Archive of Our Own ^beta

She ran her finger along the engraved lettering. She could barely contain her mocking condescending as she went, but who was there to correct her? To scorn her?

“Established in 1862. Family-owned. Hmm.” She turned the bottle over to the paper-labeled side. “Notes of toasted oak. Rich caramel. Lemon? Aroma of a summer campfire. Warm, lingering finish…creamy mouthfeel? Jesus.”

She laughed with no one. The sound of it carried into the cool open air, up into the twilight-lit sky.

The cork came out easily, with a satisfying pop. She took a small whiff and swore her nose hairs singed. The aroma was less so reminiscent of campfire as much as it was petrol or nail polish remover.

She hesitated before taking a swig. When was the last time she had whiskey neat?

Ah. She had been a sophomore at university. She'd enjoyed her fair share of red wine and frosted mugs of beer with her friends, but when the sweet-eyed honey from Sociological Theory offered her that glass, she'd taken it. She'd embarrassed herself, shooting it straight as if it was vodka. The room echoed with laughter as she had sputtered and coughed, fighting to catch her breath again. She hadn't looked him in the eye again that night without her stomach flipping or face flaming red in shame.

She couldn't embarrass herself now if no one was around to hear her now.

Chloe smiled once she looked up from the bottle and gazed at the sky. Obda was still a sprawling capital city, but was surrounded by more farm land and vineyards, allowing more clarity. The full moon seemed brighter here, compared to how it appeared in Berlint. There were more stars, she'd realized, as she found more constellations than she ever had before. The nightlife was practically non-existent. The streets below were quiet, the streetlights cool-toned and soft to promote sleep for the city's residents. Crime rates were still existent, but low enough for the SSS to work in close proximity, if only to study the city's successful efforts and civil programs.

The rest of her party had already retired to their designated rooms for the night. No one had the energy to spend the rest of their night out on the town, better insisting on sleeping in a dark, cold room. The taste-testing exercise had been a secret test of listening skills, and clearly a good majority hadn't passed.

The directions had been clear.

Swish. Chew. Spit.

No swallowing.

Smirks and not-so-subtle winks were exchanged. Muttering about not being a quitter had been uttered more than a few times, and yet after a mere thirty minutes, no one was giggling anymore. There were no more elbow nudges being exchanged, only horrified glances at one another, realizing how fucked they were.

She had tried to exchange eye contact with him a few times, to no avail.

His eyes had either been focused on the desk below him or the sommelier that stood at the head of the conference table. He swished, chewed, and spat the samples into the vessel given to him, eyebrows furrowed as he went through each glass. He took notes diligently, nodding along as the sommelier rattled on about mouthfeel, acidity and barrel aging. In moments of deep contemplation, he'd chew on his bottom lip until it was plush and red, then he'd scribble some more notes.

Her body had felt warm, and it hadn't been from the taste-testing.

She laughed humorlessly. “Get a hold of yourself, jesus.”

This was exactly why she found herself slipping past the fire escapes and exits, resting on the roof's ledge. Maybe a bit of fresh air, a pack of cigarettes and a half-empty bottle of whiskey was going to help clear her mind after leaving her stuffy hotel room and half-eaten dinner. Her guilty consciousness and imagination had carried on for far too long, wandering into dangerous territory.

She remembered the way he had loosened the knot of his tie as the test had gone on. How ridiculously attractive he looked in just a button-up collared shirt and dress slacks, how mature he looked compared to the ranked Officers sharing his age. As he sat next to his Captain and other superiors, he looked as if he belonged alongside them. Even if she sat at the opposite end with the rest of subordinates and lackeys, she hadn't found resentment stirring in her gut, but something more ugly that she didn't want to name.

She frowned. Maybe she had chewed on her samples for too long. She had tried her best to pay attention to the notes of honeysuckle in one of the samples, comparing one whiskey that had aged in an oak barrel versus cherry wood. Maybe she had let the flavors linger on her tongue for too long, and now she was losing all sense.

Perhaps this was why she kept thinking about how plush his bottom lip looked or how much thicker his forearms had gotten once he had rolled up his sleeves. She'd lost her senses of judgement, clearly. Yet she found herself indulging a bit more, smiling to herself even if she felt a bit sick. Fuck, where did those muscles come from? When did he become a man?

She tilted her head back and carefully trickled a generous amount down her tongue, into her throat.

The burn it left behind was delicious, warming her from the inside out. She did her best to taste, to feel. Maybe there was a hint of vanilla, or honey, or baking spices as the sommelier had spoken of, but all she still felt and tasted was fire.

She needed rest and a numbed mind, but she needed to tread carefully as she sat on the roof's ledge. Alcohol never really livened her, as much as it soothed her consciousness and eased her into sleep. She used to nurse her drinks during college parties as she adjusted over time, finding what worked best for her after recovering from one too many hangovers and embarrassing social incidents.

She pulled out the pack of cigarettes from her jacket pocket. She'd light just one before she went back down. She'd admire the sights, numb her mind a bit before retiring for the night herself. She slipped a cigarette between her teeth, then dug for her lighter.

