Chapter Text
The party had been a formal routine, something that all in the office had been invited to. Even though they were relatively new to the office, Weaver had received an invite and had been encouraged to bring his wife along for the festivities. When they’d gotten there, drinks were placed in their hands and they had separated to try to weasel out as much information as they casually could from their perspective groups they found themselves in.
Bell raised a hand to her mouth and pressed it firmly against it as she muffled her own laughter. Beside her, Weaver fumbled with the keys to the apartment they were using for their cover. But he wasn’t Weaver and she wasn’t Bell in that moment. According to their papers, he was a gifted engineer by the name of Vasili Baev and she was his faithful, little wife, Nadezhda Baeva. They were in the Soviet Union to get a better idea of the early monitoring system for intercontinental missiles and an update on nuclear capabilities.
Bell smiled over at him, reaching for the keys in his hands. “Let me,” she murmured, taking hold of the metal ring and stepping between him and the locked door.
They had had perhaps too much to drink while at the party, a unexceptional seeming celebration of someone’s birthday. They hadn’t known the person well, of course, but it was all about appearances as they slid into their roles as an engineer and his doting wife. Still, the lock gave under her careful ministrations and she let them all but tumble into the small apartment they shared while on the mission.
It was so routine that it almost seemed to be effortless as they fell into who they were supposed to be.
They had been discreet in their relationship around others, perhaps too much as the other wives had all but descended on her at the celebration, whispering behind hands about their husbands’ affairs and curiosity about their age difference. Bell had blushed accordingly and admitted that she had been enraptured by his charm and hadn’t minded the fourteen years between them. She’d whispered that it made him a better lover, one confident in his experience and talented with his hands.
She hadn’t known any of that about Weaver, of course, but she was used to lying to get passed uncomfortable questions.
The other wives had tittered and given her advice of their own, each with a surefire way of keeping his gaze from wandering to a mistress or from losing interest in her in other ways. She’d listened, sipping each drink that was passed to her and before she knew it, she was being gently sent to her husband’s waiting arms with a chorus of giggles and winks.
“Are you ready to go home, my love?” Weaver had asked, wrapping a solid arm around her waist and pulling her tightly against himself.
She had all but purred against him, laying her head against his shoulder and wrapping an arm around his solid waist. “I’m ready for you,” she’d murmured, just loud enough for him to hear, emboldened by the other wives who had tittered and gossiped as they listened in.
“I see,” he’d grinned down at her, his eyepatch shining in the low light of the room.
They had soon found themselves in front of their apartment doors, with Bell giggling and Weaver doing his best to keep them upright as they piled into the small apartment. Once the door was closed and locked behind them, Bell let out a sigh and kicked off her uncomfortable dress shoes. She didn’t want to think about how much they had cost as she carelessly shucked them off and kicked them towards the shoe rack.
Weaver’s arms wrapped around her waist from behind and Bell allowed herself to be pulled gently against him. Humming to herself as his lips found her neck, Bell’s eyes slid closed and she lost herself to the feeling of his rough hands pulling at her clothes. They weren’t being watched in that moment, free from all scrutiny, but if anything that only made the sensation more intense. They had just spent the last two weeks with their every move under a fine microscope, stress pounding through them at every waking moment. Every day, they ran the risk of being followed home by the KGB, of being a little too careless at the office or at the market as they shopped for their groceries. But together with vodka seeming to sing through their very veins in the safety of their apartment?
It seemed only natural as Bell turned in his arms and wrapped her own around his neck, bringing him in close for a kiss.
She wasn’t sure which one of them deepened it, but as their tongues met and battled for dominance, Bell allowed him to walk her back towards the bedroom. They didn’t make it that far as she connected with the wall and he leaned into her.
Bell couldn’t stop the giggle from tumbling from her lips as he hoisted her up, her legs reflexively wrapping around his waist as they broke apart the kiss. “Bell,” he whispered against her lips, his eye staring into hers as he pressed his forehead against hers.
“Grigori,” she whispered back, her tone low as she carded her fingers through his short hair. He groaned under her touch, his hips pressing against her clothed center and drawing a whimper from her. “Fuck,” she moaned, leaning forward to press her lips against his once more.
