*
You know what you’ve done, don’t you?
He knows very well. No one has to tell him.
It is sacrilege, you know; no less. You might as well have gone into a church and flung shit on the altar, Kolya, because that’s what I think of when I look at you. Sacrilege.
Even if he could reply, he wouldn’t. Nothing to say, really.
I have to kill you. You know that. But I’ll give you a choice, Kolya. You can tell me who snitched to you and I can cut your throat and burn your corpse. You won’t suffer. But if you keep silent, then Grisha here burns those lies off your body one by one. So – fast or slow, Kolya? Your decision. Nod your head if you want to die quickly.
Nikolai sighs and closes his eyes. Valentin must think he’s an idiot. He’s going to be tortured to death whether or not he reveals his informant, so he might as well keep silent and preserve the eight months of work it took to reach this point. Grisha, he hopes, hasn’t the skills to keep him alive for days.
He wishes he had kept the cyanide pill the Directorate had given him.
He can hear Grisha approaching him, his boots shuffling on the grit of the concrete floor. He risks a look, sees the glowing end of a poker, and closes his eyes again. He’s shaking, trembling with terrible fear and the anticipation of agony.
Let me start on his balls.
Don’t be an idiot. You want him passing out that fast?
Rough fingers prod his chest, his arms, his thigh, and settle on the corona on his left hand.
Start here. This lie first.
Silence. Silence was the only defiance he could offer now. His throat closed on a scream of agony. O gracious Mother of the gracious God, O most pure and blessed Mary, the Mother of God, pour the mercy of thy Son and our God upon my impassionate soul, and with thine intercessions set me unto good deeds, that I may pass the rest of my life without blemish and, with thine aid, attain heaven. O Virgin mother –
What the fuck –
A muted roar. Another. Heavy thudding, the clattering of metal. Quick footsteps.
Kolya.
A crisp, cold voice. Familiar. No, impossible.
Kolyushenka, you goddamned fool. Open your eyes.
The crudely hewn plug of wood is pried from between his teeth. He opens his eyes and through a haze of pain sees a figure in dark gear bending over him. The figure pulls off a balaclava. Bright hair, green eyes. Scars. Nikolai wets his dry lips. “Thank God.”
Alec gives him a sardonic, twisted grin. “Kolya, God has nothing to do with it.”
*
He shouldn’t be surprised that after all this time, Alec has endless resources at his disposal, but here he is, lounging on a sofa at thirty-five thousand feet, his hand swathed in antibiotics and bandages, in clean pajamas, eating caviar and maslo on blini and washing it down with Veuve Clicquot – maybe not the best choice of beverages after the codeine tablet Alec has given him, but he feels a warm sense of well-being and no urge to complain. He smiles at Alec, toasts him silently, and finishes his champagne.
“More?” Alec is staring at him. The green eyes that can harbor such warmth and affection are ice-cold.
“No, thank you.”
“Do you know how long it took to find you?”
“I didn’t know you were looking for me.”
Alec gives him a mirthless smile. “A tractor factory in the Urals, Nikolai. You really should consider a different line of work, or at least more aesthetically pleasant locales.”
“You’re probably right, but the Directorate’s not hiring for Monaco or Switzerland at present. Were you able to neutralize them all?”
“Yes.” Alec rubs his eyes. “And it was a bloodbath. Seven dead. Whoever spilled cocked it up good and proper for you. I’d say you owe the Directorate absolutely nothing, wouldn’t you?”
Nikolai shrugs. “I need to get in touch with them.”
“You can use the satcom.” Alec leans back and drains his champagne. “God damn it, Kolyushenka.”
“Yes?”
“I told you, didn’t I? I told you this life would gain you nothing but trouble.” Alec stands and stalks to the sofa, towering above Nikolai. He leans down and unbuttons the top of the pajama jacket, glaring disgustedly at the crucifix tattooed on Nikolai’s chest. “It’s one thing, Kolya, to become scarred.” He touches his cheek unconsciously. “It’s quite another to deliberately disfigure yourself. What if I failed to take care of the entire problem for you? Suppose they have friends who piece things together?”
“Where did you put the bodies?”
“Mineshaft. At least two hundred feet.”