Perhaps on her next paid leave, she'd travel to Obda on her own, and experience the city in full. The family restaurant Captain raved about sounded wonderful, but they didn't have the time in their itinerary to attend. Maybe she would finally get to try their infamous stew, instead of picking at her room service meal of chicken and seasoned potatoes. Maybe she would attend Obda's summer trade market and experience a world outside of Berlint.

Chloe let out a frustrated sigh. She ran out of bigger pockets to dig through. The smaller inner compartments of her jacket, her jean pockets were also void of a lighter. “Shit.” Was it in her uniform suit jacket, still tucked into her breast pocket?

“Is that the Bathory?”

She froze. Dammit. She had lost her senses. She hadn't heard the exit door creak open, or the sound of his footsteps.

But then again, he just was that good. He was stealthy, annoyingly so. He was a pain in her ass, but he was promoted as Second Lieutenant for a reason.

Chloe tried her best to maintain a cool head as she spoke. She didn't turn around to face him, but simply tucked said Bathory Family whiskey between her legs, and held up her cigarette instead. “Depends. You got a lighter?”

There was a heavy sigh. Then there was a couple of clicks beside her ear, then the sweet relief of a warm flame in the corner of her eye. She held the cigarette between her lips, then turned her head towards the lighter, dipping the end into the flame. She sucked in the puff of smoke greedily. It filled her throat, her lungs, her nose. The exhale was even more delicious. The whiskey had left its mark on her tastebuds after all, balancing the rich smoke with sweet notes of orange blossoms and vanilla.

She pulled the cigarette from her lips and shook the ash away from its tip, regarding her superior with a sweet smile. “Well, I'll be damned. The Yuri Briar smokes?”

He scowled at her, in an annoyingly handsome way. He wrinkled his nose in disgust before letting out a huff. “I would never.”

“Too scared your sister will find out?” She looked back at the cigarette between her fingers, watching the ashes crumble down onto the street stories below. “Might give you a good, stern talking to?”

“It is a disgusting habit.”

She did her best not to react when he sat next to her. There was a decent space between them, where shoulders or elbows wouldn't brush. She could reach out, if she was insane enough to. She could slide her hand over, just so coincidentally brushing her pinkie finger against him if he hadn't tucked his hands into his peacoat's pockets. “Then why carry a lighter?” she asked around another exhale of smoke. “If you don't smoke?”

“It's the Chief's.” Yuri pulled a hand from his pocket, showing the lighter tucked between his fingers. It was a pretty little thing, golden and engraved with the SSS emblem, not like the cheap one she'd bought from the concierge desk. “We'd been talking after the taste-testing was over. He'd asked me to hold it for him, but he'd forgotten about it.” His chuckle was humorless as he slid his hand back into his pocket. He averted his gaze upward to the vast star-filled sky. His lips remained pulled into a neutral frown. “It's a disgusting habit, but I suppose there are worse vices to have.”

“Like drinking whiskey?”

Her attempt at humor was proven useless. His lips didn't pull deeper into a disapproving scowl even when she dared to wink at him with a cheeky grin. His eyes remained focused upward, scanning over the constellations. It's like she hadn't spoken at all.

She'd preferred being called an idiot. She looked up at the sky as well, tasting something sour in the back of her throat. “We don't have stars like this in Berlint.”

“Light pollution,” he replied simply. He hadn't scoffed or spoken down to her, even with her smoking habit. His tone was clipped, professional even. Like he was truly speaking to his subordinate, and not a partner he'd worked alongside with for months. As if they'd just met.

What was the conversation with the Chief? Why had he been so serious in the past week? What happened to the Yuri Briar she knew?

It wasn't her place.

And yet, the whiskey still lingered on her tongue and loosened her lips. “You alright there Lieutenant?”

He hadn't sat close to her, but she could feel the tension emitting from him. She glanced over. His jaw was set tighter than before. His hands were still tucked into his pockets, yet she could see how his posture grew rigid straight. His eyes cast down to his oxfords, to the streets below. He closed his eyes with a sigh. “I'm fine.”

“Bullshit.” Her body was so warm. The word had slipped past her lips, much too soft to sound condemning or mean. It was gentle to her own ears, and she couldn't take it back. The cigarette was burning fast, hot between her fingers. She stubbed it into the brick she sat upon, and folded her hands onto her lap instead. “You haven't been fine for a while.”

He gasped, his eyes widening. He paused a bit, his eyebrows furrowing before he turned to her. She felt her own sharp intake of breath at the gaze he fixed her with. There wasn't anger, but fear. “What do you mean?”

“I-”

“What have you seen, Chloe? I-” He averted his gaze back out to the city, his voice coming at a slight higher pitch. “I've been so good. I mean, I thought I was-”

“Briar-”

“I mean, I've kept my head down all week.” He ran a hand through his hair. He was wearing leather gloves, which was questionable. It was cooler in the evening, but not cold enough to warrant gloves. Maybe he was holding the Chief's cigarette for him as well? “The Chief, the Captain, First Lieutenant. I mean, no one's given me any trouble, not yet. I've been digging through old cases, sure, and maybe I should have been focusing on more current cases, but-”

“Yuri-”

“I can't shake the feeling that we're getting close.” The higher pitch was gone, but the franticness was still there. His eyebrows cinched, his eyes flamed with anger. “We're so fucking close,” he hissed. “We're right on his heels, Chloe, I just know it. Just the other day-”

“Lieutenant.”

