No infringement of the following characters and situations is intended.
Warning: Rated [MA] Mature Adults only. Contains strong m/m sexual scenes, violence, coarse language and adult themes.
Title: The Kings Shilling
Series: Goldeneye
Status: WIP
Author/pseudonym: Hellblazer
E-mail address: havisham06@yahoo.com
Rating: MA
Pairing: 006/007
Disclaimers: Don't own these characters, MGM and the rest do. No copyright infringement is intended or inferred.
Warnings: may contain slash, H/C, violence, m/m hanky panky, drug use, nudity, coarse language, adult themes
Spoilers: Goldeneye
Summary: Boys own adventures.
For Dee, upon whose email discussions this ficlet is based.
It was the third day. There was only darkness, and pain. He could hear only the sound of his own breathing, ragged now that he had woken into his nightmare. The pain faded into white noise in his brain, his mind almost used to the terrible, constant agony of the untreated burns up along the right side of his torso, flowing up his neck, across his face, destroying the hard beauty that had once been found there. He found he could survive that pain. So they inflicted more. He shut his eyes, waiting for them to come. Knowing they would come. They always did. He had been left for dead. There would be no rescue. Self pity, resentment and the first pangs of hate began to stir in his gut. It was the third day. You always broke on the third day.
James had left him here. Set the timers early and left him here to die. Not quickly, not cleanly with a bullet in the brain, as he’d thought, but slowly, terribly, at the hands of Ourumov.
James. His lover. His brother in arms.
"For England!" They toasted, slamming their glasses together, the champagne sloshing up and over, splashing down.
"What a waste," sighed James, lowering himself to salvage the situation, his tongue flicking out and following the silvery trials of the finest champagne across Alec's smooth, taunt abdomen. Alec's stomach muscles fluttered with laughter. James' tongue tickled. Delighting in the sparkle in his lover's green eyes, Janes spilled more champagne, carefully this time, dribbling the bubbling liquid down onto Alec's stomach, bowing to lap it from his naval. Alec rewarded him with further giggles and squirms.
James held the dripping champagne glass lower and lower, anointing Alec, sliding down to lap up every last drop.
Alec gasped and arched under that wicked tongue.
"Oh, James," he sighed, one hand twisting through the silky dark hair.
"James!" He screamed the name, arching forward. "James, oh, James," he whimpered, his head thrashing to the side as the pain subsided.
"James can't save you now," Ourumov gloated. "He left you here. Gave you up. Sacrificed you. Betrayed you."
"James." The voice was a sobbing plea.
"James."
Green eyes flicked an appraising, teasing glance over him, one he dared not return under the watchful gaze of M. He schooled his features, settling into the seat beside 006, nodding to his companion briefly, before flicking open the folder before him.
"General Ourumov..." M's voice droned on.
His hand slid up Alec's thigh, gratified by the small swallow he saw the blonde agent take.
He swallowed again. He was thirsty. So thirsty. Yet he could not beg for water, He would not beg.
"Who are you!"
"Alec Trevelyan, Major, Her Majesty's..."
The hand struck across his face. The burned side. He bit back his scream.
"Who are you!"
"Alec Trevalyan. Major..."
"Who the bloody hell are you?"
Green eyes glanced down nervously at the government issue linoleum tiles for a moment, then back up again in challenge.
"Alec Trevelyan. Who the bloody hell are you?"
The voice was as smooth as honey.
"Bond, James Bond."
They studied each other, warily, both noting the athletic build, the trained stance, the cold, hard, handsome appeal of the other.
Alec looked to the bunks, saw the top one had already been taken, so he slung his gear on the bottom bunk.
James smiled, a predatory smile.
"Looks like fate and MI6 have thrown us together."
Alec jerked like a puppet on a string as the images flashed before him. His life, someone else's life. The light strobed, the pulses they shot through him burned. He was too tired to weep. he images blurred into one, confusing him. He couldn't tell was what real. he images flashed until he only reacted to a certain set of images, images he thought he knew, images that gave him less pain than the others. A face flashed up, and he screamed. That face caused him more pain than anything else.
He studied the dark face that lay beside his on the pillow, asleep at last. He softly ran his fingers over the almost black comma of hair that fell over his forehead, tracing the outlines of a mouth that no longer seemed so cruel and unforgiving. It was a face he knew better than any other. Better than his own.
His face, what had they done to his face. The pain flared. He tried to twist away from it, but he couldn't. He couldn't escape from himself. He screamed and screamed until they came with huge dripping needles, promising the escape he craved.
Alec stared out of the window moodily.
"Contemplating escape?" James teased, voice soft behind his shoulder.
"It's an officer’s duty," Alec announced sullenly. He hated MI6's idea of bootcamp. He'd considered tunnels, hang gliders, wooden horses, anything his mind grasped at. This was his first time in hell. It was James' third.
James' hands were soft on his shoulders.
"You'll survive if you just do everything they tell you to," he offered helpfully.
Alec took small comfort in his advice, continuing to stare out at the bleak English countryside.
"MI6, top executive known by codename M, staff of..."
Alec told them everything and anything, from top secret files to office gossip, just to get them to stop.
Ourumov let him prattle on. He wasn't even bothering to record this. He already knew everything that Alec Trevelyan had to offer. The secret service never told their hired guns anything more than they needed to know. A bureaucrat would have been a better catch if he had wanted information. But he didn't. This was just stage one.
First, he would make the young man betray his country.
Then he would make him betray his best friend and lover.
Then Alec Trevalyan would belong to him, mind, body and soul.
James slammed the body under him, hard on the ground. Alec looked up, laughing.
"Steady, James. Anyone would think you were doing this for real."
"I am," James whispered, voice laden with promise, as he trapped Alec's body beneath his, pressing his mouth down in a hard, almost cruel kiss.
Alec reeled back, tasting blood in his mouth.
"Rough stuff, James?' he taunted, urging the man to come on, eyes bright with challenge.
They rolled to the very edge. James caught a hand hold while Alec scrabbled desperately.
"God, James, I'm slipping." There was panic in his voice, a fear of death, a fear of losing.
"James!"
A strong hand lashed out and caught his.
"I've got you Alec. Don't worry. I won't let you go. I'm not going to lose you."
James grunted and strained, bracing himself, and Alec felt himself being pulled up, pulled into the arms of the man he loved.
"I couldn't leave you behind, could I?" James gasped, as Alec lay beside him, sweat stained and breathing hard.
"Didn't doubt you for a second, James," alec grinned, equally breathless. He rolled onto his side, and then onto James.
"Trust you with my life," he murmured, lips close to James, as the explosions behind them split apart the night sky.
[July 1997]