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Who's gonna break your heart now?	By : Ksennin Category: M through R > Nikita Views: 2314 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Nikita and make no money from this publishing.

Chapter List
- 1-Who's gonna break your heart now?
- 1
Amanda always kept her door open when she wasn't with a student—she knew how important it was for impressionable minds to have a steady support system. But unlike some whiners Amanda could name, when Nikita came in, Amanda's heart leapt as far as it could inside its rumored stone coating.

Amanda knew she was hard to please. Over the years, she'd had many students, and though they each offered their own unique satisfaction, she could only get true enjoyment out of a few. Some came already broken in—so damaged that they leaped at the order and discipline that Division represented. It let her get home early, but offered no challenge. And then there was the pathologically anti-social, who inevitably broke, but were so much trouble that they were never worth it. They inevitably made mediocre field agents, and Division was lucky if it could get a cleaner for every ten of them that washed out.

But Nikita—Nikita reminded Amanda of why she'd started helping people in the first place. She was broken, exquisitely broken, drugs and bad parenting and street life: a cornucopia of psychological issues for Amanda to delve into. Willful, too, as if she resented Division for not letting her be gassed to death. And yet, she was never so difficult as she was challenging. She was right in that sweet spot. The juice was worth the squeeze and the toughness just made it sweeter.

Amanda gave Nikita a quite genuine smile, ruminating on how nice it was not to have to fake things. "Good evening, Nikita. What a pleasure to see you. Tea?"

"Yes. Please." Nikita said it hurriedly. Not the calm silkiness she'd recently adopted, nor the screw-you tenacity she'd had when she first came to Division. It was the same tearfulness she'd possessed when she'd broken, confessing to Amanda all her darkest secrets, finally letting Amanda form the bond that Division needed in all its agents. Let Percy be daddy—everyone knew that mother knew best.

With a bit of concern hurrying her along, Amanda started the boil on her office's cozy little stovetop. Not as masculine as a liquor cabinet, but much more in line with Amanda's message. "Is something wrong?"

"Everything's wrong!" Nikita's hands flailed as she said it. "My assignment's wrong! Do you know what they have me doing?"

"The Imbreglio mission, correct?" Amanda gestured for Nikita to sit on the sofa's welcoming black leather and she did, locking her hands under her knees in a subconscious fetal position. She really was troubled. Luckily, the tea was almost done. "You go to Spain, enter the mansion's premises as a prostitute, and when the son arrives you terminate the family. Nothing you haven't done before."

"Not the prostitution." Nikita gave herself a rock. She looked at Amanda, strands of hair falling in front of her face from the motion. "I've never been with a man. With anyone."

"Mmm." Amanda's face was bemused but neutral. She assembled her tea set and placed it on the table in front of Nikita, pouring for both of them. "I must say, I'm surprised. An attractive girl like you. I'd have thought you'd been beating the boys off with a stick."

"Sometimes it took a knife."

"Well. I can see how that would get you out of the mood." Amanda fingered Nikita's tea cup closer to her. Nikita took the hint and drank, fitting both hands around the cup. It was always chilly in Division. Amanda could imagine the heat leaving the tea, entering Nikita's hands as surely as it went down her throat. Scrutinizing her, Amanda saw the little jags of mascara where Nikita had wiped her eyes. "Have you been crying?"

Nikita looked at her fiercely. "You think I care about my hymen? Fuck no. I just got to thinking of those… the people who needed a knife, and my life back then, and the drugs, and the things I had to…"

"And you cried. Your hair's a mess, Nikita." Orbiting the room, Amanda picked up a hairbrush from her make-up station and returned to Nikita, seating herself on the sofa's armrest. She spun her finger, ordering Nikita to present her back. The girl did so.

Amanda had tried something new with Nikita. When they'd first begun, Amanda had just tossed Nikita a pocket comb and told her to clean up. But as Nikita made progress, Amanda had fixed Nikita's hair herself, massaging her scalp as she doled out feedback, raves about Nikita's virtues. The effect was not unlike Pavlov's famous dogs. When Nikita felt Amanda combing her hair, a bloom of self-satisfaction entered her. The moment Nikita felt the bristles against her scalp, she calmed.

"You're a very good agent, Nikita." Amanda brushed through Nikita's hair with sweet incorporeality. Nikita didn't feel a thing, just a briskly pleasant sensation. And Amanda's free hand on her shoulder, holding her in place, squeezing her, offering support. "You've fulfilled every last one of your assignments. And impressed me very much."