His face dropped. The anger simmered in his eyes, but it still pulled at the corner of his lips and the clenching of his jaw. He waited.

“Are you drunk?”

The anger sizzled out. There was a pregnant pause as he processed her question, confusion slamming a lid closed over his wild ranting. “What?”

“You're drunk.”

She'd never seen him drunk before. Whenever he made rare appearances at bars with the rest of the crew, he never drank alcohol. He would order a soda, withstanding the teasing from older subordinates and his superiors, as he would look on with distant amusement. He would sit on the outskirts of the bar as she would make a fool of herself, singing along to the radio and dancing with a few girls from administration.

She can see it now.

When she brushed his hair away from his left ear, he winced away, but she was transfixed. The full moon's glow was like the lamplight in their interrogation room. The tip of his ear was red. His cheeks were flushed, his pupils were dilated. As she continued to scrutinize him bit by bit, he shrunk under her gaze. His posture wasn't as rigid, his shoulders slumping forward as he defensively curled in on himself. His face grew scarlet and under closer inspection, she could see sweat beading on his hairline.

She gasped with delight. “You are drunk. Holy shit!”

He groaned. “Don't be so loud.” He raked his hand through his hair again before hiding his face in his hands. It was completely evident now. The thickly concealed void of emotion he tried to carry, the move to distract himself by looking towards the stars, was all one massive cover. All she had to do was ask the right question, and he had folded.

“I'm no better,” she grinned. She leaned forward a bit, just to see if she could take a peek at him through his gloved fingers. He turned away, scooting over an inch. “I only had a shot of this just now. You however…did you go drinking with Captain?”

Yuri pulled his face away to peek over at her. He was assessing her as well. Her own cheeks felt flushed, her eyes probably wild and sparkling at her discovery. Whatever it was that he found, he relaxed a bit, but he still looked ashamed. “He retired to his room. Everyone had.” He gave her a pointed look. “Or at least I thought everyone had. Why are you up here?”

“Sobering up. What are you doing up here?”

He looked at the bottle sitting beside her. “Same.” He then arched an eyebrow. “Except you and I might disagree on defining what sobering up entails.”

Chloe snorted. “Oh, this?” She gestured towards the snubbed cigarette and lone whiskey bottle. “I was merely studying the senses, if you will.”

“Is that so?” His lips turned up a bit and her heart hammered in her chest. Is that so? He sounded unguarded now, softer. His sarcasm was normally sharp, something that she could normally tango with. Yet there was a new warmth in his expression that matched the flush in his cheeks, that turned her into melted goo.

“Yup. Figured I would do a bit of a control variant. An experiment.” She then gestured towards the open sky, the sprawling city around them. “Comparing my findings to an old man who specializes in the arts of alcohol. What are my findings, when someone isn't telling me what to expect from mouthfeel or acidity or body?”

“Right. And what were your findings?” His tone was a bit slurred, but he'd pulled off the mask now. He leaned back, resting his hands at his sides.

Was he closer to her now? “My findings? Ah.” What were her findings? Had she found anything? She needed to try finding her damn brain, especially when he was looking at her in a way he never had.

His gaze was so soft. His mouth also looked so soft, his bottom lip plush from his nervous biting and contemplation.

He looked so damned kissable.

“Well?” he prompted. “Anything different?”

“The experiment might have been flawed,” she replied dumbly. “Too many variables, not enough controls.”

He laughed. Laughed. An honest to God laugh that had him throwing his head back. “You know, you were awful in Biology Lab A.”

“Fucking terrible.” She was. It was a miracle that she had passed with a 3.2 GPA with that two hour lab testing her intelligence, not to mention her patience with her professor. “But can we turn this back to you being drunk?”

He scoffed lightly. “Not drunk. Just…tipsy.”

“And you didn't go drinking?” She paused.”Wait. Are you tipsy from the tasting?”

He winced, but he didn't hide away from her this time. “The Briar genes didn't allow for high alcohol tolerance. I think the fifth sample got to me, even if I didn't fully ingest anything.”

“Ah-ha!” She wanted to run a victory lap, but she worried she might hurl. She continued to sit on the ledge instead, legs lightly swinging with joy. “That's why you don't come drinking with us.”

He looked sheepish. “Might not be the only reason.”

“And why's that?” He was answering earnestly, and quickly. Chloe might have felt awful for taking advantage of his weakened inhibitions, but in this moment, she relished the opportunity to peek into Lieutenant Briar's brain a bit. He'd opened up in rare moments, then immediately shut himself back into a box if he sensed he'd say too much.

She found herself locking those rare moments away for later. She'd remember them as she would walk by his desk, notice the way he would quickly glance away if they held eye contact for too long. Even if her heart fluttered, even if she tried her best to ignore those strange feelings along the way, she enjoyed the hindsights he'd given her.

“I'm comfortable being alone.”

That never changed. Not since college, when he sat alone in study halls and the library. He would eat alone in the cafeteria hall. In the moments she would run into young Yuri Briar on the bus, his nose was always shoved into a book, paying no one any mind.

His social skills had improved since his tenure in the SSS. Maybe it was because he had to, with the role he played. He spoke kindly to everyone, no matter their ranking, only to speak sternly if he absolutely had to.

