At the Gates of Khartoum by frogdoggie
X/Story: 5 July 1998
ArchiveX: 13 July 1998
At the Gates of Khartoum
RATING: NC-17. This story contains VERY GRAPHIC CONSENSUAL SEX BETWEEN MEN. So, if you don't like that type of thing - STOP NOW! Forewarned is forearmed.
SUMMARY: Alex Krycek, at a very low point in his life, flees to Khartoum in the Sudan. Once there he is faced with making a profound choice about his future.
FEEDBACK - YES PLEASE, AND THANK YOU SIR, CAN I HAVE ANOTHER? Comments, suggestions and healthy debate are always welcome. Flames? I use them to roast weenies, hamburgers and Italian sausages on the grill.
TIMESPAN/SPOILER WARNING.: After this season probably.
KEYWORDS: story angst slash Krycek Mulder NC-17
DISCLAIMER: Alex Krycek and Fox Mulder, belong to Chris Carter, Ten-Thirteen Productions and 20th Century FOX Broadcasting. No copyright infringement is intended and no profit is being made from their use.
Feel free to archive this anywhere you like as long as my addy stays on it.
Author's Note: Bowing to e-mail pressure, I decided to write a story about Alex Krycek. I know this story will displease some of you. You may not like what lies in store for "Comrade Alex" in the end. However - the story has an open ending and I would like to say now that if someone wants to write the sequel they have my permission. But you'd better hurry. The forces at work here won't wait for long. Oh yeah - check out the end of the story for the info as to what forces I'm alluding to here. No, don't skip to the end - NO FAIR! Start at the beginning....
At the Gates of Khartoum
Alex Krycek woke, groaning, to the sounds of the muezzin calling the faithful to prayer. He glanced out the window. Khartoum. Shit. Hot as hell and twice as dusty. Historical. So what. During the 1800s, the British General Charles George Gordon, Gordon Pasha, had died here trying to defend the city for The Queen's Colonialism against the rising tide of the Mahdi's fundamentalist Muslim holy zealots. Maybe instead of dying with his head on a pike the God damned heat killed him Alex thought dismally. The wheezing ancient air conditioner in the window was barely keeping up with the torrid sun's onslaught outside. Burning hot even though it was only dawning over the minarets.
"Fuck," he cursed rolling over, "FUCK!" he hissed as his stump hit the lumpy mattress. Damn it to hell that muther still hurt if he abused it. He was grateful his cock could take more abuse then his fucking stump. Otherwise he'd be really miserable this morning he mused trailing his green eyes to the other side of the bed.
His partner from the night before lay on his back, arms akimbo, morning hard on jutting up, bobbing with every sleep filled breath he took.
"Arif Kahn," Alex thought. "Yeah, right. The kid might as well have been named John *cocksucking* Doe. The last name Kahn was as common in the Arab world as Smith was in the United States. Probably wasn't even the messengers real name. Messenger. The go between. The bearer of glad tidings, he thought with a wicked grin.
The night before, Alex had been sweating like a pig in the poorly air conditioned room, in the *Michelin Guide no star* rundown hotel, in a bad section of the city. He was waiting for the Frenchman, when Arif had knocked on the door. He had taken his Glock in hand and cautiously opened that door. As he stood to the side the most beautiful Arab boy he had ever seen walked nonchalantly into the room.
"Who the hell are you?" Krycek growled at him.
"Arif Kahn, effendi. Monsieur Dupres sent me, sir. I have a message for you," the boy replied in accented English.
"Give it here, and then put your hands up, Arif," he barked at the boy. To the kids credit he hadn't shown any fear. He reached into the band of his loose white trousers and pulled out a folded piece of paper. He held it out and Alex snapped it up with the same hand that held the Glock. He cursed his fucking prosthetic arm again for making a once easy maneuver a production number. He had to put the gun down to read the damn note easily. He considered the youth standing with his hands raised high. He was really beautiful. Tall, well muscled, caramel brown skinned, with a thick head of black hair. Alex let his eyes drift up to his face to gauge the relative danger of this fallen Arab angel and he stopped dead. He had hazel eyes - stunning, clear, hazel eyes, flecked with gold. Eyes just like...Alex felt his cock jump in his light weight khaki pants. Well, this evening might prove to be doubly interesting he thought, coming to a decision.