"Thank you, Amanda." Nikita's eyes were closed. Her lips rubbed against each other, but less and less. Whether she wanted it or not, her anxiety was going away.

"You're going to continue impressing me, aren't you? Nikita?"

"I want to, but I don't know if I—"

"Of course you can." Amanda swept through a tangle with a little force, a spot of pain. "Because you're a good agent. Now, I want you to drink your tea and really think—what is it about this assignment that bothers you?"

"I—"

"Drink," Amanda ordered firmly, pressing down with her hand, nudging Nikita to her tea cup. Nikita drank from it; a long, cool sip.

"It's going to hurt. Being with him. And he'll know I'm not a prostitute and I might fail the mission!"

"And that's all?" Amanda pressed, combing Nikita's hair once more. Leaving it straight and smooth down her back.

"And I'll remember him. And the mission. Every time in the future, when I'm with someone."

Amanda let go of Nikita's shoulder, brushing her hand down either side of Nikita's face. No tears. Just that thousand-yard stare, so hard it was set in Nikita's bones. She was resolved to it, and that might've been good enough for someone else, but not for Amanda and not for Nikita.

"You want your first time to be romantic."

"Yes," Nikita said softly. "Pretty stupid, huh?"

"Not at all. It's a sign of self-worth. You're a very beautiful woman, Nikita, and a very strong one. Anyone would be lucky to be with you, in or out of bed." Setting the hairbrush down on the table with a light clink, magnified in the silence, Amanda sat down on the other side of Nikita. On the same level as her. "I should apologize. If I had known about your situation, I would've found someone else for the assignment."

"But it's too late to back out," Nikita protested. Amanda wondered if she was worried for herself or Amanda. Amanda, of course. That was her nature, to be so giving and so compassionate. It was what made her deadly, when that compassion fed back into Division.

"Yes. It is. But we have a few days yet. And we can see about your training." Amanda wrapped her fingers around Nikita's wrists, guiding her hands down to release the tea cup on the table. Her hands weren't shaking anymore. Amanda sheltered them within her own, standing up, taking her place in front of Nikita like a proud matron. "Some of the male agents are given similar assignments, for powerful men and women. They can find it difficult to separate love from sex. It helps to role-play the assignment. I feel that would truly help you, Nikita. We can play through what you'll do on the mission here, where you're safe."

"With you?" Nikita asked, wet eyes turned upward.

"Would you prefer someone else?"

"No, no—I want it to be someone who cares about me."

Amanda smiled down at her as she helped Nikita to her feet. "And it will be. Now, I hardly think you can feel very special in those exercise clothes. Let's see about what else I have in my little magic box."

Amanda assembled a stylish outfit from her wardrobe—as elegant as usual, but more sexual, the low-cut blouse opening up onto nothing but bare flesh, the skirt demurely low except for the slit cut up to the thigh.

Amanda had retreated from the dressing room, not wanting to spoil the surprise, but when Nikita returned, it was like they'd stepped through a looking glass. Nikita was the goddess, bestowing arousal like a blessing, and Amanda was the quaking virgin, offered up to her. It gnawed at Amanda, her lightness of breath, her rushing heart. She loved and hated the feeling; wiped the single bead of sweat from her brow before she got up to greet Nikita.

"You look ravishing."

Nikita smiled and looked away… breaking from her role. Goddesses didn't blush. "I look like you."

Amanda felt that fluttering sensation again, rummaging inside her carefully-moderated interior.

The clothes made Nikita more than sexual, more than a woman. She was a courtesan, a geisha... the word 'goddess' stretched its wings in Amanda's head again and, irritated, she squashed it.

She circled Nikita, getting the full taste of her. The straight, proud bearing; the high, perfect breasts; the chin raised in challenge; the eyes staring straight ahead. It was a study in contradiction, an animal that could be programmed like a robot, something that was both Amanda's and not Amanda's. She wanted to own it. She wanted to destroy it. She wanted to see its full, impossible grandeur.

She reached out and ran a finger down Nikita's spine. Amanda didn't feel a line of underwear to break up the symmetry of cotton clothes to silk skin. "I want you to treat this as a honeypot assignment. I'll be your target." Amanda's hand dipped down to Nikita's rump, prompting an excited, frightened little giggle from the girl. "You're going to have to seduce me. Anticipate my desires and fulfill them. Touch me, deeply, in places I don't know that I want you. Can you do that?"

"You trained me," Nikita said, uncertainly.

