Chapter Text
Friend to Fear
And loaded gun
Live life like the owner of a heart of stone.
No one touches,
Touch no one,
But the world gets weary when you're all alone.
-Richard Marx, "Wait For The Sunrise"
May, 1956
He had not been raped, but it felt damned close to it. As close as a consensual sex act could get. If being coerced into accepting another man's attention could be considered consent. In the mind of Dr. Sergei Ivanovich Kourdokov, that seemed to be the case.
"Get dressed and get out," Kourdokov ordered as he cinched a robe around his not inconsiderable girth. The young blond man that still huddled on the bed sat up carefully, favoring his abused hindquarters. "Hurry up!" the older man snarled, hurling clothing at his hapless bedmate. He left his victim in the bedroom.
The slight youth snatched the garments and put them on with trembling fingers, as anxious to get out as Kourdokov was to get him out. The past three hours had not been pleasant ones. Not for him. He had no doubt as to the pleasure Sergei Ivanovich had derived from their tryst, however.
The boy knew he sustained some damage, judging by the blood that gummed his thighs together. He knew the difference between the stickiness of blood as opposed to that of semen. He stoically swallowed his pain as he pulled trousers over bruised hips, slipped his feet into his shoes and stuffed the socks into his coat pocket. Leaning over to pull on socks and tie shoes was more than he wanted to deal with right now.
He left the bedroom and made a beeline for the exit. Kourdokov stopped him at the door, grabbing his jaw in a bone crushing grip. "Not a word of this to anyone. Otherwise, they will send you to a Siberian gulag for being a homosexual. They will believe me, you see, when I tell them how you seduced me while I was drunk."
The boy resisted the urge to break the man's neck. Instead he nodded meekly, continuing his portrayal of an incredibly young, inexperienced lab assistant. In reality, Illya Nicovetch Kuryakin had not been young since his indoctrination into the KGB at eleven and he was all too experienced in the ways of the world. He had slipped into this particular role two weeks prior.
Kourdokov's practice of pressuring male underlings that worked in the facility where he reigned as head physicist into his bed had recently come to the attention of the KGB. Twenty-one-year-old Illya, with his scientific background and pretty looks, had been sent in to see if the information was true.
Kourdokov pressed a painful kiss onto Illya Nicovetch's abused lips. Illya's stomach turned when the older man's thick tongue invaded his mouth for not the first time this evening. The pig tasted like dead fish. Old, decayed, dead fish. Illya barely managed to restrain himself from wrenching away and ripping that tongue out of Sergei Ivanovich's face.
Kourdokov pulled away finally and released his victim's jaw. He opened the door and shoved the slight blond into the hallway. "Make certain you are not late tomorrow." The door slammed shut.
The KGB agent's blue eyes narrowed. "It is you who will be late tomorrow, Sergei Ivanovich," he whispered. He spun on his heel and left.
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Even at five o'clock in the morning, Illya Nicovetch Kuryakin looked resplendent in his KGB uniform as he stood at attention in front of his superior. Colonel Yuri Alexievich Tupikov studied the young man with approval. A good looking boy, he had to admit. Handsome. No, no, that was not quite the right word with which to describe the blond-haired, blue-eyed man-child before him. Pretty. Yes. The boy was pretty. He couldn't blame a man of perversions like Kourdokov for falling under the golden youth's spell. He, himself, could see Illya Nicovetch's appeal and he was most certainly not bent that way!
No wonder the slight youth had originally been chosen to be used as a lure for sexual predators. Luckily, Tupikov had noticed him and, outranking the man who handled the lures in connections if not military standing, was able to claim Kuryakin for his group.
Whoring should be done by those who had no other talents deemed useful by the State. Such was most definitely not the case with Illya Nicovetch. His abilities as an impersonator and eliminator were just too valuable to waste on State run prostitution. Tupikov wondered if the boy standing at rigid attention before him realized how lucky he was. Of course he did. Illya Nicovetch was smart. Easily the most brilliant person Tupikov had ever owned.
No, this boy did not belong as a lure. Unfortunately, sometimes circumstances dictated one must do something to which he was not suited. As was the case with this operation. Illya Nicovetch had gone through the initial whore training before Tupikov had taken over his KGB education. That, coupled with his background in the sciences had made him the perfect candidate for this particular mission. Ah, well, Tupikov decided philosophically. Kuryakin knew one did whatever one must for the preservation of the State.
The young man stood without twitching a muscle under the discerning eye of his superior. Time enough for him to sweat and wonder if he is to be reassigned as a lure permanently, Tupikov decided. "Illya Nicovetch."
"Yes, Comrade Colonel?" Judging by the stiffness of Kuryakin's gait when entering the office, not to mention the agonized moans on the tape made from the bug the agent had planted on Kourdokov's bed, last night's performance had caused some pain. Yet his voice was strong and clear and he stood even straighter at the mention of his name. Tupikov would not have thought he could get any straighter.
"I have listened to the tape of your time with Sergei Ivanovich. It was most . . . interesting." Kuryakin's pale face flushed with obvious embarrassment, but his expression remained neutral, eyes focused on a spot on the wall. "After reviewing it and much discussion with Colonel Voznesensky," the man who'd asked for Kuryakin's help, "we have decided not to put Comrade Kourdokov on trial." Only because he knew him so well was Tupikov able to see how the young officer's face hardened almost imperceptibly at the news. His control was now so good it bordered on frightening. Lure, indeed.
Tupikov snorted at the stupidity of some of his peers. Kuryakin's gaze flickered to him for only a fraction of a second before returning to his chosen spot on the wall. So. There was room for improvement. "The man has excellent connections, Illya Nicovetch." He seldom explained his actions to his junior officers, but in this case he felt it justified. He knew his young officer had wondered why a domestic problem like Kourdokov was handled by the KGB. "Unfortunately for him, this is one of those cases where one's connections can actually be a hindrance. No one wants to be an ally to a man on trial for not only coercing those who work under his supervision into having sex with him, but for homosexual deviance as well." He shook his head. "A trial of a man like Comrade Kourdokov would cause too much publicity for the wrong people. We have decided to have you execute him, instead."
Nothing twitched in the junior officer's impassive face. But the blue eyes darkened, blazing with a new intensity. Tupikov knew Illya Nicovetch disliked carrying out executions. But he seemed able to do so without remorse as long as he believed justice was served. Tupikov had no doubt Kuryakin felt Kourdokov deserved the decreed sentence.
"Method of execution?" asked the KGB killer.
"Your choice, Illya Nicovetch. As long as you are discreet."
"Time frame?"
"Today, I think." Tupikov almost never smiled in front of a subordinate, but he allowed a feral one to cross his face this time. He truly despised sexual predators. The deviation of homosexuality he could handle with aplomb, but rapists, which in his mind Kourdokov was, were abominations. "Does that suit you, Comrade Kuryakin?"
A reflection of Tupikov's cold smile was answer enough.