A Fond Farewell

The gravel crunched under the car tires as it made it's way down the drive. As they passed through the gates of the base and on to the airport, Illya looked back over his shoulder. It had been raining, a light drizzle now settled over everything, dark sullen, clouds blanketing the sky, the whole scene, a leaden dull feeling. Somehow it seemed to highlight the cold, stark exterior of the secluded KGB special training camp. It did nothing to betray the idea that inside, it was just as sparse and merciless. Instructors were still pacing up and down the ranks of young shirtless recruits. Soaked with rain, others forcing them to run obstacle courses in the freezing weather. For many years and too many for Kuryakin to care for, the KGB had used this camp to train it's elite deep cover operatives. The Commandant, a Major Mickal Stoveld, tall and built hard and muscled, he was just as harsh and cold as the camp he ran. A sudden bump, as they joined the main road, bought Illya's mind back to the blue dossier lay on his lap. It contained detailed background notes and characteristics of the young man who's identity he was to assume. Various papers and reports lay on his lap, sordid lists of degraded morals, idle hands. Surely someone so depraved and decadent as this could not be what he was supposed to portray. It may indeed be a more difficult assignment than he initially perceived, layers of the onion peel away.

Illya only hoped he had the stomach to put himself through what would no doubt be needed. Confidence and control through submission had been the two things Stoveld had emphasized not an hour before when he answered the anticipated summons. It had seemed like every minute of the three hours had dragged on to eternity as Illya stood in the anti-room attached to Stoveld's office. The young recruit that had been stationed as the Major's attendant had not made things any easier. A pretty faced young thing that Kuryakin had been hard pressed to ignore. Illya carried a certain reputation on the base for being a willing assistant to the Major's unique training methods. The young recruit could have made an interesting treat. The obvious interest he showed towards Illya made his tight dress pants a lot tighter, impressively so for anyone his apparent age. Suddenly there was a booming voice over the intercom.

"Boy, get your ass in here now!" it bellowed so loud that the intercom hardly seemed necessary. He flew through the door as he opened it. The young boy looked as if he had never seen the edge of a razor, which he had of course. Part of the Major's indoctrination was to take a cut-throat razor to every hair on his young lads' bodies, from the ears down. 'A Close Shave' took on a whole new meaning with the young men in his charge.

Coming to attention the corporal snapped, "Sir, YES, Sir"

"I want Kuryakin and I want him in here NOW!" Stoveld bellowed.

"Sir, YES, Sir!"

The young man clipped back and promptly vanished behind the closing door. Stoveld glanced around his simple, austere office. A polished wooden floor highlighted just how rustic his small corner of the KGB training school was, it suited his needs perfectly. A small heavy and solidly built wardrobe stood in the corner, a seriously huge table, stained and scratched, stood along one side, large metal rings and wooden handles poked out from it's surface, his two fine crystal shot glasses and a large bottle of 100 proof vodka, the only luxuries he allowed his austere life, resting on top of it did nothing to disguise the other more interesting uses he had put that table to over the years. A large oak desk, inlaid with leather in the KGB's historic deep Royal Blue. On the top of the desk sat a small, frame letter, 'Distinguished Employee of State Security' it said, the rarest of awards for service, personally awarded to the recipient by the Chairman of the KGB. The equivalent badge was fastened firmly on his breast. Stoveld looked down to the only other object on his desk, a closed, royal blue leather folder. He pushed the folder away from him, not wanting to think of the consequences of the orders inside.

His latest, if slightly premature young graduate officer, Illya Kuryakin, was headed into a mission that could very well see the end of the nubile young man. The prospect of loosing him was a disappointment, but he would just have to see what would happen. The fact this mission had been so urgent also meant that he would now miss the opportunity of completing Kuryakin's training and since he looked forward to each final lesson he was not at all a happy man. His original orders had been simple. "Kuryakin is too pretty and far too intelligent for us to ignore, he is useful Major. Teach him how to use his looks as well as his brains. Show him what we expect from a loyal KGB officer. Teach him everything." That had been a pleasure, a smile began to creep across his face.

Kuryakin stepped smartly through the doorway. The Major brightened at the prospect of dispensing some discipline to the attendant, 'smart arse' he thought, anticipating who he was to summon was just too cocky for that young fellow, no doubt checking his correspondence again. The thought of a harsh beating helped him calm down, in one sense. The office door opened and through it stepped a vision of perfection. Tall, lithe and looking more like a pre-pubescent demoiselle than any boy had the right to. With an easy grace Illya Kuryakin seemed to almost glide across to the Major's desk. His cap perched on a shock of blonde hair that struggled, in vain, to stay under control. Deep blue eyes blazed from his ivory smooth face. His starched uniform only served to augment the stunning look of this boy. Stoveld could not help feel a swell of pride to match the swell that grew between his thighs. Illya suddenly stopped, snapped to attention and became almost statuesque in front of Stoveld.

