Alex woke with Yassen tenderly kissing the bruises on his neck. The adrenalin rush of the escape and evade, questioning and then losing his virginity had resulted a night of undisturbed sleep despite the cuffs around his wrists, tied to the bedframe. Alex smiled, enjoying the lingering ache in his backside and thinking about the pleasure of being fucked last night and whispered "Fuck me again, Yasha."

The Russian chuckled as he stretched and got up, dressing in ill fitting clothes in fluid, silent movements like a dancer. "You might have recovered from our nocturnal activities, but I need breakfast first. Sounds and smells like Declan has cooked a full fry."

Alex leaned to kiss his lover as his hands were untied, as the fifteen year old stood he winced in discomfort. Noting his pain made Yassen possessive. "I'm starved, but you destroyed my clothes. I doubt those fellas downstairs wasn't to see me in all my glory."

"Hand-me-downs have been provided. My prison garb have also been burned. Lets eat."

…

No one said anything as the fifteen year old was still restrained in his cuffs this morning, only now his hands were to his front. Declan chained the kid's ankles to the table before removing the cuffs, knowing that the teenager was more than capable of killing them all just for the amusement of the Russian. Then again, Cossack had not argued with Seamus that Rider was dangerous, doubly so as he had no loyalty to anyone, not even cold hard cash.

Declan watched the boy carefully cut up, chew and swallow his eggs, leaving the meat and bread, though he drank tea, his throat must be tender as it was a mass of bruises. The fifty five year old tried not to think the kid looked like his own youngest, who was more interested in girls, gaming, football and music than politics nor the family business. This one had been declared an enemy of the state before taking his GCSEs and was not even shaving, none here would argue he had the right to bed who he wanted and when he wanted considering he was doing a man's job and his sticking two fingers up at MI6 was the best news for all here. Though prison tended to make strange bedfellows. The kid only had a shirt around his shoulders, open to his waist so all saw the scar from a bullet wound just above his heart.

As the teenager drank his third cup of strong sweet tea, his eyes were on the Russian. As their eyes met Rider looked up, signalling his hope for another round of fucking. The two guards had played cards last night and listened to the muffled sounds of the pair well into the night.

….

The seclusion of the Donegal farm lasted less than a day after the perfection of consummation of the escaped prisoner's pent up desire. Seamus returned at six the next evening with bad news. "I have a van outside, loaded with charity boxes for the poor motherless orphans in Africa. MI6 have placed kill on sight order on both of you. Three search and destroy teams crossed the border and its no longer safe here. Both of you need to be hidden in the back. We leave now for Dun Laoghaire, we'll stop for fuel just outside Dublin and you'll transfer to a taxi. A private jet will be waiting near Athlone." The Irishman rubbed his neck, it had been a stressful few hours, finding out the British were willing to kill one of their own rather than let him be free from their influence. "I was going to offer the lad sanctuary here. No one in SCORPIA would dare to go against me, neither would the British, normally. You'll be flying to Azerbaijan, then on to Hanoi. Dr. Three has heard of your freedom, your liquidating the other prisoners and your hostage. Its not a request, but a summons. There's no running from that man. Come on, then." In his heart, ever the realist, the Director of SCORPIA's remaining assets in Europe was of the opinion that the old board had made too many enemies and too many mistakes. The rationalisation of the organisation had been overdue, with simpler goals. Rider was the scapegoat for Rothmans, Wu and Kursk's mistakes.

…..

Alex had no fear of death, not anymore. Dr. Three was fascinated by his lack of self preservation and suicidal tendencies. The interrogations involved no pain, just conversations and the old man played the part of confessor excellently. The fifteen year old had talked for hours and hours, about everything from Ian, Blunt, blackmail, to training, operations and Yassen. The expert in the psychology of interrogation was a world renown doctor, specialising in personality disorders. After a year with no control and no hope of ever being normal, Alex knew he was an interesting case, proving the point that using and abusing teenagers did huge amounts of damage. His life mirroring that of a Russian teenager who found his escape becoming a killer, no wonder he felt closer to Yassen than any other.

He lay on the cot, staring at the brightly lit ceiling, aware that enforced sleep deprivation was no worse than his own insomnia and nightmares. He whistled, lowered his pyjamas and started to jerk off, wishing it was his lover touching him.

….

Yassen watched the video feed showing his teenager lover masturbate. Stoic, silent and passive in the company of Dr. Three, as he was well aware that his own life hung in the balance. The seventy-five year old Chairman of SCORPIA had never wanted the position and did not have the youth, drive or energy to rebuild what had been destroyed during the power struggle after the retirement of Max Grendel.

It was the doctor who broke the silence. "Your moment in the sun is over. I have known you for nearly twenty years, you do not waste emotions, you are a survivor. Either you die with that boy or you live for him as Rider has bargained for your life. Retire or continue to be what you are."

"He is to die then."

Dr. Three smiled grimly. "Your orders were clear after the failure of the Stormbreakers. He has no qualms about dying. Knows he has been living on borrowed time. He cannot go home as all that idyll is confined to the past. That housekeeper's selfishness to go back to America and not take him with her has done irreparable damage to an already traumatised young man. His ploy to free you in Scotland, was for you to go and leave him to hang himself. He did not care if you killed all in your bid for freedom." The doctor pondered what a wonderful specimen the spy was, conditioned since childhood. A perfect weapon mishandled from the start and left to rot, when howe no longer responded to threats. "If the Board had given me Rider last year, we would have been stronger. Only they would never have handed me the perfect soldier to control. That bitch Rothmans wanted everything her own way. Kursk was no better. Never seeing the promise of Rider's training. Now, he has made his bargain. What is your choice, Cossack? SCORPIA has need of new directors. In a position of power you can still strike at MI6 for destroying your young lover."

…..

Alex smiled at his interrogator and tried to relax as much as the uncomfortable chair, ankle shackles and wrist restraints allowed. "May the condemned man have a last request?"

Dr. Three smiled back and pondered the odd request as the MI6 spy had not once begged for his life. "Ask, I cannot guarantee I will grant your final wish."

Slumping forward and placing his head in his hands for support on the table, Alex was fully aware this man could kill him extremely slowly if he wanted too. "In our third session, we discussed my fear of vivisection from Point Blanc, fear of the dark, being cut up piecemeal for Wu's transplant hospital. MI6 are well aware about these phobias that fuel my night terrors. Kidneys, liver, cornea, eyes, whatever you can harvest. I want to be a donor, not just a corpse. My heart is fucked, the doctor's told me I had enough damage from the assassination to be worried about long term. The Bank didn't bother send me for any checkups so send that lump of meat to Mrs Jones."