"Arif, if I put this gun down and let you drop your arms are you going to cause me any trouble?" he asked quietly. He tried to make his voice a little more friendly, almost conversational.
"No, effendi," he answered with a hesitant smile. Alex studied his face carefully.
"All right, lower your arms then. Go sit in that chair by the window, and keep quiet," he ordered.
"Yes, sir," the boy answered. He did precisely as instructed. Alex nodded his head and smiled to himself. Nice. He took orders very well. The boy sat looking idly out the window into the city. Alex turned his attention away from him and strode to the small table on the other side of the room. He put the Glock down on the table and pulled out one of the chairs next to the table. He sat down and unfolded the note. It *was* from Dupres. He began to read it.
>>>>My Dear Monsieur Krycek:
I have found the information you seek. The answers that you seek as well. I will be happy to meet with you in the Cafe Du Monde, in the French Quarter of the city at 3 PM tomorrow. It should be a bit more cool then. The heat of the day will be fading. Come alone. Bring the sum we agreed upon and the solution to all your problems will be at hand.
Yours in comradeship, Andre Dupres PS. - The messenger - Arif Kahn is older then he looks Monsieur Krycek, being 19 years of age. However, his youthful looks are highly prized by certain, how shall I put it? Certain types of older men in Khartoum. You will find Arif a very...stimulating conversationalist. He is also very obedient. I have instructed him to put himself at your disposal for the evening. Consider it a sign of my willingness to give you what you seek, sir. And as a gesture of French hospitality<<<<
Krycek refolded the note. "Well blow me!" he thought with a really wicked smile. Yeah. No shit. Maybe that French bastard was on the level. God, if he was, Alex would get down and blow him too if he had what he was looking for. The answer to his entire Godforsaken existence. The escape from the darkness into the light. Pleasure to stop the pain. Divine Salvation. Hell, he'd blow half the old fart faggots in Khartoum if the Frenchman would end his unendurable agony.
He rose from the chair, and crossing over to the night stand, stuck the note down into the flame of the oil burning lamp that sat there. He lifted the flaming paper up as it burned, and then threw what was left onto the floor, stamping it out under his tan hiking boot.
He walked out from behind the four poster bed with it's fly and mosquito netting and walked over to the boy seated in the chair by the window.
The boy's head turned his way. Alex stood admiring his brown, handsome face and arresting hazel eyes. The hazel eyes marked him as half-caste, a mongrel, not a full blooded Arab. So, that was why he was a hired -what was the word - an old fashioned term they used here - *catamite*. Probably a product somewhere along the line of a town settled Bedouin woman and some lucky European lover. Maybe the Frenchman himself.
But Lord those eyes. He was going to fuck this boy senseless tonight just so he could see those eyes glazing over in pleasure. Sure he knew why too. They were Mulder's eyes. God damn it to hell. Fox Mulder. He just couldn't get that prick, couldn't get wanting his prick, out of his mind.
Thoughts of Mulder were keeping him hard almost 24/7 and he was dangerously close half the time to a terminal case of blue balls. Terminal because his hard cock and cum heavy balls distracted him. And distraction could be fatal in the spy business.
But nevertheless Mulder was on his mind, in his very soul. He had been since the kiss in Mulder's apartment. The night he had kissed Fox Mulder on the cheek, but wanted instead to ravage his mouth, had been the last night he had spent as a free man. Now he was captive to his hormonally hard dick and his fantasies about his favorite federal agent.
And fantasy it would possibly always remain. Mulder hated his living guts. How could he expect him not too anyway. Alex had killed Mulder's father. He had befriended, and then betrayed Fox in Russia after all as well. How could he think Mulder would want him as a lover under those circumstance?
But he burned for him. The lust was incredibly painful. It sizzled and singed him all the way down to his bones. It was an agony far worse than any phantom pain he'd had in his missing arm. Christ.
So when his contacts in Marseilles had told him about the Frenchmen in Khartoum he had been willing to grasp at any straw to save himself. The Frenchman offered solutions, transport, escape to a better way of life. He had jumped at the chance to find him. It hadn't been hard. A freighter taken from Vladivostock to Port Sudan. Port Sudan to Khartoum. And now the Frenchman would meet him. He sighed. Only one more day. Only a matter of hours until he might be able to give himself a second chance, a shot at redemption and after salvation, a chance to make amends to Fox Mulder. It was worth anything to him to at least to try. He would have to try...or die.