“Bedroom?” Weaver asked, pulling back just enough to utter the question.
“Yes,” Bell moaned, gently pulling at his hair once more.
Somehow managing to carry her in his arms despite the vodka running through his veins, Weaver made the journey to the bedroom before accidentally dropping Bell against the bed, laughing softly as she bounced gently on the sheets. Moving to brace herself on her elbows, Bell watched him as he undid his belt buckle and slid his pants down his legs. Biting her bottom lip, she reached out for him as Weaver toed off his shoes before climbing into bed with her.
Their mouths met once again and Bell wrapped an arm around his shoulders, hissing when his clever fingers found the hem of her dress and began to tease the soft skin underneath. Letting out a soft whimper, Bell did her best to pull him closer to her, yearning to feel the heat of his body against hers as his hands slid further up her legs.
Weaver took a moment to slip his pants and briefs over the jut of his hips, freeing his leaking cock as he fumbled with his clothes. As he did that, Bell shimmied out of her underwear and hiked her skirt over her own hips. “Fuck, kitten,” Weaver grunted above her, his eye darting down to her slick center. “You look so good.”
“Make me feel even better,” she all but demanded, trying to pull him closer to herself once more.
He allowed himself to be pulled towards her, grabbing a hold of one of her legs and hiking it over his hip as he adjusted himself between her legs, leaning back on his knees and encouraging to spread her legs wide. Bell whimpered as he thumbed her clit, toying with her to prepare her for his cock. “Weaver,” she whispered against his ear, her heart thundering in her chest.
Leaning down over her, Weaver pressed his lips against hers once more as his fingers dipped into her cunt, gathering the wetness there as he thurst his fingers gently into her. She couldn’t help but moan into the kiss, nipping at his lower lip as pleasure seemed to pool low in her gut. Bell rocked her hips in time with the movement of his hand, trying to chase the sensation that he was wringing out of her. He played with her clit with one hand as he focused on adding another finger to her center.
Squirming beneath him, Bell allowed her eyes to slip closed as she focused on the feeling of his fingers stretching and preparing her and how he rolled her clit under his thumb. She could feel an orgasm approaching as he continued his ministrations on her, slowly driving her wild. “Grisha,” Bell moaned, wrapping her legs around his waist and trying to pull him close. “I need you.”
“Fuck, Bell,” he grunted, quickly pulling his hands from her body. “Anything for you.”
She couldn’t help but laugh at that, shaking her head at the declaration. “You say that now,” she smiled at him, the look quickly being overtaken by a moan as he lined himself up with her entrance. “Grisha, please,” she babbled, rolling her hips towards him.
“Patience,” he grunted again, his eye slipping closed as he thrust into her for the first time.
Bell cried out and wrapped her arms around his shoulders as he bottomed out inside of her and stayed still for a moment as she adjusted to him. “Harder,” she begged, her hips rolling almost on their own accord as she tried to get him to move.
“Have you always been this demanding?” He asked with a breathless sort of laugh, shaking his head as he looked down at her.
“Please,” she pleaded, ignoring his snark as she met his shallow thrusts. She could feel the orgasm that had been building thanks to his fingers building once more and she needed more from him. Unwrapping one of her arms from his shoulders, Bell reached down and toyed with her own clit, biting her lip to prevent herself from crying out too loudly. Although the walls were cement, she didn’t want to risk upsetting the neighbors.
As badly as she wanted to feel his bare skin pressed against hers, Bell didn’t want him to even pause as he fucked into her. Instead, she wrapped her legs tighter around his waist and met his thrusts to the best of her ability. Their clothes rustled between them and she knew it would be a bitch to try to get the wrinkles out of her dress, but in that moment with the alcohol flowing through her veins and an orgasm quickly brewing, she didn’t give much of a damn. Bell dug her short nails into the fabric of his shirt, clenching her fist into the soft material as her other hand rolled her clit under her fingers as quickly as she could.
Weaver’s sweaty forehead pressed against hers as he bucked into her, chasing his own release as his fingers dug almost painfully into her thighs. He would leave bruises behind, she was sure of it, but she couldn’t find it within herself to care as she chased her own release. Her legs felt like they were locking into place around him as her orgasm washed over her, her back arching off the mattress as she rolled her clit between her fingers.