"Yes, I did." She leaned in, knowing that Nikita's eyes were darting about in their sockets, vexed and intrigued by having Amanda so close and yet invisible to her. "But you have to tap into something deeper than intellectual knowledge for this. This mission requires what you were born with as a woman. The sexual side of you that's been denied for far too long." She slid her hand between Nikita's legs, up her cleft. The clothes were barely a barrier, more of a tease. Nikita shifted like clockwork, head back, throat exposed, eyes closed: carried away by the feeling. "Can you do this to me?" Amanda whispered, running a soft, stroking finger over Nikita's clit.

"Yes," Nikita said, just as softly, almost paralyzed, stepping away and looking back and meeting Amanda's eyes. "I can do that."

***

Amanda changed clothes as well, giving Nikita time to get into character. She knew the impression she gave most of Division—fuckable but unobtainable—but she did dress down for the office. Upstairs, she had a preference for evening gowns, spaghetti-strap shoes, lingerie worth more than what real people earned in a year. For the occasion, she changed into something red and slinky. She went barefoot to make things more casual, touching up the red veneer on her toenails. And she brushed her teeth again, plucked her eyebrows again, touched up her make-up, polished her armor. She fully realized just how much Nikita intimidated her.

When she looked in the mirror, she thought she looked more like a dominatrix on holiday than a crime boss or a spymaster, but she could live with that. Let Nikita be intimidated right back.

10:30. That was enough time for Nikita to gather herself. Having secured her surprise in the desk, Amanda laid herself back on the sofa, right in the middle, spread so that her arms took up the other two cushions. She dominated the space. She dominated the room. There was a knock at the door.

"Come in," Amanda called, her voice oozing charm.

Nikita came in. The same clothes, the same person, but more of a challenge in her bearing. Amanda could read a hundred signs of nervousness off her, but nothing that a layperson could be expected to see. Off to a good start.

"Miss Amanda?" Nikita asked, closing the door behind her. "I'm Nikita. I'm here to service you."

"Lock the door," Amanda said. "And don't put it so crassly. You're not a rent-boy. You're a woman. You're here to serve me, you're here to fulfill my desires, you're here to see that I'm comfortable. If you're too confrontational, men will think you have something to prove."

Nikita turned to get the lock, hide her face. "I'm sorry, I just didn't see… what's the point of sugar-coating it?"

"The sugar is the point. The illusion. You have to live up to fantasy. No one fantasizes about jacking off, even if that's what it is they're doing. They fantasize about you. That's your power."

"I don't feel very powerful," Nikita confessed, as long as they were out-of-character.

"It's alright to be nervous. Some men prefer it. Just keep going."

Nikita turned around, forcing herself demure. "I'm Nikita. I'm here to see that you're comfortable."

Objectively, it was even worse. Nikita was too submissive, more of a sex doll than a person. But for Nikita, that was an improvement. They could build on it.

"Do you know who I am?" Amanda asked, running a hand down her dress. In the muted, gothic colors of the office, her dress was like a bloodstain on dark flesh.

"You're a very important person," Nikita replied, drawing closer. "Worthy of the utmost in accommodations."

"Much better," Amanda pronounced. "Now, I could do with a drink. Get me on. The liquor cabinet is on your right."

She'd hidden it away in an innocuous cupboard instead of putting it on display like Percy's. Her collection was just a few old favorites—she preferred to drink from her wine cellar back home. The cabinet was for emergences.

When she'd heard Nikita was being sent out as a honeypot, she'd drunk half a bottle. How it'd relieved when Nikita had come to her instead of suffering in silence.

"Would you like a bourbon?" Nikita asked, her voice smoothing out.

"Yes. On the rocks."

Amanda watched the supple muscles of Nikita's back at work, highlighted as they were by her tight-fitting blouse. It was hard to stop thinking of her as a present, a godsend. Everything Amanda had looked for in a student and more—a sister, a daughter, a mirror image.

Finally, Nikita turned, two perfect tumblers of bourbon in hand. She brought them to Amanda, setting them before her just as Amanda had served Nikita tea scant minutes before. Amanda took her glass and sipped, enjoying the way her enjoyment was reflected in Nikita's face. It was a pleasure to serve and it was a pleasure to be served.

"Join me," Amanda ordered nicely, crossing her legs, opening up a space for Nikita. Nikita sat on her side, her whole body attuned to Amanda. She took her glass without being prompted, drank with Amanda. "Still nervous?"

"No." Nikita stopped drinking to stare at her glass as she shook it, the ice bouncing around inside. "Intrigued."

Amanda set her glass down neatly on a coaster. "Would you like to make the first move?"