But even in the bars, he would sit on the outskirts. He would drink his soda, his eyes assessing everyone that cheered and danced and made fools of themselves. He would keep to himself. He looked peaceful.

“That makes sense,” she replied. It sounded sadder than she had meant. It closed her throat a bit. “You always have been.”

His smile lessened. “How so?”

The memories spilled out. The classes. The library. The cafeteria. The bus. The awkward brushing of shoulders, the stern glare of a child who should never know that level of scorn. Knowing what she knows now, versus what she only understood then.

Her eyes were wet.

She hadn't realized until he handed her a handkerchief. “I'm sorry. I don't know why I'm…” She felt the tears drip down her cheeks, leaving scorching marks in their wake. She cleared her throat, dabbing her skin with the cloth. The handkerchief was soft, good quality, and embroidered with tiny red roses. She was thankful she hadn't worn make-up, otherwise she would have ruined it. “I should have reached out. I could have.”

His smile stretched a bit further. It was a sad one, one that didn't reach his eyes. “It wouldn't have mattered. Try as you might have, I don't think it would have made a difference.”

“You were a little shit,” she laughed. It came out garbled, watery. “You might have told me to fuck off.”

“Not with that specific language.”

They sat in a more comfortable silence then, even with her sniffles as she tried to find reasoning again. She folded the handkerchief in smaller squares as she saturated the cloth, until it was much too small to continue folding. Her eyes were sufficiently dried enough for her to just tuck the cloth inside her pocket.

“You never did tell me about how I've been acting.”

Chloe looked over at him. He looked earnest, open. He looked willing to hear her out, without any consequences. There was still an inkling in the back of her mind that she could mess up this moment, that she could have him slamming the door shut in her face again. He was compromised and she was taking advantage of his rare vulnerability, yet he was looking for her reflection.

So she tried. “There would be consequences, right?”

“For telling me how I've been acting?” He tilted his head. He looked like a puppy, curious and wide-eyed. “Zero.”

She still hesitated. Maybe it was a trap. He was really good at playing up the “good cop, bad cop” act. Sweet, bubbly one moment, terrifying the next.

…Maybe she enjoyed the terrifying. A bit too much.

“You've been avoiding me.”

His expression hadn't changed.

“You….anytime you look at me, you look away just as quickly.” The words spilled out easily. “But it's not just me, of course. Don't get me wrong, I don't take it personally, but others might. Anytime it's an officer, you're straight to the point. You get your intel or files or radio cassettes, and you go back to your desk and-”

“I haven't been avoiding you.” His interruption wasn't sharp or curt. His voice was still soft, gentle. He still regarded her carefully. He wasn't picking her apart like he was interrogating her, but she could feel his eyes caressing over her face, her body. “Or maybe not intentionally.”

“So something has been going on?”

He frowned. He didn't look away, not this time. “I don't know.”

She waited. The cracks were starting to show. He had been struggling with something silently, something new. This man had struggled with trauma for years, and yet something shifted in his life that caused him to lock in and refocus. It's why he was short and straight to the point with his subordinates. It was why when he received what he needed, he immediately shut himself away.

We're right on his heels, Chloe, I just know it. Just the other day-

“What happened the other day?”

Yuri rose an eyebrow before the realization sunk in. He crumbled.

Chloe preferred anger compared to the gut wrenching heartbreak she felt when she saw the sadness in his eyes.

“Twilight was at a wine tasting in Luwen.”

“Fuck.”

The whiskey tasting had been scheduled in advance, two months prior. It was supposed to be a false lead, to get WISE off of their coat tails. A red wine bottle would be encrypted with top secret file information coming out of the Westalian-Ostanian Conflict. It could have been related to Project Bosca, or any other fragile detailing. The SSS would have partaken in three different alcohol taste tests, just to see if they could sniff out any lackeys from WISE.

But Twilight had already been two steps ahead. He definitely knew where that bottle was, and who held it in their hands.

They still had the gala ball in a month or so. The wine bottle would be exchanged, the SSS just needed a concrete plan to make sure the bottle was in the right hands.

“The Captain is thinking it has to be me.” Yuri looked down at Chloe's side, then looked at her pitifully. “Chloe, can you do me a favor?”

“Anything.”

“Pass me that bottle?”

She did without question. He uncorked it and wrapped his lips around the bottle neck opening. He took a quick swig, and coughed. She smiled at him encouragingly before gesturing to herself. He passed the bottle back to her. She took a sip in kind, shivering as the warmth crept back into her skin, her mouth. “So it has to be you?”

Yuri nodded. The stoic nature was back as he contemplated the truth he had spoken aloud. “After the tunnels, they really think I have a chance.”

“And do you think you do?”

He hesitated before he answered. “I don't.”

“And why is that?”

“‘M not strong enough. Not smart enough.” His laugh was bitter. “I could go through even more intensive training, but I don't think it could ever matter. You saw the way I looked after he had his way with me.”

“That was you before, Yuri.” Chloe's hands moved before her brain could catch up. Her hand found itself clasped on top of his. They both looked down as her hand rested upon the leather. She half expected for him to pull away, but he didn't. He didn't necessarily take her hand in his either, but it was better than him jumping away like he was burned. “The Yuri I know now is more capable than the Yuri I knew yesterday.”

