After four days, Alex had moved into Sergei room. He was a full time lover and partner. Sergei took in the fact Alex had a rucksack of belongings, one he had brought from London for a weeks holiday which had now turned into three weeks here and this dacha was now his home for the foreseeable future. Sergei had a walk in wardrobe and dressing room, two racks awaiting Alex's belongings. He would have to get Maria to arrange for Alex's other belongings to be brought here. He imagined the young poet having boxes of books and more clothes and miscellaneous trappings associated with Western teenage boys from game systems to music. "Do you have much left in England that needs couriering here? " the Russian asked, wanting to make his lover happy and fully at home.

Alex smiled as he dropped the rucksack and three journals. "I left my old journals with Edward, he was happy to keep them. So this is everything."

The older man looked appalled at Alex's small range of belongings. "This is all you own?" He reittereated in English, just to make sure the young man had not mistranslated his question.

"Yep my worldly goods." Alex said quite proudly as if one bag of belongings was the most natural thing in the world. He'd sold a lot of his possessions after he finished his exams. Books, dvd's, his bike and anything not really necessary was sold, swapped, binned or given to charity.

Sergei looked at the boy. His background check on Alex had shown that his parent's had not been poor, his father earned over half a million a year for four years with Scorpia. His mother had been ahighly paid nurse in a technical specialism, in London. She had earned enough to live well in the Capital, quite separately from her husband. His uncle earned a decent wage, got regular bonuses and managed the boy's trust to perform well. "Your uncle was a banker, overseas account manager. He earned a six figure salary before bonuses. He owned a house in Chelsea. You have a trust fund worth at least three million pounds sterling." exclaimed Sergei.

"And I'll not see a penny until I'm 21," stated Alex. "I have enough savings to get by." Alex knew he was missing the point somehow as he watched Sergei rummage through the ruck sack. "God, you're going to say I need a make over. I am not a girl!"

Sergei looked at the collection of worn and ill fitting items. He had thought Alex had been into what was it grudge, but these clothes were second, maybe third or fourth hand. Well washed and worn. Others were mass produced shoddy, cheap and poor quality. The boy had been in care. Sergei then made the connection. It was the British equivalent of a state orphanage. The state had provided the bare minimum for survival. No wonder the boy looked half starved and ill groomed. He was obviously always hungry, given enough for basic food, shelter and clothing, but not enough for new. "You need clothes." The russian went to pick up his phone, making a quick decision to change Alex's outlook on life from survival mode to living and living well. "Maria. Maria, darling. I need a favour... Yes yes an emergency. Take Alex shopping... Everything... You have no idea... Completely hopeless... No, I think you can burn what he owns. Half an hour Good."

Alex looked at Sergei warily. "What have I been signed up for?"

"You have never been shopping. You'll either love it or hate it. Maria has a platinum card and very good taste. Trust her." Sergei then walked out of the room muttering "Never been shopping!", and he shook his head. Alex had obviously broken some unwritten rule. Most of Alex's clothes were scavenged from charity shops, only underpants and socks were bought new in bulk packs from the supermarket. He had never been stylish but there had never been any need to be. He had not wanted anyone to notice him. Sergei had seen through the scruffy exterior and liked what he saw. Why did he now need to go shopping? He had one decent outfit for going out. That was enough?

Alex watched the room smoking his filterless russian cigarettes. Alex had never been to the Kremlin before and was impressed by the opulence. The rooms were beyond grand. Sergei was working, the room was filled with officers in uniform and many others wearing designer clothes. The women dressed in haute couture and dripping in diamonds. Alex was dressed to kill to blend in, in a penguin suit picked out by Maria. Some American called Tom Ford had designed it. Alex pulled out his pocket notebook and started playing with words. Alex had started to write love poems. Not nice lovey dovey poems but his reality of hard hopeless love. Alex was lost in his musings when a man came up to him.

Alex recognised a face from his past. "Hello John Masterson, Cigarette?" Alex offered after pocketing his notes. His face blank not wanting to give this spook anything to report on.

The american took the offered tab and welcomed Alex's offer of a light. John Masterson noted the gold cigarette case and matching lighter, both with inscriptions 'from Sergei Abramovich to Alex, with love. "Thank you Alex. How are you doing? Taking your medication?"

Alex was tempted to floor the bastard but he smiled and gently answered, "Why I'm just loving Moscow and I've been clean for over six months now."

Masterson looked at Alex. He looked fit and healthy, before offering his warning of this seventeen year old's chosen lover, if the rumours were true, and considering the cost of the gifts and Alex's new wardrobe, the kid was a kept boy. "Sergei Rushkov is a dangerous man."

Alex smiled and replied "I am a dangerous man, John. Is it scary that I'm a free agent now?"

"Planning to follow in Yassen's footsteps?" inquired the American with an intense gaze. He was going to have words with Sir Charles about Alex's life choices when he got back to safe and secure channels at the embassy.

"No, its too lonely a life for me. I plan on being Sergei's little bed warmer as long as he'll have me. I found I like being a whore." With that blunt statement of fact, Alex left the CIA man to ponder his words and went in search of some refreshments.

Sergei walked up to his young lover who was stood on a terrace as if waiting to leave. His security had passed on that the CIA station chief in Moscow had been talking to Alex. "So Alex, are the CIA interested in you?"

"John Masterson was part of the extraction team that rescued me after I was abducted. He gave me cigarettes once I was off oxygen." Alex would rather not remember those times. The empty feeling creeping into his soul, he was just a bed warmer. Then for Yassen and now for Sergei.

"You were injured?" Sergei asked, knowing that Alex had been abandoned by his kidnapper rather than exchanged. In that short period Alex had slashed his wrists, Sergei had understood it had not been that serious, having been found quickly and treated by the American Navy.

"No, I tried to kill myself. The first of three attempts I made over the next year. I was very unhappy. Surely your security people gave you a file on me?" Alex knew Edward had written about Alex's failure to thrive in detail. Even without Yassen, boarding school would have driven him into despair, Chi had been such a breath of fresh air after the hell of Petrus.

"I only read bits and pieces . I'm sure it didn't mention the CIA?" Sergei looked puzzled, he was sure he would have remembered details like that.

"I bet it didn't mention MI6 either. When I got back to London I was wrung dry for all information on Yassen and the people he works for. Then I went to the clinic in Israel and they tried to fix me." Alex stated morosely, glossing over the few facts that he could not discuss.

The russian looked at Alex's blank face. "Tried?"

Alex looked at his lover and smiled. "I'm a complete fuck-up Sergei. No sane person occasionally cuts themselves to ribbons." With that Alex seems to shrink in on himself.

Sergei stroked Alex's face. "Beautiful boy. You were writing earlier?"

Alex pulled out his small notebook and opened at his most recent page of scribbles. "Yes, I was thinking of you. Read."

Sergei was genuinely surprised "Oh Alex. For me?"

"For you, Sergei Abramovich."

Fill the raging emptiness inside me, still the silent storm. Is it love I feel? Such an alien concept to a lost soul like me. Possess me, calm my pain. Love me, if you can.

Sergei was kissing him, in public at a state function, not caring of the taboo. Alex pulled away to ask "Is it love Sergei?"

"I have loved you since I first saw you, dear boy. I am blessed to have you in my life".