Nikita's eyes unmistakably ran over Amanda's body, drinking her in with needful gulps. People never knew how thirsty they were until they were offered water. "If you'd like that."

Amanda waited as Nikita set down her glass, her fingerprints evident on it even in the dim light. "I think I would."

Nikita moved in a nervous surge, against Amanda, groping her, as her lips sought Amanda's. Amanda allowed it, the anxious fumbling at her chin and cheeks, lips and tongue working at cross purposes, for a few moments. Then she put her hand on Nikita's heart (it was doing double-time, trying to break free, exploding every second) and pressed her back.

"That's not the first move. It's the last. It's where seduction ends." She moved her hand up, to Nikita's lips, wiping away a trace of smudged lipstick. "The first move is a look. A touch. A breath. It's when you know that you're having sex with someone and you're allowing them to find out as well."

"I don't understand—" Nikita began, frustrated, mad at herself, but Amanda only put her fingers to Nikita's lips.

"Watch. Listen." Her fingers raked down, to the first button of Nikita's blouse, popping it like a champagne cork. She didn't go for the obvious grope. She just brushed the fabric aside to reveal the sweat that had begun trickling between Nikita's breasts. "Feel."

"It's not just that, is it?" Nikita's eyes flittered from Amanda's hand, still hovering by her buttons, to Amanda's inscrutable eyes. It was as if she were trying to memorize the outstretched hand, the lines of her arm, the connection made between them. "It's making me want this. Want you. Want you so bad…"

Nikita moved in and Amanda instinctively shied away, not used to this, not used to so much willingness and so much need. Nikita paused a moment, with Amanda angled away and her poised inside Amanda's space. Then she continued, slowly, slithering into Amanda's air, her warmth, her skin. First Nikita's hand landed by Amanda's leg, putting her on all fours, almost on top of Amanda. Then their noses touched, almost jokingly, brushing past as Nikita brought their foreheads together. Countering Amanda's dead cool with a feverish warmth.

Amanda's lips parted, dry and moist at the same time, and that was the signal. Nikita leaned in and that was the contact, the spark, the conduit. Lips. Tongue. Teeth. Electricity rushed in, impossible to tell where it originated or where it ended up.

Amanda moaned, gently, and Nikita, louder. Off-balance, the older woman tipped over and Nikita followed her down, appetite whetted, teeth nipping at Amanda's neck as she sought her fill there, ecstatic at the bitter sweat she tasted, the proof that Amanda was human after all. The evidence that she could win her challenge.

"Gently, dear," Amanda breathed, even as her hands stole to Nikita's thighs, finding them already spread, her skirt just a cob-web to be ripped away. "You're mine, remember?" She drove the point home with two fingers, dipped inside Nikita in one brisk stroke.

Nikita groaned, her torso swaying, her hips thrusting into Amanda's touch. Amanda grinned instinctively: the whorishness of it all, the utter submission. "And you're mine, right? My teacher?" Nikita said in a voice that was downright teasing, not scared at all. She licked up the column of her throat to the shell of Amanda's ear, her tongue wet and sinning--oh, fuck.

"I'm learning so much," Nikita said, taking Amanda's hand by the wrist and driving those fingers inside her up to the knuckle. This time, Amanda said it aloud.

"Oh, fuck…"

Nikita was wet and on fire and tight and coming, practically coming already.

"Good, it feels so good," Nikita murmured, not noticing Amanda anymore, just the feeling, the building pressure. She'd wanted this. From the moment Amanda suggested it and before, during their long talks, their many lessons, their fleeting glances and encouraging touches and secret smiles and delighted voices.

Amanda rolled on top of her, almost spilling Nikita off the couch but too in control for that, suspending her head and shoulder out in open air as she pinned Nikita down, added another finger, watched her eyes dilate and her hair spill down to the floor like wine being poured.

"Amanda!" Nikita said, not a scream of pleasure but a gasp, worshipful, asking for a kind of mercy, needing it to go on and never stop and yet not destroy her.

"Yes," Amanda replied. She stroked Nikita's walls and teased her clit, leading Nikita slowly upwards, always upward. "I'm here. It's me."

"So good…"

Part of Amanda thought that Nikita would need more practice at this, need to say more, need to talk dirty, need to moan like a whore instead of being this chaste, accepting creature. People couldn't appreciate pure, driven snow. They needed snowballs and snowmen. They needed something molded by human hand, even if it could never be as beautiful as it was unspoiled.

The other part touched her clit, thumb dragging over it, the soft pad and then the hard nail, giving Nikita no respite.

