Chapter Text
It was almost a year after Air Force One, and Alex Rider was very much not expecting to find a certain Russian assassin laid out on his bed.
But there was no denying it; Yassen Gregorovich had returned, and was looking rather comfortable.
Maybe it wasn’t the wisest move to greet a world renowned assassin by throwing your school bag at their face, but Alex had never claimed to be wise. Nor did he deny his death wish.
The bastard didn’t even grant him the satisfaction of letting himself be clobbered by the offending object, somehow catching it blindly with one hand before stretching contentedly like a spoiled housecat.
“Hello, Sasha,” Yassen said, turning his head and lazily cracking an eye to set his gaze on the teen.
Alex looked back with fond amusement, finding that he quite liked seeing the assassin’s sharp edges smoothed out like this.
Though the relief of seeing him was quickly replaced by growing anger at his absence. Yassen didn’t deserve his fondness right now, he deserved absolute and pure retribution for letting Alex wonder about him for a fucking year .
Alex pounced.
And landed right on top of Yassen, who was tensed for violence and utterly unprepared for nearly six feet of muscled teenager bodying him.
Yassen let out a pained oomph as the breath was knocked out of him, and Alex took the opportunity to snuggle his head under the Russian’s chin and wedge his arms under the man’s back.
Alex hummed his appreciation for the hand that settled itself on his waist after a moment and the fingers running through his hair as he nuzzled more firmly into the body beneath him.
“I hope you’re comfortable, Yasha,” Alex started, words muffled against where his mouth was pressed into Yassen’s neck, “because this is your life now. Consider it your punishment.”
“Quite comfortable, actually.” True to his word, he did sound pleased. “May I ask what I did to deserve this torture?”
Alex jabbed a finger into Yassen’s side as he brought his head up, turning a glare on the man.
“Gee, I don’t know. Would you like the list alphabetically or by order of importance?” he snarked. “A year. A whole. Fucking. Year. Yassen.”
The assassin opened his mouth to defend himself, but the glower sent his way shut him up fast.
“You didn’t think to yourself, just once, ‘Hmm, maybe I should let Alex know that I got better after dying in his arms?’ You just left!” The first sign of frustrated tears started to well up in Alex’s eyes, and he freely let them fall onto the delicate linen of Yassen’s shirt. It would almost definitely stain. Served him right.
The teen slumped in defeated exhaustion as the words he had kept to himself for a year finally left his body, pure relief replacing the hell of waking up every day and not knowing how his assassin was.
After a few minutes of silence occasionally broken by heavy sniffles, Yassen tightened his arm around Alex’s lower back and used it to gently flip them over. He plastered himself against the younger man from the waist down and leaned on one elbow, his other hand rising up to press a warm, dry palm to Alex’s cheek.
“I wanted to come back to you, but there were…complicating factors. I had to wait until it was safe,” Yassen explained quietly. “And I wanted to wait until you finished school, you only have a few weeks left, no?”
Alex looked considering for a moment, then a mischievous gleam rose in his eye that did not thrill the assassin. “Do you have a schoolboy fetish, or something?”
Yassen groaned in playful frustration, hunching his shoulders and dropping his head to Alex’s collarbone to hide his pained grin.
“You’re always on my case about school, I can’t help but think there might be a deeper reason behind it!” Alex teased, smile evident in his voice.
Yassen muttered his reply into the young man’s chest, but Alex could only feel the vibrations of his voice against his body and was unable to make out the words. It sounded like they were in Russian anyway, a language he decisively did not speak.
The assassin then pulled himself up, smiled in a forebodingly self-satisfied manner, and fully collapsed onto Alex and blanketed him with his body. It was a complete role reversal from earlier, and given the man’s excessively wealthy clientele, Alex was positive that he had just landed himself the world’s most expensive weighted blanket.
“Methinks the man doth protest too little,” Alex said cheerfully, wriggling around on his bed to settle in.
“Alex,” Yassen groused with a long-suffering sigh. “I do not have a schoolboy fetish. I simply seem to value the idea of a strong education more than present company,” he said from where his head was pillowed on the young man’s shoulder.
“I value my education just fine, Grandpa. I just don’t understand why you waited until I was almost done with school to come back, there’s a few bigger issues going on.”
“Do not call me Grandpa,” the Russian warned sternly, dark eyes boring into Alex’s cheeky expression.
“Would you rather I call you daddy?”
Yassen slapped a hand down over the spy’s mouth, face drawn into a pinched scowl. “Remind me again why I missed you?”
“Because you like me,” Alex garbled helpfully from underneath Yassen’s palm.
“Regretfully. And utterly against my will, I assure you.”
Their faces broke into matching smiles, and they relaxed into a comfortable quiet.
After dozing on and off in the comfort of their warm embrace, Alex was well and truly bored with the silence.