"Sir, You summoned me, Sir!" Even his voice bore an aristocratic tenor.

"At ease Kuryakin, lock the door." Stoveld commanded.

Stoveld had to maintain the illusion of the stern disciplinarian with Illya. All his reserves had yielded to this young boy months ago. In reality Stoveld's training could go no further, Illya could get out the Major anything he wanted and more.

"Kuryakin, you have been given an assignment. You will do this outfit and my training proud." The Major pushed the assignment folder across the desk, the wealth of pain evident in his eyes.

"Sir! you mean that my training is complete, Sir?!" Illya replied. The steel grip he controlled his emotions with gave no hint to the shock he felt, Kuryakin expected this to eventually happen; however the suddenness of it had caught him a little off balance. With casual aplomb he leafed through the folder and looked up directly into the eyes of his lover.

"The KGB are aware of that, however, this is a great honor for you and most probably wasted on a youth. Nevertheless, you are ideally suited to this type of work." With an appearance of icy detachment Stoveld continued the briefing, "Pravda has reported that a number of teenagers have gone missing, all of whom are from loyal KGB officers and party officials. The bodies have recently been recovered in Finland and have been in various states of mutilation and horrifying sexual abuse. All of the victims have been male and of outstanding personal appearance. As you can appreciate the Polit Bureau wants an end to this situation. What is known from our agents in the west is that similar abductions have occurred in the USA, UK, France and East Germany." Stoveld lent back watching his young charge intently as he lit his cigarette and took a long steadying breath.

"Does there appear to be a pattern sir? Perhaps a group laying claim to these acts?"

"Until two weeks ago our agents were stumped, however, they have come across an anarchist group called THRUSH."

"THRUSH, sir?"

"Yes we believe it stands for the Technical Hierarchy for the Removal of Undesirables and the Subjection of Humanity."

"And the location sir?"

"Their activities seem to be centered around a private sauna club in Helsinki."

Illya took a breath, "Why not just close down their operation?"

"Our officers have discovered a number of covert operatives of this organisation placed into sensitive positions of the KGB. Whilst the disappearances and deaths of our youths is unfortunate we are primarily concerned as to why and how THRUSH managed to infiltrate the KGB. Your mission is to allow yourself to be abducted and find out their primary objectives. You will be deep undercover and will meet with an agent on a weekly basis. Central will take care of the details. Apart from the disappearances of these children, we have no idea of what the objectives of THRUSH are or how far they have spread. It is going to be your mission is to infiltrate them and discover everything you can about them primarily their objectives, methods and motivations."

"I do know that you are expendable to the KGB and that they will not orchestrate anything other than the basic backup or retrieval measures we will not be able to track you movements. Once you have entered into THRUSH we suspect you will be put through a training course. It appears that the youths we have found so far have failed. I would be very disappointed if you fail Kuryakin, and would take that personally. Just remember two things, control through submission and confidence, Illya."

Illya smiled at the words, aware of the endearment and hope behind them.

"Your official cover is to be that you are to be transferred tonight to become the First Lieutenant of the submarine 'The Kirsova', which is currently patrolling the Baltic Sea. You are to meet with her when she docks for supplies in Helsinki tomorrow. A substitute officer will take your place allowing you to drop out sight and take up your real assignment. 'The Kirsova' is not expected back in Helsinki for 6 months, giving you sufficient opportunity to complete this mission without being missed."

Stoveld's eyes locked with Illya's and told him at least one person would miss him, even if it were for the more selfish reason of wanting his body for his own personal gratification. Illya broke eye contact and glanced at the content of the dossier, "I see that transport has been arranged."

"Yes we have a Tupolev 2 standing by Vnukovo, its a direct flight to Helsinki due to depart in two hours."

Stoveld paused to open his desk draw and pulled out another royal blue folder and handed it to Illya, "All the relevant identification, documentation and some personal effects you will need once you are in Finland are in this."

Illyan quickly flicked through the content of the folder "I see that I am to assume the identity of the local KGB director's son, Sergi Zabaletta."

"Yes the father will be your contact in Helsinki, Director Nikoli Zabaletta. Conveniently, Sergi is currently here in Moskva being cared for by Central. One of the reasons you have been chosen for this assignment Kuryakin is that you strike a convincing resemblance to this young man. You will have a few hours to familiarize yourself with his dossier during your flight. You might find some of Sergi's private 'interests' beneficial in maintaining your cover, he's particularly well known in certain social circles in Helsinki."