He said nothing. His expression had saddened, but he hadn't closed off, not yet. The door was still open.

The shot of whiskey stroked a fire in her she couldn't put out. “I'm serious. Ever since the tunnels, since I slapped you around after that dead end, I have noticed something different about you. You've always been mature and incredibly smart. Even if you can be reckless at times, you're still our greatest asset.”

A smile spread on his face. It wasn't a kind one, not for himself. “Our greatest asset?”

Her face grew hot. “Yes. Our. The SSS. Hell-” She felt her tongue was too big for her mouth. Why was she failing? Was this whiskey truly so potent? “This country, Yuri. You represent this country so well. If it wasn't for age regulations, the Captain might have just promoted you to First Lieutenant right there and then.”

“I don't think I'm quite deserving of such a prestigious title, Officer.” Whenever he addressed her as Officer, the title was always spoken clearly and concisely. It was her rank, where she belonged. Yet just then, as the title slipped past his lips, it sounded golden. It would have melted her, if it wasn't followed by such a bald-faced lie.

“Are you kidding me, Briar? Do you not see yourself? Do you not see your accomplishments? Your medals and pins?”

“Participation trophies,” he scoffed. “The SSS is gracious enough to award me for accomplishing my job. At the end of the day, the pins mean nothing if we still have Twilight running around causing trouble.”

“So finding all of those other criminals means nothing to you?” Her hand squeezed him even tighter. “Drug trafficking rings? Extortionists? Murderers? Every time you've put these guys behind bars, you've made this country safer. Your sister safer.”

He was silent. His eyes were glued to their hands resting on the ledge. She felt him pull back. She lessened her hold, ready for him to yank himself back, yet when she had, he turned his palm facing up. Cool leather laced around her warm fingers. She froze, staring down at their joint hands in shock. “And you?”

Chloe still couldn't tear her eyes away. “What about me, Yuri?”

“Do I make you feel safe?”

She didn't hesitate. “Yes. Yes.”

The confession lingered in the air, carrying itself into the constellations above. Their fingers remained intertwined, her eyes burning holes into his palm as she measured out her breathing. Her heart was hammering, its pulse ringing in her ears.

It wasn't a “I like you” or an “I love you”, but the weight of it still carried something tremendous. It was a sharp, stabbing thing that hurt her chest, that closed her throat back up.

She waited.

“I'm glad.”

She couldn't bring herself to look. She could hear it in his voice.

“I'm glad…I make you feel safe.”

His hand squeezed her with another quick pulse. She squeezed back despite herself. She was sure her palm was clammy against the soft leather, and she thanked her lucky stars he was so well equipped. His words sunk in, and it did nothing for her poor heart.

“Chloe?”

She couldn't look. She couldn't dare. Because if he was admitting these small truths, if he looked how he sounded, she was going to do something incredibly stupid.

Yet she felt something cool cradle her chin, gently coercing her to do so anyway.

His smile was too bright. His bottom lip too plush, too well-bitten. His eyes too earnest. “I'm glad I make you feel safe.”

Fuck.

Her body moved forward.

His lips were softer than they had appeared. They parted underneath hers, his gasp allowing her to feel and taste him as she had dreamt for months. He tasted like whiskey, as she was sure she also did. Hot like fire, sweet as cinnamon.

It was a quick, fleeting thing. When she had parted away, she had meant it to be so. A regretful, excusable move, something she could have surely blamed on something like a muscle spasm. A silly excuse, but one she could have walked away from without much trouble. She would have this moment at least, dream of it until she could find someone inevitably in the future. Someone who wasn't her superior, or someone she had known so personally only over a couple of sips of whiskey.

Yet he didn't let her pull away much further. The cool leather gripped her chin once more and her teeth clacked against his.

Yuri was inexperienced, she knew.

Dedicated to work, and work only. Socializing with his subordinate and superiors only in the past month or so, after some grandiose self-discovery or stern talking to from his sister, she wasn't quite sure. Which meant that left no room for cavorting.

Yet he tried, clumsily so. Introducing too much tongue much too quickly, gasping into her mouth and pulling her chin much too tight.

A man had kissed her like this before, when he had been trying to take too much control of their positioning.

Yuri had no control or a vague idea as to what he was doing.

Chloe smiled into his mouth before pulling her hand away from his grasp. She laced her fingers through his hair, locking him into place. Their lips pulled away with a loud, wet smack, and she grinned. “Hey now, Lieutenant,” she breathed.

His lips were swollen, his face fully flushed pink. There was a glaze in his eyes that wasn't quite drunkness, but something familiar that caused her stomach to flip. “Hey.”

“Easy does it.” She ran her thumb on his bottom lip gently. His lips parted in reply, his tongue darting out to taste the salt of her skin. “You've never done this before.”

Yuri couldn't argue. He only nodded with a small hum. His fingers moved from her chin, cradling her jaw instead. He wasn't pulling away from her, and while she was still in his grasp, he was letting her take control.

“We're drunk.”

“Tipsy.” Not an argument, but an observational correction.

Chloe smiled softly. “How far do we take this, Yuri?”

His lips parted and sealed over and over as he weighed out a reply.

How far was she willing to go, now that she finally had him?

She'd distracted herself with pretty, shiny things for the past few months, hadn't she?