"Amanda," Nikita said again, but this time it had nothing to do with sex. It was a faint, loving sigh and Amanda had heard it so many times—she'd manipulated people into saying it, tricked them into saying it, but only long enough to use their power, take their money, and then she'd broken them. It'd been easy. They'd never been talking to her, just a façade she'd put up, and she'd always resented them for not seeing underneath.

Nikita she'd been genuine with, just like she was with all her students. And they feared her and resented her and respected her and some even thought they loved her. But they never said her name like that. Like they wanted to keep saying it for the rest of their lives.

Nikita went on. "I—"

"Show me," Amanda ordered, and how could Nikita not obey? Amanda was her superior officer. Her mentor. And more.

Now they were on the floor, Nikita free to be exuberant, taking Amanda's shoulder straps away with a wild grin, wiggling her dress off her firm breasts and down her taut stomach. Amanda was perfect, a marble statue brought to life, and the sight of her made Nikita feel cheap and tawdry in comparison, while Amanda's eyes on her made Nikita feel like a million dollars. It all left her uncertain, but she knew she had to keep going, take more from Amanda, take everything she could.

She fell on Amanda, kissing her cheeks twice like she was psyching herself up before moving on, both hands on Amanda's face as she kissed her lips. All Amanda was aware of was her legs, splayed to either side of Nikita, steepling and straightening, toes digging into the carpet, wanting to squeeze her thighs together to relieve the pressure but Nikita was in the way and wanting to wrap her legs all around Nikita but she couldn't, that was the last vestige of control, so she let them undulate over the carpet like an electric current was running through them.

"Lower," Amanda breathed, just as Nikita was mouthing her neck again. Nikita took the suggestion like a dog getting a treat, moving with sloppy speed down Amanda's collarbone, her breasts, the shocking softness of her stomach (she'd expected it to be hard, muscular, but Amanda had let herself go to seed just a little and that turned Nikita on more, like there was a hidden side of Amanda just for her, waiting to be licked and kissed and scratched and bit). Amanda arced her hips orgasmically, letting Nikita strip the dress down her legs, and there were her panties, a rich black color, blacker than black where they were wet. Nikita had done that. She could do more. Amanda wanted her to do more.

Slowing now, overheating, Nikita wrapped her fingers around the waistband. She pried the panties off Amanda, finally seeing the sharp pink hidden between her legs, such a contrast to the perfect coordination of her flesh and hair and clothes, something for only Nikita to see.

Amanda suddenly smiled. Not like before, the small and fitful grin that seemed so meaningful. This was all teeth, the kind of smile she deployed to intimidate. "Obviously, your target won't have one of those." She got up, leaving Nikita sputtering on her knees, and went to her desk. The surprise was waiting.

The dress she left splayed on the floor, and even the sight of her posterior in motion couldn't dismiss Nikita's confusion. "Amanda, wait… we're still… playing?"

"All we do is play," Amanda insisted. She kept looking away from Nikita, so all the girl saw was her stepping into a harness, buckling the straps tightly around her thighs and buttocks. And her new manhood, hanging between her legs like a threat. "Lay back. Spread your legs."

Nikita obeyed and before she knew it Amanda was over her, smiling down at her, guiding the dildo inside her. It hurt but that was good, it gave Nikita an excuse to cry, because Amanda didn't know, could never know just how thankful Nikita was for this and for the long talks and for the soothing combs and for everything.

And Amanda eased inside, coming off rough, never letting Nikita know just how gentle she was being with her, letting the moment of pain come and go, keeping the dildo perfectly still inside Nikita, making her breath through the hurt and the blood, letting the ache fade, the tears stop.

Then she moved, in and out, allowing herself her pleasure and Nikita's as well, because she knew how good it felt, almost as good as having Nikita in her thrall, totally under her thumb and around her cock and whipped and fucked and bruised and bathed and kissed and bitten. Amanda came just from the look on Nikita's face, agony and ecstasy, and she wouldn't regret it. She wasn't the type for regrets.

But years later, in a solitary apartment, cut off from both Gogol and Division, she'd wish she'd just kept kissing Nikita. Left herself open for her. Even canceled the assignment and kept the girl, clutched tightly to her chest like a pearl in an oyster. They could've joined forces. Nikita could've been her own personal guardian. And when Percy lost, they could've ruled Division as princess and queen.

It wasn't a regret. Just something that kept Amanda up at night. Wondering if Nikita ever thought the same thing.
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Who's gonna break your heart now?