A few thrusts later, Weaver cried out as he came, his spend pooling inside of her as he thrust a few more times. He rested his forehead against her shoulder for a moment, the strap of his eyepatch almost catching on the fabric of her dress when he moved to roll off of her. Bell’s breathing was just beginning to even out once more as she allowed herself to relax, wincing at the twitch in her hips. It had been too long since she was last intimate with anyone and Weaver had fucked her thoroughly.
Laying in bed and staring up at the ceiling, the room seemed to spin slightly as Bell pressed her eyes closed to combat the feeling of being tipsy. Beside her, Weaver grunted as he ran a hand down his face before letting out a sigh like a great bear. She bit her swollen lower lip and opened her eyes once more, glancing over at him as she debated on what to say to him. She genuinely couldn’t remember the last time anyone had fucked her that hard and she wasn’t sure if she should be thanking him or what.
“Weaver?” Bell murmured, turning onto her side to look at the older man.
“Yeah?” He asked, turning his head to look at her.
“That was… That was really nice.”
He laughed next to her and shook his head slowly. “Nice? Just nice? Should my feelings be hurt by that?”
Bell laughed softly to herself, looking over at him and giving him a fond smile. It was easy to be around Weaver and she was glad she was paired with the older man for this mission. Scooting to the edge of the bed, Bell ignored the way her head swam with the vodka that flowed through her veins. Cautiously standing and pulling her dress back down her legs, Bell glanced back at Weaver to see him laying back with his arms behind his head.
Shaking her own head, Bell couldn’t help but smile herself as she stumbled towards the bathroom, intent on showering the remnants of the party off of herself, as well as all evidence of their extracurricular activity. Her fingers itched with the desire for a cigarette and Bell frowned, wondering if she would be finally able to smoke one again. It had been years since Berlin. Surely her body had fully healed by now.
Shutting the bathroom door behind herself, Bell leaned against the door and allowed her eyes to slide closed, a faint smile spreading across her lips, and reveling in the feeling of endorphins mingling with the alcohol in her system. She felt good. For the first time in longer than she cared to try to think about, she felt really good.
Bell knew that things might be awkward between them but she also knew that Weaver was the ultimate professional and more than capable of handling himself. He’d lost an eye on a mission before, after all. He could handle fucking a coworker. She had no doubt that he was mature enough to talk things over when they were less drunk and less swimming off of the endorphins.
When the bathroom door opened and Weaver joined her in the small shower, though, Bell couldn’t help but grin as his strong arms wrapped around her and pulled her close against his body once more. Leaning back against him, Bell didn’t even try to stop the whimper from escaping her lips as his lips met the tickling skin of the side of her neck. He seemed to already know the secrets of her body as his hands trailed down her sides and caressed her hips and trailed gently over the bullet scars on her abdomen.
Grigori Weaver was perhaps the best fuck she’d ever had, not that she could remember any previous lover to compare him to.
“Another round?” Bell purred as his fingers dipped lower, brushing against her overstimulated clit.
“If you think I’ve got one in me,” Weaver chuckled, “then you’re a regular optimist, Bell.”
“I’ve been called worse,” she told him, sending him a quick grin over her shoulder.
He laughed at that, shaking his head. “Somehow, I don’t doubt that, Bell. I don’t doubt that at all.”
By the time they got out of the shower, Bell’s fingers resembled prunes but he had brought her to another orgasm with his fingers, pressing kisses along the side of her neck as he sank his long digits into her warm center. Her bones felt like jelly from the mixture of orgasms and alcohol and she couldn’t seem to keep the smile off of her face as she looked over her shoulder at him.
Watching Weaver towel off, Bell couldn’t help but admire the way his body moved and muscles shifted under his skin. Biting her lip, she knew that she wouldn’t mind falling into bed with him again sometime, no matter how bad of an idea it might have been. She may have been brash at times, but she was willing to see where things ended up going with the older man.
Bell knew that the mission was the priority, though, and she was nothing if not a dedicated soldier. She would focus on the work that needed to be done and remain professional in spite of the moments of passion they had shared together. Besides, how hard could it be?