She'd tried focusing on varying eye colors, finding sea glass greens and blues, then rich and honeyed browns and hazels. Yet she'd still find the hints of scarlet, or the touch of puppy-eyed enthusiasm that would seal her lids shut.

She'd focused on their hands. Their hands were always so large compared to hers. She could tell if they worked blue collared jobs, or desk jobs, depending on the softness of their skin, the calluses on their palms. Later in the night, when she'd let their hands caress her skin, crook their fingers inside of her, she'd try not to think of him typing away diligently for a report, or brushing a bit of hair away from his face. She'd measured out the length of his fingers, imagined how they'd feel instead.

A few of them were terrible. Most of them were fantastic, yet in hindsight, it hadn't mattered.

Because they weren't him.

His eyes were wide. Honest, and entirely too trusting. He finally answered. “I don't know what I'm doing, Chloe.”

Her heart squeezed. “I know, Yuri. We don't have to do anything.” She wanted to, God she wanted to. “We can do this…” She pressed her lips against his, feather soft even as she felt consumed with greed. She couldn't quite pull herself away, leaving only an inch or so between her and his hazy-eyed expression. “Or we can call this off. We can head to bed. We can go back to Berlint, and pretend like nothing's happened.”

The last sentiment tasted like sand. She could never. She would have put down her month's notice on First Lieutenant's desk, applied for local cafes and restaurants, even joining a damned circus if it meant that she'd have to walk away from this.

Yet he continued to cradle her, with both hands now. The haziness melted away bit by bit, until he was finally able to find his voice again. “But you…you also make me feel safe.”

Her breath caught. Her? She made him feel safe? How? How many times had she interrogated the wrong suspects? How many times had she chased after the wrong leads, chased after dead ends? How many times had someone had to pick up her slack?

Her heart fluttered. No. That isn't what he meant.

She wanted to know. Desperately.

But she couldn't. If she had it, then that changes things. She wanted to laugh at the ridiculousness of this all, but her hands trembled and her heart was quickening. The warmth continued to grow in her belly, her lips ached for his again. She wanted to taste, to feel him again.

So she selfishly asked him again. “What do you want me to do, Yuri?”

He swallowed. “I…I just want to know. I want to know everything.”

“Define everything.” She brushed his hair away from his brows. She wanted to absorb the naked emotion he was giving to her, lock this moment away for safe keeping. “Just so we're both clear. Because I know you love semantics.”

He didn't laugh or scoff at her. His brows furrowed with conviction. “I've never…I still don't understand it myself. But you…I want it to be you.”

“Want what, Yuri?” Her tone was edging on impatience. She tried her best to soften her voice, keeping her touches light and timid, easing him into a more straightforward response. “What do you want me to do?”

“I've never really paid attention to these sort of things, I…” His gaze slipped down to his lap. “A few weeks ago, I had dinner with my sister. There was an epiphany, I guess, where I noticed I hadn't paid much attention to those around me. It was always just us, you know? Or at least I thought.” His eyes met hers again, his cheeks flushing a bit darker. “You'd been there for me. So many times. And I told Yor, I told her that I would never be with someone if I didn't trust them, if I didn't-”

He stopped himself. He cleared his throat. “I want you to be the first, because I can't imagine who else it could be.”

The first. The first.

The sentiment rang in her ears again and again. She'd stared at him, wide eyed and mouth gaping, as the reality had sunk in. She knew he was inexperienced, and she had weighed out the possibilities.

Before she could fully process it, he'd pressed his mouth against hers again. It was a hard, awkward press again, but as soon as she had felt it, all proper judgement and sense left.

She'd teach him. She'd teach him everything.

The room was compact, dark and heavily scented with cigarette smoke. Yet as they tumbled inside and ran into furniture, they'd paid their surroundings no mind.

She was more careful with him, than the phone cradle that knocked down onto the ground, or the sound of the mattress coils squeaking as she laid him down.

She was diligent. She'd shed a clothing item, then ease him out of one in turn. Her jacket, then his peacoat, button by button as she eased her tongue against his (not quite so hard, Yuri, just like this, see?). Her stockings, her socks, followed by his tie and gloves. She'd moaned into his mouth as she finally felt the callouses of his palms as he'd slid his hands underneath her sweater, easing it over her head.

He'd fumbled with her bra clasp. He'd grunted with frustration, pausing at her giggling until he realized she hadn't been teasing him. She did her best to reach back and move his fingers to the right hook, until the bra fell to the floor.

They worked in the dark, so they relied on touch, on taste. She could feel the rigids of hard muscle and taste the salt of his skin, the vibration in his chest as he felt the softness and weight of her breasts. She'd swallowed his moans as she'd finally pulled down his pants well enough to reach inside his underpants.

“Jesus.”

He parted away from her neck quickly, as if he'd been shocked. “What is it?”

“You really have no idea, do you?” When she'd wrapped her hand around him, she was thankful the room was dark. She must have looked ridiculous as she processed the weight of him, the girth that her thumb and forefinger wrapped around. She had a vague idea when they'd pressed each other against the door as she had fumbled for her room key, but now-

“Is it…too much?”

She'd had well-endowed partners before. On him, it was striking. Maybe it was too much, knowing what she knew about him now. “You're perfect, Briar,” she rasped. “Don't worry.”