All that had flown through his mind as he lost himself in Arif's hazel eyes.
"Monsieur Krycek?" the boy asked concern in his voice.
"Call me, Alex," Krycek answered smiling a most devilishly handsome smile.
Now, in the early morning sunlight he studied Arif's sleeping form. He had indeed fucked him all night until he thought for sure neither of them would be able to walk in the morning. It had been lucky he still had the box of condoms and the tube of lube in his luggage. He never liked to take chances where one night stands were concerned. Especially with little catamites named Arif *John Doe* Kahn.
As the muezzin's chant ended, Alex levered up with difficulty and scooted over to lie next to the Arab youth. He supported himself as best he could on what was left of his arm. He watched the youths chest rise, fall, rise, fall. The boys' cock moved in perfect synchronicity. Alex reached his hand over and ran his index finger around the boys tip. He was uncircumcised and Alex tweaked his foreskin experimentally. Arif's eyes flew open. He was momentarily startled but recovered quickly. He smiled showing straight white teeth.
"Monsieur Krycek is awake."
"Yes, my little street Arab, Mr. Krycek is awake."
Arif's brow furrowed at Krychek's insult.
"Don't you agree that you're a dirty little street Arab? A catamite. A slut? Do you know what slut means, Arif?"
"Yes, effendi," he replied quietly staring into Alex's face as the older man continued to tease the head of his cock. Alex felt a stab of guilt for a moment. He shouldn't do this to the boy. After all he really was quiet beautiful. And he had been clean. He had in fact been scrupulously so - and perfumed slightly so that when Krycek had bedded him last night he had reveled in the mixture of sweat and the aroma of sandalwood on his skin.
And the boy had been incredible in bed as well. Willing to please, compliant and submissive. One of the best subs he'd ever had as a matter of fact. He hadn't even had to slap him around in order to top him. And the kid hadn't uttered so much as a whimper when he had fucked him hard up the ass. Hadn't complained when Alex had refused to let him blow him or to blow him as well. He hadn't wanted that much intimacy. No, all he had wanted was the feeling of raw release that came with thrusting up a tight, hot ass, and the boy had more then filled that bill. In spades.
So he told himself he really shouldn't toy with or humiliate Arif this morning. He should try to be kind. Maybe make up for the fact that he hadn't even jerked him off last night but had instead driven his cock into the lumpy mattress with his pounding hips so the kid spurted all over himself under his own writhing body.
"Well...you're a smart slut at least, Arif. But look - I'm sorry. I'm not very pleasant in the morning sometimes..."
"Does it give you much pain?" the younger man asked reaching up to gently touch Krycek's stump.
Alex looked into his hazel eyes. Something in his chest softened. It might have been his heart he thought. If he still had one. He sighed and left off stroking the boys cock. He ran his hand along his jawline. The younger man barely even had a beard. Alex sighed.
"It hurts like hell sometimes. Feels like it's on fire. I can feel a dull ache in my arm as well even though it isn't there any longer. Yeah - it gives me pain."
"I *am* sorry, sir" the boy replied simply. He sat up on one elbow and placed a tender kiss on the end of Alex's amputated arm. His mouth touched where the wrinkled and puckered scar tissue had been less then expertly repaired by a tired and somewhat drunk Russian resistance doctor.
As Arif's lips brushed over his flesh Alex felt the most wonderful sensation. A blessed relief from the almost constant ache that still plagued his severed limb. A cooling. When the boy removed his lips the ache returned. But it was lessened Alex thought. Lessened enough to be bearable. He looked into the boys face and smiled slightly.
"I said you could call me, Alex. I meant it Arif."
"All right, Alex," the boy smiled back. "Do you wish to love me again?"
Alex's smile grew wider, "Yeah, I want you again. You're quite good. Did you know you're a good fuck, Arif. I mean that as a compliment."
"As long as you were pleased," Arif nodded his head seriously, "then I know."
Alex chuckled, "Well that's one way of looking at it. Maybe the best way too. But listen, Arif I feel like I was a little unfair with you last night. I mean - selfish. Why don't we, why don't we do things a little more equally here this morning. I mean you're still gonna get it in the ass. But I'll do you too this time. Would you like me to jerk you off?"
