized Alex's face with a firm grasp which threatened to bruise his jaw, ghosting his lips across his cheek until he had Alex's mouth again. There was a soft invasive slide of hot tongue into his mouth – only briefly – but Alex started against the black clad body pressed against him.
He shuddered from head to toe, eyes clenching shut for a split second in - he didn't know what it was, but it was heady and made him a little dizzy, and for god's sake, he was hard-
Alex sucked in a breath. Gregorovich had slipped his hand under his jacket and into…and into his pants. They were loose; MI6 had basically just thrown him the smallest size in their storerooms. The assassin casually undid them, one-handed, and cupped Alex in his palm, gently squeezing and rubbing with his thumb. Alex whimpered almost inaudibly under Gregorovich's mouth, and broke away again, tried to bend over reflexively to protect himself. However, Yassen had his upright posture pretty firmly in hand.
He pulled away from Alex's mouth, and surveyed the boy, one hand still lazily rubbing at the swelling erection in Alex's unfastened pants. He had long fingers, and Alex felt every one of them curl delicately around his cock, slowly grazing up and then down the length.
At first, more of a brush of skin on skin, but then tighter and firmer - and Alex couldn't tell whether it was because Gregorovich was teasing him into swelling under his touch, or if the man was simply masterfully tightening his grip degree by agonising degree.
Alex stared up at him, half twisted to the side, eyes confused but dilated, eyelids flickering closed and mouth quivering slightly open at the stimulation Yassen was administering.
Yassen was taking him in coolly, watching every flash of restrained pleasure glace across his face, drinking in the way his breath shuddered on every tight twisting downstroke.
It was chilly in the wind atop the roof, but the helicopter shielded one of their sides, and Yassen's hand was hot on his exposed flesh, rubbing and grazing to produce tormenting friction.
The pilot, Alex glimpsed him around Yassen's shoulder as he whimpered and tried to jerk away, his traitorous knees locking up and forcing him to push up against the man's warm chest- The pilot had his face respectfully and dutifully turned away, staring intently through his bullet proof windshield. The man didn't even twitch as Alex cried out sharp and wordless as Yassen's hand left its grip on his cock, dipping and sliding to probe within him, invasive and painfully arousing.
Yassen hushed him, with his voice low, retreating to stroke him hard again, thumbing over the head as Alex whimpered softly in time.
Alex fought against the tight grasp around his waist whenever Yassen lifted his hand away, but as soon as his hand was hot on his tight skin (and Alex could feel ieverything/i through his cock right now) Gregorovich's touch was like a singing that thrummed from his stomach and through the rest of his body – he could feel the rushing flow of the assassin's blood through his hand
Why?- was obviously his first question, but it was becoming a little less pressing as the assassin urged him closer to coming into his hand.
Alex's legs began to weaken, and the tight grip of the hand behind his back became less of a means of holding him captive, and more like the only thing keeping Alex on his feet.
Yassen was silent, nothing interrupting his usual impassive façade. Alex himself was fighting valiantly to remain quiet, but when he let go half of a bitten back moan, Yassen tightened his grip around Alex's cock, roughly slicking down the length, dragging out the most intense orgasm Alex had ever felt in his life. Sure, he'd only had his own fist as experience, but this was unbelievable. Yassen jerked him right through the shuddering release, seemingly mindless of how he was coating his hand with Alex's warm spurts of come.
He gave Alex a final firm stroke, before extricating his hand from his pants, and setting him to rights. He lifted his sticky hand to Alex's face, where he gently but deliberately smeared his come coated thumb across Alex's lower lip, leaving it glistening. Alex's lips once more parted obediently of their own accord, and Yassen stared at them a moment, as if considering what better use he could put them to.
Alex was still blinking away the after affects of being urged to climax with such intensity. He barely noted the possessive run of a hand over the curve of his backside.
Yassen dropped Alex's wrists, regarding him with a final calculating smirk.
Alex knew he was pink with embarrassment. He clenched his fists by his sides, breathing hard, feet bracing him upright. He had to fight the urge to touch his lips, even though they tingled under the coating of his own fluids. He was almost curious to see how he tasted, but Yassen was still regarding him with eyes that thrilling him in a frightening way with their intense hunger.
He could still taste the older man in his mouth, and faintly smell the warm aroma of sweat and arousal that had enveloped him whist he'd been pressed into the thick fabric of Yassen's jacket. He could still feel his hand hot around his cock, and the cold eyes that had fixed on his face as he came, shuddering and helpless against the assassin's demanding strokes.
All the lucid thought Alex could gather through come down haze, as he watched Yassen Gregorovich swing himself back into his helicopter, nodding curtly to his pilot, was this: Yassen had killed his uncle, and then saved his life. That had made them even, in this world of spies and assassins. But he was confused – had the man's touch been as much a gift as it had been a violation? More importantly, did Alex Rider now owe Yassen Gregorovich something?
After all, Yassen had warned him away, told him to forget. It was Alex's prerogative as to whether he joined Yassen's world. But it would unequivocally entail following its rules...