“I don’t think you have anything to worry about.”
“But you do.” Alec grasps Nikolai’s wrist and lifts the injured hand. “What if I hadn’t arrived in time?”
“Then I’d be dead now.” A pleasant lilac-colored haze is tinting Nikolai’s senses. He feels as if he’s floating.
“Precisely,” Alec says, biting off the word and spitting it out. He kneels beside the sofa and places Nikolai’s hand beside his thigh, where it rests limply, looking like the broken hand of Christ in a pieta. He unbuttons the pajama jacket and examines the rest of the tattoos there. “Look at this,” he mutters. “You can’t take this back, Nikolai. You can never live without them.”
Nikolai nods. “They help.”
“What do you mean?”
“They’re my cover.”
“A cover you can’t abandon,” Alec snaps. He rests his long, elegant hand on Nikolai’s chest and gently caresses downward. “A cover you cannot abandon becomes part of you. Why don’t you –“ His head jerks up, and he stares at Nikolai. “Of course you knew that. Why, for God’s sake?”
Nikolai gazes at Alec, reaching out slowly – so slowly, his movements tempered by exhaustion and codeine – and grazing the scars on his face with the back of his hand. If he could articulate his reasons, would he? There had never been a time when, upon receiving yet another infusion of vor ink, the needle sinking into his skin and creating the indelible screen between himself and the world, that he did not close his mind off. All for the work, to eradicate those who murdered and enslaved, who stole and cheated, who enforced their demands by means of threat and intimidation and violence, who violated the innocent. One by one the tattoos came, and he has not yet reached the day when he looks into the mirror and doesn’t recognize what he sees. Not yet.
“Thank you for coming after me, Alyosha.”
“You’re going to be the death of me.” Alec leans forward and presses his mouth to the crucifix, then kisses a wet trail downward until his tongue circles the cup of Nikolai’s navel.
Nikolai tilts his head back. The drugs and champagne have done their job; he feels each sensation as both pleasant remove and delicious intimacy. He moans softly, his voice inaudible above the subtle whine of jet engines, and hooks his thumb into the waistband of his pajama bottoms to pull them down. Alec tugs off the jacket and he is naked, lying on silk with the litter of caviar and champagne nearby. Decadent. Alec has long ago succumbed to Western decadence, and every so often pulls Nikolai along in his wake. What a temptation, to stay, to drown himself in luxury and those green eyes.
Alec kisses him, his fingers teasing between his legs, caressing. Nikolai allows it, allows Alec’s hands to roam over his body, to stop and probe gently at the tattoos that cover it. If he could explain, he would, but he is too full of codeine and champagne and the silence that fills his soul each time the needle drives into his skin. He spreads his legs; Alec is dressed (superbly, the suit of thin charcoal wool clinging without vulgarity. Decadent, but so alluring), Nikolai is naked, and the sensation of fabric scratching lightly between his thighs is maddening. Nikolai begs without words, unbending as only Alec will allow him, in language only Alec understands. He feels hands grasping at his hips, pulling him closer, and a slickness (butter? Oh, more decadence, delicious) invading him, then Alec is inside him, thrusting, driving in, his mouth closing on a nipple. Time expands, and the exquisite sensation carries him along until he comes, his cry of satisfaction muffled by Alec’s mouth closing over his.
He drifts, warm and silent, blissfully sore. Alec is embracing him, one hand caressing Nikolai’s body.
“Alyosha….”
“Shh.” Alec rests a finger on Nikolai’s mouth. “Don’t. I understand, Kolyushenka.”
That is how it has always been with them; few words are needed. Nikolai sighs. He brings his good hand to Alec’s cheek, kisses his mouth. Alec touches the crucifix embedded in Nikolai’s flesh. No need to worry, for now at least; no need to fear. At this moment, they’ve both found sanctuary.
Iconostasis by splix
Summary: Written in honor of Sean Bean's birthday
Rated: NC-17
Categories: Crossovers Pairing: Alec Trevelyan/Nikolai Luzhin
Warnings: NoneChallenges:
Series: NoneChapters: 1 Completed: Yes
Word count: 1547 Read: 582
Published: 31 May 2012 Updated: 31 May 2012