"Yeah - you know..." Krycek took the boys cock in his fist and pumped it. Arif grinned.
"If it pleases you eff...Alex."
Krycek guffawed loudly, "Yeah it pleases me you little slut. And it'll please you too - tell the truth." he punctuated his order with a light pat to the boys cheek.
"Yes. It would please me very much," Arif answered truthfully.
"Now you're talking. Lie back and bring your knees up."
"Yeah, now spread 'em. Just relax and let me do the work."
Arif did as instructed without any hesitation. Krycek shifted over to sit between the younger man's legs. He stroked the kids balls for a couple of minutes just teasing him a little. Enjoying the weight of his nuts and the softness of his almost hairless skin.
Arif giggled slightly, "You have very good hands, Alex," he complimented the older man boldly.
"Flattery will get you everything, my little Arab," Alex answered. He grasped Arif's erect cock in his hand and began to fist him. He worked the foreskin back and forth over the head and shaft adding it's stretching friction to heighten the sensations.
Arif tilted his head back and a small moan escaped his lips. He said something in Arabic. Alex's Arabic wasn't very good so he wasn't sure what the boy said. But the next word was easily understood.
"Alex..." he gasped. He shut his eyes and Krycek pumped his cock harder.
"Is this good for you?" he queried. The boy was biting his lip now and his nostrils were flaring as he struggled to catch his breath.
"Yessss" he hissed out. Alex sensed that he wasn't sure how much he should be enjoying himself. Someone must have really beaten the idea of being a sub into his ass he thought wryly. Well, this morning it was time to let the kid be a little more of a dom - not much, but enough so the poor little shit at least enjoyed himself.
"Arif, if it feels good to move - do it. I'd like to see you move for me anyway," he smiled wide to reassure him, "And you have a wonderful cock, boy. Beautiful. I love fisting you. You're dripping for me all ready. It feels so sweet and slick."
The younger man opened his eyes and stared into Krycek's face. There was a look of appreciation there - and something else - Krycek wasn't sure what it was but it wasn't hate and that was enough to make him feel a kinship with the boy. He showed his teeth in a really wide smile to reassure him further, and Arif grinned from ear to ear as well. He began to buck his hips against Alex's hand.
"There you go...God you are hot. Come on, ride it...that's it," Alex encouraged. Arif began to moan incoherently and he was really throwing his hips up against Alex's hand. His hands convulsively clenched the bed sheets. Alex began to pump his dick hard and fast.
"Oh, Oh, Ohhhhh," the boy began to sob. He was twisting and twitching under Alex's hand. The older man concentrated on really teasing the kid's foreskin back and forth and Arif writhed uncontrollably under his touch.
"Lovely..." Alex breathed out.
Krycek cranked the boys swollen cock twice more, hard, and the boy came with a hoarse shout, arching his back up in ecstasy. Krycek kept pumping as cum spurted over his hand and the young Arab's stomach in milky, white jets.
Finally there wasn't anymore to give and Arif Kahn collapsed back onto the lumpy cum stained mattress with a satisfied groan. Krycek let go of his flaccid dick and sat staring at him. He patted the boys knee tenderly and then shifted from between his legs to sit beside him.
As soon as Arif had caught his breath enough to speak he said, "Thank you," in a very quiet voice.
Alex was touched. The kid really was grateful.
"Didn't anyone ever do that for you? I mean hasn't anyone ever given you pleasure before, boy?"
"No, Alex. I am for giving pleasure, not receiving it."
"Christ, that's cold," Alex shook his head in disgust. He was really glad he had decided to be a little more kind to the boy. It had been worth it, and only definitely fair justice after he had let him use him so well the night before.
Arif reached over and stroked Krycek's cock. He was hard of course. Had been the minute he'd started fisting the kid.
"You like?" the boy asked as he teased between his legs.
"I like a lot."
"Effendi - I mean Alex...I would...I would like to suck your cock."
He looked at the boy's eager face. Well, that was right to the point he thought with a grin. Oh yeah he wants to blow me now. No kidding. He weighed the pros and cons of the idea.
"My, we are direct now aren't we?" he replied rubbing the boys thigh.