“Why were you even in my bed anyway?” he asked suddenly, realizing that probably should have been one of his first questions when he opened his door.
“You took longer than anticipated, and there were only so many times I could go through all of your things before that got old,” Yassen replied sleepily.
Alex slapped him lightly on the back at his sheer audacity, though he was not at all surprised. Given what the man did for a living, he supposed he should be grateful that was the worst he had done.
Yassen rolled off of him and propped himself up on an elbow, watching Alex contentedly from under his long eyelashes.
“Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” Alex snarked, squirming uncomfortably under the scrutiny.
Yassen’s lips turned down at the teen’s self consciousness. Alex couldn’t help it; the past few years had been filled with people staring through him, but Yassen’s gaze seemed to look right into him with such understanding that it was almost frightening.
He also knew objectively that he wasn’t bad to look at, but when he saw himself in the mirror all he saw were the phantom stains of bruises from his missions and the body of a weapon, muscles developed from countless nights spent running away from his nightmares and slender from months of neglecting regular meals.
And if Yassen looked, Yassen would see. All of it.
Alex was terrified that the other man was about to say something deeply heartfelt and mind-breakingly sincere. Instead, “I have taken many pictures of you recently, actually. No need to ruin the moment with a camera right now, hm?”
And Christ, did the arsehole look smug.
“Have you been perving on me?” Alex nearly shouted the question, feeling violated but strangely flattered by the attention.
Yassen looked pained again. “Must you be so unnecessarily crude, Sasha? I was simply checking in on you. I wanted to make sure you were safe.”
Alex settled again. “Thanks? That’s- sweet…I think. But you could’ve just asked.”
“You’re quite welcome. I had business to take care of, I did not want to contact you until I knew I could give you my undivided attention.”
Yup, there it was. The sincerity that nearly stopped Alex’s heart every time it was turned on him. And fuck, he was going to have to reply now, wasn’t he.
Luckily for him, his stomach took that moment to loudly announce its displeasure at going so long without eating. Alex checked his watch, startled to find that it was going on nine o’clock. He had gotten home from school around five.
Yassen laughed and leaned over Alex, brushing his lips lightly against his stomach before climbing over him and getting off the bed.
“Coming?” he asked, already slipping into his trainers and straightening his shirt.
Alex scrambled to get up, already committed to following the assassin with no follow up questions.
“Where are we going?” Strike that, one follow up question.
Yassen raised an eyebrow at the boy’s eagerness, telling him “You are hungry. So, dinner.”
Alex pushed Yassen out into the hallway and slammed the door in his face, calling out “Sorry!” and ripping his shirt off. He tore through his wardrobe, eventually grabbing a sage green short sleeved button down. His uniform trousers weren’t ideal, but he was behind on laundry anyway.
As he was busy buttoning his shirt, Yassen’s patient voice floated through the door. “There is no rush, Sasha. The food won’t run away without us.”
“I don’t want Jack coming home to find me missing,” Alex huffed out breathlessly as he ripped his bedroom door open.
“Actually, I’m surprised she’s not home by now, work was done hours ago.” Alex spoke over his shoulder as he darted into the bathroom and threw some water in his hair, trying helplessly to tame it after hours being squished into the bed. He determinedly ignored Yassen’s snort.
“Jack will not be a problem. There happened to be an…urgent matter at work.” Yassen sounded altogether too innocent.
Alex stopped short, backing out of the bathroom and brandishing his toothbrush with deadly intent. Sudden emergencies involving loved ones and an assassin didn’t inspire the best of feelings.
“Explain,” he said flatly.
Yassen held up a finger and turned around, soundlessly descending the stairs and after a moment bounding up them again two at a time. He offered the sticky note he was now holding to Alex.
It was Jack’s handwriting and read:
Alex,
There’s an urgent matter at work. Be home by midnight, will call if not.
-Jack
Alex shot Yassen a thoroughly unimpressed look. “Has anyone ever told you you’re a right git?”
Yassen had the gall to meet his eye with an unabashed grin. Alex lobbed the toothbrush at his head. He caught it, of course. Bastard.
“Never anyone who lived to tell the tale, I’m afraid. Are you finished?”
“Getting ready? Yeah, just need to grab shoes. Finished throwing shit at you? No, probably never. Someday you’ll let your guard down, and then I’ll strike,” Alex informed him.
“I look forward to it,” Yassen said. The pair walked through the door and locked it, and off they went.
If Alex was asked where he would think Yassen Gregorovich would take him to dinner, he’d probably just laugh at the question.
And if he seriously considered it, which was unlikely, he probably would’ve said some nondescript, middle of the road type restaurant with dim lighting and bored servers. The type of place that wouldn’t have cameras and didn’t care enough to remember your face.
So he was rightfully surprised when instead Yassen led them on foot to the Chelsea Co-Op, holding the shopping basket in one hand and letting Alex pick out food with an indulgent half smile.