She could hear his gulp in the dark, feel the tightening in his grasp on her bare fleshed hips. “Good,” he whispered. “That's good.”

She'd moved her hand away from him, only to gently grasp his wrist. “You might just have to help me a bit.”

“How so?”

She guided him, drew his fingers down south until he gasped at the wet seam of her. “You really want me to teach you everything?”

He let out a shaky sigh. “Yes.”

She sat on the edge of the bed, scooting back and tugging him forward with her until they were comfortably in the middle. The room was small and dingy, but the mattress was so soft. It eased her mind, feeling herself sinking into the plush downing, and she hoped he felt the same. “I'll teach you.”

His inexperience was evident. His sharp gasp as he sunk his finger into her, only at the first knuckle. His hand trembled, his joints locking as she cooed directions and encouragement. He was so terrified of messing up, of hurting her. She'd been with partners who knew what they were doing, where exactly to crook their fingers and what pattern to flick their tongue with, but she'd never felt this turned on in her life.

He was so painstakingly gentle with her. Even as she asked for him to push in a second finger, he was so unsure. “Will this be enough?”

“It will be.” As truthful as the statement was, her voice was still shaky, out of breath. She could feel the warmth drip from her, into his palm as he slowly slid in a second finger. The stretch was comfortable, easy. It was him. “You still trust me?”

“Yes.” Devotingly spoken, reverently even. She squeezed around him tightly at that, and he groaned. “How?” The question was hushed, as if he was more so asking himself. “How is this possible?”
She wasn't quite sure what that meant, but her breath caught as he brushed past something wonderful.

“What was that?” he asked. He continued to draw his fingers back out, then slowly push back in as instructed. He was always so good at following instructions, retaining information with ease.

“Don’t worry about it.”

He was also stubborn. Persistent. “Chloe, what was that?”

“Something good. Really fucking good, but like I said-”

He found it again, deliberately. She slapped a hand over her mouth to block out the moan. He didn't dare to call her out, but drove forward instead. He didn't change the pacing, but he'd crooked his fingers there and rubbed. “You said you needed me to help you,” he panted. He pressed his lips to her neck, her left breast as he pressed harder. “So let me help you.”

Her stomach coiled tightly. Fuck, she was a goner. She'd dream about that statement again and again, letting it bring her over the edge for every encounter after. She cursed into the crease of her elbow before gripping onto his other arm, feeling the flexion and tension of his tricep as he held himself upright. She could imagine the same concentrated tension between his brows, the same he had as he took each sip of whiskey before spitting it into his glass.

Then the lick of his bottom lip as he focused.

She pulled him down then, wanting to taste it again. She nibbled a bit, experimenting and gauging his reaction as she teetered on the edge of an orgasm.

The growl did it. The sound, the vibration of it as it rattled her chest, her stomach.

In the darkness of the room, all she saw was white. She clamped around him, her fingernails digging crescent moon indentions into his arm. He froze at the sudden lock of her, in the clench of her around him. She didn't have the brain power to warn him of what was to come, but he surely understood it now as she writhed underneath him, gasping as she came back to herself.

"Are you alright?"

"More than alright," she panted. "You certainly helped, alright."

He chuckled. "Good. I'm glad."

As if the aftershocks weren't enough, the warmth of his statement melted her into a pile of goo. He'd pulled his fingers out of her as gently as he could. She barely registered the sounds of lip smacking, the sound of someone tasting something. Her mind was too loud, yet her body was too relaxed. She was supposed to teach him everything, and yet he'd seem to catch on rather quickly.

He slid forward. "What now?"

"Have you ever come before, Yuri?"

There was a heavy pause, then an embarrassed scoff of a laugh. "A few weeks ago, actually."

Her stomach flipped at the thought of him bringing himself to climax. "How quick?"

"Was I supposed to time it?"

She let out a frustrated sigh. How was there a better way of wording this?

"You want to know something else, Chloe?"

"Mmm?"

She felt his lips press against hers. She realized, with a start, that the taste on his lips was familiar. A sweet sort of musk, one that she was entirely too personally aware of. "I was really frustrated that day. You'd been talking to Officer Mitchell in the break room about a false lead, and he wasn't paying too close of attention. And I don't blame him. I hadn't noticed how distracting you were until just recently." His fingers left damp, cool trails as he explored the valley between her breasts, the dip of her stomach. "Your waist, your breasts...you cinched your belt really tight. You looked...well, you looked so nice."

The confession sent a throb between her legs, but she let him continue without uttering another word.

"I went home that day after giving him a proper scorning too. It's impolite to disregard your senior Officer, after all. Then I realized how hard I was. I figured it was a simple biologic response, with my testerone being so high. And yet...I wondered." He gripped onto her hips, pulling her forward. She felt the hot weight of him press into her stomach as he towered over her. "What it would feel like to imagine it was your hand instead of my own. I maybe lasted a few minutes at best."

"I..." Oh.

"So what's the next move, if that answers your question?"

If he'd last only a few minutes by his own hand, he was definitely not going to last with her. She weighed her options. If he pushed into her himself, she could push him off before he came, but there was a flight risk. He was broad, heavier than her. She could push, but how quickly would she able to get away?

So she flipped them.