Arif continued to fondle him. He fingered his balls in their sack. Alex shut his eyes and swallowed. The boy had very delicate hands. Skillful. He wondered what he could do with his mouth. It occurred to him that he hadn't even kissed him last night. He hadn't plundered the Arab youth's soft sensual lips. Suddenly he wanted desperately to feel the boy's mouth on his hard on. If for no other reason so he could look down into his hazel eyes, shut his own, and dream of Fox Mulder.
"Look, I'd like you to do it, Arif. But I don't like it with a condom. If you're not clean I'm not going down. So, tell me the truth. Have you been a good boy, my little messenger? Or are you a messenger of death as well as ecstasy?"
Arif pinned his eyes, "*I* am not the messenger of death, effendi Alex. I do not lie. I have been good. Allah Akbar. God is good."
The air around them seemed to shift, grew more bright for a moment. Alex felt slightly dizzy. He blinked several times. Must be the fucking heat he thought. He looked deeply into Arif's soft, kind eyes.
"What?" he asked confused, "What the hell? What kind of cr..." he thought, "Are you trying to say you're clean or what?"
"I am clean Alex." Arif nodded again with a smile playing about his lips.
Alex came to his decision. "What the hell, why the fuck not," he thought. "Then suck on it," he said.
"In time, but first the touching. You will like this, Alex. Now - *you* lie back and relax," the young Arab whispered tenderly.
Krycek sighed. He really did want to relax. To give himself over to the moment. To forget. And to remember a stolen kiss, in a dark apartment, in a suburb of Washington, DC. He lay back and shut his eyes.
He felt rather then saw the Arab lay down as well, and shift up to lie next to him. The boy bent close and teased his mouth. Krycek pushed his face closer to deepen the contact but the boy shifted away and Alex felt his mouth next to his ear. Arif began to whisper into his ear and Krycek was galvanized by his words.
"I will give you what you want, effendi, my Alex. The one that you seek, that you desire the most, if only for a few brief moments. But remember this moment. Learn and remember."
Krycek's breath stopped in his chest as the younger man brought his hand up and passed it over Alex's forehead and then down over his closed eyes. His breath returned and came in short, sharp gasps. He felt a tingling and then a hissing whine filled his head. It sounded similar to feedback from a amplifier. It climbed, and climbed, and climbed in volume until he couldn't think. And just as he thought the audio assault was going to turn his brain to jelly the sound stopped. He opened his eyes and the breath that he had been gasping froze in his chest once more. Dear God in Heaven.
Lying next to him was Fox Mulder.
"MMMulder?" he whispered. He didn't know why. He didn't know why, he didn't...He was totally without understanding, thought or reason. No comprehension of the hallucination. Was it a hallucination? He wasn't sure. He didn't know how he had gotten there. He didn't care. He had died and gone to heaven. He was asleep and dreaming. God had smiled on him for once in his unfortunate and suffering life and granted him his fondest wish. He didn't know how it had happened. He didn't care, he didn't care. He...
"So, Alex. Miss me you asshole?" Mulder laughed.
"God, Mulder, I missed you more then you could ever know."
"Yeah, well don't stay away so long next time, lover..." Mulder crooned and then his mouth captured Alex's mouth and Krycek was in heaven.
"Oh Christ, Oh Christ," he thought. He opened his mouth and took in Mulder's tongue. He tasted faintly of sunflower seeds and cafe latte. Krycek shut his eyes and savored the flavor. Mulder ran his hands through his hair and then down his face, down his neck across his chest, down his arms. Down his arms? Krycek thought in wonder. I don't have....his mind gave him knowledge, processing facts distantly but the idea faded as Fox Mulder followed his hands path with his mouth. Krycek brought both his hands up to stroke Mulder's hair as the other man licked and sucked at his skin.
"Oh God, Fox..." Alex moaned as Mulder worked his way over to his hard male nipples and began to tongue each in turn. He stopped suddenly, and Alex whimpered with the loss of contact. Mulder shifted up and propped himself up on one elbow, his hazel eyes were bright with passion. Alex swallowed.
"Alex, call me Mulder, all right. I don't even let Scully call me Fox."
"Ssscully?" Alex asked somewhat dazed.
"Yeah, you know - remember her? Dana Scully? My partner? The redhead -good with a gun?"
"Oh, that Scully," Krycek chuckled.