Stoveld amused tone aroused Illya's curiosity and he made a mental note to investigate just what were the nature of Sergi's interests.

"If you have no other questions Kuryakin, there is a car waiting outside to take you to Vnukovo Air Terminal," Stoveld casually gestured towards the wardrobe in the corner of his office. "You will find your clothes are in there. Leave everything you have on you here on my desk and put them on now."

Stoveld had carefully arranged this so he could enjoy Kuryakin one last time before he left. He was taking a huge risk, if Stoveld's control was monitoring this briefing, both of them could be finished. The look on Stoveld's face indicated to Illya that he should say nothing.

Illya realized immediately what Stoveld wanted. In absolute silence Illya emptied his pockets placed the contents in a small stack on the desk before him. Slowly, seductively he then stripped off his jacket and shirt dropping them casually on Stoveld's desk. Undoing his belt, he let his pants and shorts drop to the floor, allowing his master and teacher a full view of his quickly hardening, uncut cock. Fully erect now, Stoveld's own massive member hammered for release from his pants. Illya took a step backwards turning around as he bent over to undo his shoes and step out of his pants.

Stoveld caught the gasp in his throat as he looked at Illya's pert young arse cheeks parted before him. A shaven ball sack hung down between his slightly spread legs and all The Major could think of was caressing them with his hard calloused fingers. Before he even realized it, Stoveld had his cock out working it slowly as he watched this silent presentation before him. Illya now stood there completely naked except for his cap, still jauntily perched on his wild blonde hair and flashed a cheeky smile at Stoveld.

"Bring my vodka over here Kuryakin, I think a small toast to the success of your first mission is in order." Stoveld ordered.

Illya silently padded over to the large table, picking up the two glasses and the bottle of vodka he bought them back to Stoveld's desk. Stoveld drank in the perfect shape of Kuryakin's round arse as he walked; the ripple of his muscles excited him. Getting up, he walked around the desk, poured two shots of warm vodka and saluted.

"To the revolution!" they proclaimed in unison.

Illya quickly sunk to his knees and with expert hands drew Stoveld to him, finding his commander's 12 inch cock and tooking it quickly into his mouth

Grabbing Illya's head, Stoveld snatched handfuls of blonde hair. Silently and ruthlessly, Stoveld started to fuck his young lover's face. As the vodka remaining in his slut's mouth set fire to his tender glans, his huge tight ball sack pounded into Illya's chin.

Just as Illya tasted Stoveld's strong and salty cum bursting into his throat, his own pent up orgasm released itself in a great gush all over the nicely polished floor. Illya quietly finished dressing as Stoveld lit another cigarette, looking at the great pool of his young charge's cum on the floor at his feet.

"On your way out Kuryakin, send Nickolas in, I have some things here I need to tie up."

Illya smiled, he knew it would not take Stoveld long to get over his infatuation with himself.

"Sir, Yes, Sir" Kuryakin crisply bark.

Smoke get's in your eyes

Illya climbed out of the taxi. He wasn't required to contact his "father" for another couple of days and a bit of exploring this city would do him good. Eight hours of flight time had worn his nerves thin, he needed to relax, to find his feet. Illya wandered aimlessly for awhile, getting the feel of the city. He had no real idea where he was heading but found himself wandering through the market square the center of the city. Sea gulls screeched as they wheeled over head, the crowds swept him along past monuments and impressive buildings. The ferries to the sea fortress of Suomenlinna leaving from the market square quay blared horns as the made their way over the glittering waters. The flea market was mesmerizing, fruit and produce from all over the country was there for sale. People crowded around too much for Illya and he started to walk along the shoreline to Kaivopuisto Park. It was a shattering contrast to the training camp he had been confined to for the last few months. As the sky began to darken Illya went in search of a hotel to base himself out of for his mission.

Wandering around the city for a couple more days, Illya got a feeling for the city, cosmopolitan and relaxed. It wasn't the sort of place he would immediately associate with a determined ring of tortuous murderers. A sauna was just what his tired body needed, he still hadn't completly recovered after the long, gruelling and rough flight from Moscow. The Tupolev's were never built for their comfort.

Illya wandered through the darkening streets and eventually found himself outside the enterence to the sauna that was mentioned in his briefing. "Well," he thought, "it wouldn't hurt to investigate"

The blast of heat assaulted him, the steam and pungent smoke were almost unbearable. Kuryakin was use to the heat, it was actually quite mild compared to what he had become used to back at the training base. He walked slowly forward; traditionally these smoke saunas were small single rooms, heated by burning fragrant wood then clearing the smoke out before anyone entered. This however, appeared to be unusually large or rather it seemed to be a series of smaller rooms joined together forming an elaborate maze like system. The smoke should have been expelled, but it was strong, spicy and still lingered. Three days of wandering the city familiarizing himself with the local hang outs and cafe scene had left him tired and weary.