She hovered over him, resting her hands on his chest. She could feel the steady drum of his heart beat underneath her palms and she measured her breathing with his own. She could hop off easily here, just before he comes. She just had to play close attention to the signs, as she had before with other partners. She could judge the breathing patterns, feel the tension in their lower stomachs before pulling away or pulling out. She was on birth control, but the consequences...

His hands rested on her hips again as she hovered, subconsciously easing her down against his length. "I am close though. I'm sorry."

"Don't be," she breathed. She continued to linger for just a bit. She'd feel him underneath her palms for a bit longer, selfishly and greedily. The warmth of his skin, the shared taste of each other on her tongue, and the healthy heartbeat thrumming against her skin, all carefully pocketed for a rainy day. This night felt like a true confession, but something in the back of her mind told her there was no guarantee.

It would hurt.

Was she truly ready?

Her body answered for her.

With careful positioning and gentle murmurs of encouragement and coaxing, she'd taken her fill. The push was intense, knocking the wind from her lungs, and drawing him as tight as a bow. His grip was crushing on her hips, keeping her still as she collected her breath. Inch by careful inch she eased herself down, down, down until he was fully seated inside of her. She had every intention of taking her time with him, seeing his wide puppy-eyed stare and hearing his soft, almost pleading innocious questions.

But now she needed to tread carefully. She was so full, too full. Even as she murmured "ready" she wasn't quite sure herself. She was ready to bring him to completion, to taste all of him once she'd rip herself away at the last moment, yet the fullness was so unexpected.

The physical, the emotional, the mental...it was almost too much.

Almost.

It was the whimper he let out that broke her out of her overwhelmed mindset. "Yuri?"

"Chloe, please. Please. I'm so close."

So she moved. Gently. Carefully. She started with slowly easing herself up, then down. With each new gasp and sigh, she changed her movements. A gentle rock back and forth, side to side, then to a gradual circle of her hips. She'd meant to showcase what she knew, how to bring him pleasure, but the movements were erratic.

She didn't want to be consistent, selfishly enough. When she felt his grip tighten and heard his wild gasp over her rocking motion forward, she eased up and changed motions again. Her movements and positioning restricted him, planting him firmly into the soft mattress below. He couldn't move his hips even if he tried, and she didn't want him to.

She didn't want this to end so soon.

His arms wrapped around her and she found herself crushed against his chest. She could still angle herself right, rock her hips back, but he was allowed more freedom within her restriction. He rocked his hips up and she gasped. The position carved him deep within her, shortening the strokes and pushing against something oh-so pleasant in her stomach, and he'd chuckled breathlessly in her ear. "Yes, yes, yes," he rasped. "So good. Feels so good."

The affirmation sent her eyes rolling back, right as he stroked against something even more wonderful within her. She wrapped her arms around his neck and held on tightly.

Inexperience was difficult to find here. The pistoning of his hips were quick, frantic, but the strokes were full and deep enough to pull her mind out of focus. She was supposed to be the one teaching him, yet he'd taken control of her. He bracketed her against him, with her weakly holding on to him for purchase. "Gonna come," she mumbled helplessly. "Fuck Yuri, I'm gonna come."

"Do it." His grip tightened around her, then she felt a sharp nip of teeth on her shoulder. "Wanna feel it like I did before. Wanna know how different it feels."

She gasped into his neck at a particular thrust. His pacing was erratic now. He was chasing after her release instead of his own, but really, wasn't it one and the same? His pleasure matching her own? Her fingers laced through his hair, gripping and tugging to pull his head back so she can kiss along the column of his neck and bite his Adam's apple.

The coil in her stomach was tightening, but something new was building in the base of her spine. Perhaps it was the depth of his strokes, the change in angle, but that was different. She found herself chasing after that something, rocking her hips faster and keeping in time with him.

She was a goner. Those signs she'd looked for was gone. His whimpers, his soft incoherent ramblings about how soft and hot and tight she was, was lost in the dense haze of pleasure she was consumed in. She'd turned to mush in his arms, her lips catching whatever spots she could reach. The juncture of his neck, the flesh and stubble of his cheeks and neck, the sharp cut of his clavicle.

He'd spilled into her when she had come. She barely registered the hot pulse of it as she fell off the proverbial cliff, only finding herself gripping on tight to him. He'd been shockingly quiet, his face buried in her chest. The only visible sign was the lock of his muscles, the sudden tension in his shoulders she'd held herself steady against.

She felt lips press against her sweaty temple. "Thank you."

The thanks had been said so gently, she had thought she imagined it. Yet she still smiled, tucking her face into the crook of his neck. "You're welcome."

Sleep had taken them, and quickly.

Or at least, it had for her.

It was a quiet, dreamless sleep. A dark blanket of bliss, allowing her mind that had been so boisterious and loud for ages finally come to a much needed pause. She didn't dream of scarlet eyes and vascular hands and pools of blood.

Not this time.

The sheets were cool against her heated skin, as she rose back to consciousness.

Her hand stretched out.

Then her back shot up straight. She looked to her left, then her right.

No. No.

Had she dreamed of that after all?

Of course not. She could feel the phantom touches he had left behind. The pleasant soreness that rested between her thighs, the swell in her mouth, all told the truth of what had transpired.

She let out a shaky laugh. Of course it hadn't been a dream.

She'd slept with Yuri Briar.