"Bingo," Mulder chuckled.
"Why not?" Mulder replied and then he went back to work on Alex with his hands and mouth and no more questions were necessary. The world narrowed for Alex. Focused to a pinpoint of blinding white sexual light. It narrowed to a pair of soft, wet, pouting lips, and knowing, roving, gentle hands.
Mulder. Only Mulder. Stroking. Teasing, touching, loving his flesh. Elegant fingers ruffling his hair. Murmuring words of encouragement. Lapping his ears, and his face, then his larynx, and down his chest and stomach, lapping, lapping like a cat. Moaning a little as his hands, and then his mouth reached Alex's thighs. No more words. Just sounds. Breathing, gasping, wet sliding tongue on slick swollen erect flesh. Hard and soft at the same time. Throbbing. Kisses and kisses and, Oh God sucking him in. Pressure. Sweet, sucking pressure. Deep throating him almost at once. Oh thank you Jesus. Lips, tongue, teeth. In, and out, in and out, and round. Over, and over, and over and...OH Mother Mary. Struggling to find his voice. Growling unintelligibly at first. Then forming words at last as tears ran down his cheeks.
"I love you, Mulder."
Mulder unable to answer. His mouth full with him. But bobbing his head and stoking his balls so tenderly so...Pumping, pumping. Arching up. Oh God. Hard, and hard, and harder. But I don't wanna...I don't wanna cum, not yet, not yet.
"I want it in your ass."
"I thought you'd never ask."
Mulder pulling back, getting up and turning round. On his knees. Alex dazed with tears, almost fuck blind all ready, pushing himself up off the mattress. Rising, kneeling in back of his lover. Stopping.
"Mulder...I..no condom, no...Jesus, I'm not even lubed up."
"Oh, well, just..." Mulder starts to laugh... "just spit on it Alex. I can take you. Just do it."
Alex laughing like hell. Oh yea. Spit. Sure. Spitting on his hands over and over. Warm saliva slicking over his hard cock. What's left goes between Mulder's butt cheeks. Oh God let it happen. Let me, let me, let...let...Pushing close, cock head against wrinkled flesh. Not even a finger to test tightness. Just his cock, his swollen flesh, seeking the hot, wet, tight...Thrusting in, thrusting. His lover moaning. Mulder moaning for him, for him, begging for his cock. And then in all the way up to his balls.
"Fuck me Alex, make it good," Mulder gasps.
And he's doing it. Fucking Fox Mulder. Fucking him up the ass. Riding him, riding him, riding. Oh God Oh my God. Thank you God. So tight, so tight. Animal smell of lust. Man smell. salt taste, salt smell almost in the air. Breathable. Tangy but sweet. The smell, the taste of sunflower seeds again. Mulder smell. Smell of precum. Mulder writhing. Bucking. Yelling his name over and over. Grabbing forward to reach his cock. Yanking Fox. FFFFox like steel. Hot gun metal but slick and soft too. Jerking, Jerking. Mulder screaming, screaming, spurting warm cum liquid over his hand. Pulling back wet fingers to his mouth sucking his fingers dry. Wonderful tang, musky taste. Oh Fuck, its too much. Gripping Mulder's hips and then lost in the rhythm of fucking, fucking, meeting each others powerful thrusts in perfect harmony. OHHHHHHHH FOX. Muscles twitching, losing all conscious thought as muscles clamp down like a vice. Oh Lord, My cock, my cock! Deafening silence as the air rushes out and then roaring, rushes in. Gravity disappears. Hanging, suspended between heaven and earth and then returning to slam down hard. Blinding shards of incandescent stars....Shouting, shouting, loud hoarse gasping, and pumping, exploding, spurting, coming, coming...
"I LOVE YOU ALEX!" his lover shouting at last. And then the darkness, the darkness, the warm silence....
"Effendi, effendi, wake up."
"What the fuck...Huh?" Alex Krycek woke, dazed.
"Sir, it's late. You must get up...the Frenchman..." the young Arab boy was gently shaking his arm.
"Yes, effendi Alex. You will be late. It is nearly 2."
Alex flailed his arm, arms? No arm. What the hell had he been dreaming? Was it a dream? How in the name of the living God could he tell, he thought. He looked down at his crotch. Well, obviously they'd been doing *something*. The evidence of their hot coupling was still all over his dick. Christ he'd done him naked ghosted through his mind. The words *I have been good* followed on the heels of that thought. No fucking kidding Alex smiled smuggly. They both had been just fine.
