Disclaimer: Hello, Anthony Horowitz. You're amazing. I didn't write Alex Rider. But Dammit if (19YO version) he's not my fiction-crush. I make no profit. I do manipulate ...

I also advise you to reread the last chapter. Quite a bit. Lol, SmutWarning, by the way...


She hmm'd as she sat opposite him, crossing her legs on the bed and wrapping her arms around herself. Alex rolled his eyes at her and the small smile she cracked was more than worth the anguish of the past hour and a half.

"Calli," He sighed, "Where... I don't know where to start." She shrugged and blinked a couple of times as he watched her. Suddenly, she shivered, and he didn't need any other excuse. "Come sit?" he patted his lap, and she smirked, knowing exactly what he was attempting to do – delay the inevitable.

"Nice try, Rider, but even if I sit there, you're spilling your story."

"Thanks." He huffed lightly, surprised when she moved closer and straddled his lap, sitting in the gap between his knees, her legs wrapped around his hips, her hands on his thighs, holding herself upright.

"Welcome." She moved slightly, and he hissed; the awkward tension between them almost immediately dissolving into something far more... enjoyable. She leaned forward and put her hands on his shoulders, waiting for the explanation, but at the same time knowing that he wasn't going to want to talk for long.

Short bursts. That would be good for the pair of them. Short bursts coupled with serious physicality? Even fucking better. She nodded at him again, and he ran his hands through first his hair, then hers, then draped his hands across her shoulders, holding her upright and against the solid length that was pressing between them.

"So, I guess... I'll start from the beginning?" It came out like a question, and he realised she had the power over him... and that he liked it.

"Brilliant choice, Mr. Rider." A small nod.

"My uncle died when I was fourteen." She nodded again, having already learnt that from James, "And some really weird shit started to go down, you know? There were these people that came over to our house, nicked everything in his study, left me with maybe a picture... and that was about it." He hesitated, wondering how much he could reveal before he was breaking the contract he'd signed when he'd first seen the Official Secrets Act.

"Uhhuh," A pause, "I know this bit – Alan Blunt, wasn't it? The manager dude," She stopped, "He didn't... you know..." She raised her eyebrows and sat back a bit, suddenly awkward and uncomfortably distant from him, "Hurt you?" Alex let out a laugh and shook his head, lightly pulling her back toward him and capturing her lips with his own.

"No, he didn't... but the manager... wasn't technically a manager. He was..." Stopping, Alex took a deep breath and rested his cheek against hers, so he could whisper in her ear, "He was a senior officer for MI6."

"What?" She raised an eyebrow again, this time leaning up to him and gripping his lapel, "So your uncle was James Bond, right?" She rolled her eyes and shook her head, "Shit, Rider, you know I hate being in the dark about your past, but Christ, I'd rather you lied to me than tell me all that bullshit. You know how I hate liars."

"I'm not lying." He harrumphed again, raking his eyes down Calliegh's body, his hands following suit, completely out of control. "If I was lying... God, Cal', I wish I was fucking lying."

She let out a sigh as he started to pull off his shirt.

"I was fourteen and three quarters when I was shot in the chest, about an inch and a half above my heart. I thought I was going to die, Calliegh. I thought that... I just didn't know." He traced the length of her arm with his fingers, then pulled her against him, taking her hand and pressing it against the bullet scar, the hole above his heart.

"No." She refused to take the situation in. She shook her head again and again as he told her the Stormbreaker Story, her voice diminishing as he finished it. "You were... the boy. The one with the g-gun. At the science museum?" She was barely breathing.

"Yeah." His voice was... almost dead. He hated rehashing his history. Hated thinking of everything that hurt him just a little bit more than it did the last time he thought about it. "Yeah, I was. And I think that was the day... that I started just shutting everything out." He stopped, looking down at where she had buried herself against his shirt, clinging to his torso and holding onto his hands.

"No, Alex." She shook her head again, and Alex realised she was crying.

"It was the day I started shutting everything, and everyone out, Cal." He pulled her up against him, so their chests were pressed together, separated by her top. "And it's that day that I hate the most, because..." He sighed and gripped her wrist, so tightly she wondered if she would bruise. "It's the day that's forcing you and I apart, Calliegh."

"No, Alex," She whispered again, "No." The tears in her eyes cleared slightly, and she lifted her hips a little, proving that they could be together again, even for a little while.

"I want to," He knew what she meant by that tiny movement, but he buried his head in her neck and shook, "I could hurt you."

"You..." She sighed, "You've never hurt me before." A pause, he nodded his understanding, "Never physically, only by keeping things-"

His lips silenced her, pressing against hers and sliding down to decimate her jawline, nipping and sucking down her neck until he was convinced she would be sufficiently marked. She was his. He lifted her easily and pressed her down against her bed, grinding his hips into hers.

"This," He growled, "Is what you do to me," She let out a low gasp; he had never been so commanding, so desperate before. "No other girl." He grunted a little as he tugged on her pyjama shorts and found that they came away in his hands. Sliding two fingers past the soft cotton panties she was barely wearing, he pushed them into her, and let her wetness try to calm him, reassure him, even. She whispered his name with every third thrust and gasped when his thumb brushed her clit, slowly bringing her to some kind of twisted collision. "No other guy does this to you, does he?"

She was so dumbstruck by the sensations coursing through her, millimetres from her peak, from the edge of the precipice, that she couldn't respond.

"I said," He pulled his fingers away from her body, "does he?"

"No." She murmured, pulling her own weight up so that she was pressed against him, "I'm yours. Only yours." Her legs locked around his hips and pulled their heat together, she could feel him, solid against her and she kept trying, her hands fumbling for his belt, but her legs refusing to unlock from around him. "Please." She begged, finally freeing him from his denim jail.

"What do you want?" He said, biting down on her earlobe to push away the fears that he would hurt her, that she would cry, "Tell me, Calliegh," His fingertips tugged at her knickers and they ripped at the seams. She whimpered again, moaning his name as he pressed against her, into her.

He took her and she didn't know how to respond. She gave him everything she could just to calm him, to stop the tears he didn't realise he was shedding into her hair, to show him that she loved him.

She loved him.

"I love you." She whispered, he whispered it back. "I'm not going anywhere." She murmured, he sighed and fell against her, holding her to him into the night.


Eauh. Yeah. Strange, much? Awkward, much? Stupidly sexual, much?

Review Please and thaankyou.