He seemed pleased when Alex chose a baguette and a few cheeses wrapped in wax paper, then openly amused that Alex clearly had no idea what he was doing.
“Cheese is cheese, I really don’t understand why they have to have so many types,” Alex had muttered under his breath as he took in his options.
Alex deferred to Yassen’s experience in choosing a bottle of wine. That was even more specific than the cheese ordeal and he had no interest in repeating the nightmare.
By the time they reached the register their basket was filled with three soft cheeses, the baguette, dried fruit, and wine. Yassen paid cash as Alex stood next to him, nearly vibrating with energy at this unexpected turn of events.
When he walked in the front door after school he anticipated an evening spent on schoolwork and a workout. Now he was checking out of a Co-Op with the man who was trained by his father and used that training to kill his uncle.
It was strange, but what’s life without a bit of unpredictability here and there?
As the odd pair left the store, Yassen turned to walk back to Alex’s flat. Alex stopped him by grabbing the wrist that wasn’t supporting their bag of groceries and interlacing their fingers.
Jerking his head in the direction he wanted them to go in, Alex tugged on the Russian’s hand and they started ambling towards the Thames.
“I’m suddenly recalling something you once said about not going with a stranger to a secondary location,” Yassen teased, though the quirked brow he sported told Alex he’d better explain where they were headed.
Alex breathed out a semblance of a laugh through his nose. “I think once someone’s died in your arms they don’t quite qualify as a stranger, Yasha. Plus I’m pretty sure this will technically be a third location.”
“Should I be even more concerned, then?” the assassin asked, though their destination was now in view.
The Cremorne Gardens was a quaint little park on the River Thames, and was also very much closed this time of night. Alex dropped Yassen’s hand to pull a lock picking set out of his pocket, blushing guiltily at the full brow raise he earned this time for his delinquency.
“Shut up,” Alex muttered as the lock clanged open.
“You’ll hear no complaints from me, I think I like this development,” Yassen said sincerely.
Alex scoffed and pushed the gates open, sweeping an arm and beckoning the assassin in with a bow. “Age before beauty,” he intoned, yelping as a hand cuffed him upside the head.
“My apologies,” Yassen said in faux regret, “I thought there was a moth in your hair.”
Alex scowled at him in return, closing the gates behind them as they entered the park. He led Yassen towards the waterfront and onto the path, passing the dock and pier before descending the few stairs.
There was a short wall bordering the pathway along the water and he sat on it, swiveling himself around so that he was slouched with his legs dangling over the river below. Yassen joined him once Alex was settled, and they spread their dinner out between them.
“What’re we gonna do about the wine?” Alex asked through a mouthful of bread. “We don’t have an opener or glasses.”
“Chew your food.” Yassen commanded. He looked utterly despondent at Alex’s lack of manners, and the boy shot him an apologetic, sheepish smile.
The assassin reached down and pulled a dagger out of a sheath strapped to his ankle and grabbed the bottle, cutting through the foil easily. With the cork exposed, it was simply a matter of stabbing the knife into it, twisting and pulling. The cork came off with a resounding pop.
“How do you make everything look so easy ,” Alex bemoaned, accepting the proffered bottle and taking a swig, then passing it back to Yassen.
“Hm?”
Alex gave a rueful laugh. “The last time I tried to open wine without a corkscrew I ended up having to pound the whole thing down into the bottle.”
At Yassen’s grimace, he continued, “Oh yeah, you’re making that face now, but I haven’t even told you about what the cork bits looked like when they made a reappearance in my waste bin the next morning.”
“Alex,” the assassin chastised.
“I’ve personally seen you kill five people, know of twelve more just from the last two years, and am positive that’s only a tiny fraction of your body count. Are you telling me the mention of wine vomit is gonna be where you draw the line?” Alex asked incredulously.
He looked at Yassen expecting to see some combination of amusement and annoyance, his signature look around the teen, and was surprised to find him looking pensive instead, fingers idly toying with the bottle’s label.
“Does it bother you?” Yassen asked thoughtfully.
“Vomit? I’m eighteen, mate, kinda comes with the territory.”
“No, Sasha,” he said with frustration. He sighed and continued, “The fact that I kill people.”
Alex sat for a moment to think his response through, picking at the hunk of bread in his hands and scattering the crumbles into the water below.
“Probably not as much as it should, to be honest,” he finally replied. “I think if any of our circumstances had been different, maybe. But you don’t use me, not like everyone else. And you’re…I don’t know. Kind. To me, at least, and I guess I’m just selfish enough for that to matter more than the murder part.”
The pair spent the next hour deep in their own thoughts, sharing nothing but the bottle of wine. They made short work of it, draining the whole thing between them.
Yassen finally broke the quietude. “I am not a good man, Alex.”