He looked into the soft, hazel eyes of the young man sitting up in bed next to him and suddenly remembered the rest. Christ Crucified could all that have been real? He just managed to sit up. He pinned Arif's eyes.
"Arif?" he asked in doubt and confusion.
"Alex, you will be late..." the boy smiled at him showing his straight white teeth. "My master will punish me if he knows I have made you late." Arif touched Kychek's hair briefly and then dropped his hand.
Alex shook his head from side to side to clear it. He ran his hand over his face. It must have been a dream. A marvelous erotic dream. He shook his head, dismissing it as such. He smiled ruefully and reaching over ruffled Arif's thick, black hair. He really had been a great fuck. And a surprisingly considerate and compassionate partner as well.
"All...all right my little Arab. Thanks for getting me up. Thanks for everything for that matter. I'll tell your master you more then pleased me. If I'm late he can kiss my ass. I'll tell him you had nothing to do with it."
Arif grabbed him impulsively around the neck and kissed him on the cheek.
"Thank you Alex. You are a gentleman and a scholar."
"Yeah, well maybe the fucking scholar part. Now, let's get cleaned up and dressed. I want you to help me find this Cafe DuMonde," Alex replied with a mixture of wry amusement and bitter self-depreciation in his voice.
They barely made it to the Cafe DuMonde in time. The cab desposited them a block away from the establishment at exactly 4 minutes to 3 PM. The man and the boy stood on the street in the French Quarter so that Alex Krycek could scope out the territory. He never went in without surveying the field first.
Arif stood next to him watching the older man's serious face and roving, hard, searching, eyes. He touched the sleeve of his white shirt.
Alex turned to look at him, "What?"
"I must leave you now, effendi Alex. I have work...elsewhere for my master."
Alex looked into his hazel eyes again, probably for the last time. He glanced around through the hot, dusty, bustling crowd. No one was really watching. He touched the boys cheek lightly, one swift touch and then dropped his hand.
"Arif you do speak French, don't you?"
"Oh yes, effendi," the young man replied with a shy smile.
"Yeah, well so do I but not very well - so I hope I get this right. Alex stepped close and whispered in his ear, "J'entendis vous ame dans les yeux beaux. Je t'aime, mon petite Arab. Merci."***
"C'est vrai. Je t'aime aussi," the young man replied with love in his eyes.
And then incredibly he spoke again and his words were uttered in perfect Russian.
"I thank you also Alexi. And I warn you as well. Learn and Remember. Remember, not everything is as is seems." And then Arif Kahn turned, and in one graceful step, disappeared into the crowd leaving Krycek swaying on the sidewalk.
The Cafe DuMonde was crowded as befitted a popular restaurant in the quarter. French, English, American, German, Arab, Asian, a dozen different nationalities mingled, talking, debating, whispering over strong, hot Arabic coffee, food and tobacco.
Alex surveyed the crowd in the outdoor streetside patio part of the cafe. His eyes scanned for faces. The Frenchman had been described to him. His keen green eyes were searching for a tall, thin, bald headed man with a hawk nose and a large twisted white scar running down his cheek. "Lucky for me he's got a face like a character in a Quentin Tarantino movie," Alex mused wryly, "otherwise I'd never spot the fucker."
Just as the errant thought crossed his mind, he caught site of his quarry. Evidently the Frenchman had been given his description as well. He was motioning with one hand for Alex to join him. Krycek briefly touched the Glock where it was held in his waistband, behind his back, and under his light weight khaki jacket. The holster chaffed his skin a bit but it was a comforting scraping. He was ready. He advanced towards the Frenchman's table.
The man had had the good sense to try to sit a little away from the rest of the crowd in a quiet corner of the patio near a pillar and under an awning. It was more secluded, less sunny and more intimate. Just the right atmosphere for working a deal for his soul's salvation.
Krychek sauntered over and sat down in the chair across from the bald French national.
"Monsieur Krycek," the man spoke in softly accented English in way of greeting. He inclined his head respectfully and looked back up into Alex's green eyes.
"Monsieur Dupres," Krycek nodded in return.
"Did you...find the boy...entertaining?" he asked with a wry smile.
"I suppose I should thank you for him. Yeah, he was a good lay if that's what you want to know."
"Yes, a bit crude, but that is what I wished to know. Bon."
"Right. Look. Dupres I don't think you want to talk about your boy toy here do you? I know I don't. As much as I appreciated your lending him last night I'd really like to cut to the chase here, all right?"
The Frenchman grinned ferally showing a single gold filling in one of his front teeth. He reached down, and picking up his cup of expresso, took a healthy sip from the cup. He put the cup back down on its saucer with a tiny click. He looked back up into Alex's barely concealed desperation.
"Did you bring the money?" he asked.
Krycek released his breath with relief. He reached inside his coats inner pocket, "Yeah," he answered slapping a wad of bills down onto the table between them.
The Frenchman scooped the cash up quickly and placed it within the inner pocket of his own expensively tailored suitcoat.
"Aren't you going to count it?" Alex hissed.
"Not necessary. I have no reason to distrust you, Monsieur Krycek."
Krycek's mouth drew into a thin white line. He leaned in close towards the Frenchman and spoke in a very low voice, "You'd better not give me any reason to distrust *you* either, Mr. Dupres. If you do, I'll shoot you in the balls, you stinking pig." Krycek grinned wickedly. Not bad for a one armed bandit he thought. He hadn't lost his touch. The Frenchman hadn't really noticed him slip the Glock from the holster behind his back. He held it below the table trained on the guy's pecker. There had been a flicker of surprise in the Frenchmen's steel gray eyes.
But Dupres was quick to recover. He licked his lips and smiled into Krycek's eyes.
"C'est la vie, Monsieur. But rest assured, I am aware of your reputation, mon camrade. I will not make the mistake. Mon Dieu. I am not that stupid."
"No, not stupid. Just a greedy butt fucker. All right, fine. Now, what about my transport? What about the answers to my questions?" Krycek hissed pulling back and re-holstering the Glock in one swift motion.
"The answers to what you seek?"
"Yessss," Krycek whispered between clenched teeth.
The Frenchmen gave him another feral smile, "I need to reach into my coat pocket, Monsieur, Mes oui?" he asked inclining his head down.
"Fine," Krycek spat out.
The Frenchmen did as he said he would and pulled from his jacket pocket a small box. He placed it down between them on the table and sat back.
Krycek stared from his face down to the box. "What the fuck?" he thought. The box was not large. It was wooden, laguered and black. It was inlaid with unusual gold glyphs on the five sides he could see. It looked all the world like a Chinese - what was it called - a Chinese puzzlebox. But it was definitely *not* Chinese. No, it was more foreign than that. It was, it was....
"What the hell is *that* thing?" Krycek asked looking up into Dupres' narrow, crafty face.
The air grew suddenly heavy as if a storm was approaching. It buzzed between them, electric. There was a smell of ozone. Krycek thought he heard a sound. The sound of voices. Many voices raised in lamentation. Crying out a lament. A litany for the damned.
The Frenchman spoke, "It is the answer to what you seek, Mr. Krycek. Transport. Or if you prefer - the key, as well as the gate to what you wish to find. Pleasure, Mr. Krycek."
"Pleasure?" Alex asked swallowing hard.
"Oui, Monsieur Krycek. What is your pleasure, sir?"
Author's Second Note: Alex is in deep trouble here folks. For those of you familiar with the work of author, artist, and filmmaker, Clive Barker you may recognize the box that the Frenchman has presented to Alex. It is the *Lament Configuration*. The puzzlebox that when opened brings the Cenobites - demonic purveyors of endless pain as well as endless pleasure. I would recommend you rent the film *Hellraiser* to see what may be in store for Alex if he makes the wrong choice here. The leader of the Cenobites is Pinhead and I'm sure he would love to make Krycek's acquaintance. So, I invite you to help Alex out - or damn him -either way it should make an interesting sequel. Feel free to write it.
Disclaimer #2: The *Lament Configuration*, Hellraiser, or any other themes and characters found in the works of Clive Barker are property of Mr. Barker. No copyright infringement is intended and no profit is being made from their use.
***translated from the French: "I heard your soul in your beautiful eyes. I love you, my little Arab. Thank you."
-THE END FOR NOW?-