He was also apparently morose when under the influence. Or at least when tipsy off wine. Alex could relate.
For his part, Alex just graced him with a wry grin. “I’m not sure I buy into that whole thing anymore, really. My dad was a good man but he trained you, Ian was a good man but he trained me, I’m a good man but people die because of my actions, you’re not a good man but you saved me multiple times…it’s just not that simple, y’know?”
He continued with a sardonic laugh, “Mrs Jones told me at the beginning that this was a murky business. I think it’s probably about the only thing we agree on.”
Yassen was watching him closely, sorrowful eyes taking in the boy’s defeated posture. “They never should have pulled you into this world, especially not that young,” he lamented quietly.
The spy hummed non-committedly. “How old were you?” Alex asked lowly, fixing his gaze on the skyline across from them.
“It’s…complicated. And a long story.” At Alex’s jerky nod, Yassen reached over the wrappers and empty bottle between them and grasped his shoulder.
“It is not something that I am unwilling to tell you, it’s just- hmm…something for another time, perhaps,” he said gently. “I have given you a lot to think about tonight, I wouldn’t want to force your brain to work too hard. Who knows the damage that could do.”
Alex brightened, letting out a tired, relieved laugh at the change in mood. “Git.”
It wasn’t the complete conversation they needed to have, but it would have to do for the night.
Yassen swung his legs back around to face the path and stood, collecting their trash and placing it back into the brown paper bag before tossing it into a nearby bin. Alex followed suit and they made their way back to the entrance, the teen closing the gates behind them.
He slipped his hand back into Yassen’s and they began the quiet walk back, slightly swaying from the wine and leaning on each other for support for a lot more than that.
Neither man noticed the slight glare of a camera lens that tracked their departure.
“Are you gonna come up?” Alex asked as they reached his house. There were no lights on inside so Jack still wasn’t home, and they hopefully had about forty five minutes before she was due to return.
Yassen looked at the house in consideration. “Do you want me to?” At Alex’s nod he acquiesced with a soft, “Alright, then.”
Alex went up the stairs first, Yassen close behind in case the boy fell. He was tired and filled with more wine than food so he was more appreciative than annoyed by the coddling.
By the time they made it into Alex’s bedroom, he was fading fast. Too sleepy to find it in himself to be concerned with his previous modesty, Alex unbuttoned his shirt and flung it vaguely in the direction of his hamper.
As the teen removed his trousers and treated them with the same care as his top, Yassen sat down heavily on the bed and scooched backwards until he was leaning against the pillows. Alex took a pair of navy blue cotton sleep pants from his drawers and pulled them on, hopping precariously from foot to foot.
“You’re going to fall, Sasha,” Yassen warned, eyes closed in relaxation but able to pick up on the spy’s stupidity like it was his sixth sense.
“I’m not gonna fall!” Alex protested, immediately catching his foot on the pants and careening towards the floor.
Yassen snorted and smugly said, “I’ll skip the whole I told you so routine.”
Alex mockingly parroted the assassin’s words under his breath with a garish imitation of the man’s accent as he stood and successfully pulled the pants on.
“I’ve shot people for less insolence,” Yassen announced. His words were softened by the fact that he automatically raised his arm for Alex to nestle under as the boy got on the bed.
“And I’m sure the monsters under the bed will be very frightened by that revelation, Yasha.” Alex’s last few words were slightly distorted by the yawn he was trying to suppress, but he patted Yassen’s stomach a few times to reassure the man of his scariness.
“Will you stay the night?” Alex asked.
Yassen ran a hand up and down the teen’s spine, feeling the notches of his vertebrae through the softness of his skin. “I can, but your Jack will be home soon.”
“Just lock the door, Jack isn’t stupid enough to try to come into a teenager’s room when the door’s locked.”
The assassin pressed a kiss into Alex’s hair and climbed off the bed, tugging the sheets out from under the young man and tossing them on top of him. It was a warm June night, two fit men in one bed might not even need a sheet with the heat generated between them.
Yassen locked the door and went straight to the right drawer to pull out a pair of athletic shorts, efficiently removing his shirt, trousers, and ankle knife sheath. He then put on the shorts before folding his clothes carefully and placing them onto the desk.
Alex watched him from half-lidded eyes, already close to sleep.
“I guess it pays to snoop, then,” he muttered.
He missed Yassen’s fond smile as his eyes drifted shut, but felt the pull of the sheet and the dip in the mattress as the assassin got in bed. Yassen turned off the light then rolled Alex onto his side and pressed himself against his back, twining their legs under the sheets.
Alex lifted his head as an arm insinuated itself under as a pillow then settled back into the body behind him.
He was fully encased in the warmth of one of the world’s most dangerous men, and he had never felt more safe.
“Night.”
“Goodnight, Sasha.”
The last thing Alex felt before falling asleep was a kiss brushed to the nape of his neck.