Illya moved on, as he explored he tried to avoid the distracting gazes of the other young men who were sitting or lying naked on the benches in each room. He was here for a purpose; to find the contact that would bring him over to THRUSH. He knew with all his training in the KGB, and his cover story of being on naval service well established, he was ready for this: no backup, no control, no supervision- or so he had been told.. Should he believe them? Cunning as they were Kuryakin didn't believe the KGB would jeopardize this scenario by placing him under surveillance here, or would they? As his thoughts came back to the reality of his situation, he suddenly realized the steam and smoke had become so dense he no longer could see a thing. Maybe he wasn't as ready for this as he thought, a mixture of mild panic and the repressive heat created small beaded sweat on his face, forming small rivulets that dripped off his sharp jaw line and traced their way down his well formed body.

He stopped, trying in vain to clear his thoughts and orient himself; he should try to find somewhere to sit down. Suddenly out of the mist a hand touched the small of his back, another stranger trying to find his way? Turning quickly, Kuryakin was surprised to find the young man was closer than he realized. Losing his balance, the harmless hand on his back became an embrace and he found himself now held to this stranger's smooth, bare body.

A deep voice in his ear, "Careful, you don't want to fall".

Kuryakin could feel the deep baritone rumble through his chest. He tried to back away but this stranger's strong arms held him firm, his other hand gently slid down his back to skillfully remove the towel Illya had carefully wrapped around his slim hips. Freed from it's protective cover, the young man grasped Illya's smooth bare ass and pulled him closer. Shock, the intoxicating effect of the smoke and the heat all caused Illya to petrify where he stood. He could feel this man's hardness grind against his own rapidly responding body. Illya's mind spun out of control in an intoxicating mixture of fear, confusion and desire. His body, however, responded almost with a passionate mind of it's own. This stranger's hands seemed to hold a power, caressing and kneading Illya's body into a tingling mass of sensations. A huge shuddering tremor blasted through Illya's body, flooding his already confused mind with a deeper, almost primordial, overload. Illya stood there, without thought he clung to this source of desire that held him. His hands explored this stranger's body, muscles rigid and warm, contours drenched in sweat, a smell of manhood that exploded in his mind. Illya knew he wanted this, nothing would stop him, absolutely nothing! His mouth found this stranger's neck, kissing and drinking in the pulse that subtly echoed throughout his own body. Their mouth's interlocked, the connection made, tongues rolled around each other, exploring, probing, thrusting deep into each other. Illya drank it in like a drowning man's need for air. There was nothing outside of this embrace.

Without realizing it, Illya had been guided backwards in the direction of a bench where he now found himself laying supine under this man's mastery. Illya surrendered to the sensations that besieged him. An efficient set of hands bought a fire to his soul he had never experienced before, how could the training Major Stoveld and the KGB had instilled in him, done anything to prepare him for this?

Illya drew his Lover down on to him, naked, sweat slicked bodies slid together, a friction that drove them both on deeper into desire. An unexplainable need filled Illya, He slipped downwards under his Lover, kissing his neck, collar bone, the cleft between his Lover's well shaped pectorals. He clamored for his Lover's nipple, taking it in his mouth, Illya heard the moan that his gentle ministrations caused and a surge of gratification filled him. He could feel this man's cock, wet and hard, press against his abdominal, he let himself slide lower still and was stunned as he saw this swollen member, slowly Illya took it in his mouth, rolling his tongue over the smooth glans and relished the sweet, sharp taste. Gently, but firmly, he was compelled to admit more as his Lover pressed deeper into his hot throat. The smooth, soft skin of his scrotum slapped on Illya's chin as he forced himself to control his gag reflex, he found a deep delighting in being taken, used to fulfill his Lover's need.

Suddenly, almost in response to Illya's unspoken craving, Illya found himself flipped over on his face. His Lover slid down and positioning himself at the cleft of Illya's hunger. As he relaxed, Illya felt the fullness of his Lover drive deep into him. Illya gasped as a heady mixture of pain and pleasure exploded in him. Pressing back he drove his Lover deeper and harder until, in an almost shattering release, they reached their climax together.

The immediate desire of these two young men quenched they lay recovering in each other's arms, somewhere in the back of Illya's mind a question kindled, he needed to know who this man was. He asked his awe-inspiring young Lover in a slightly stammering voice, "Your name! I, I need, to know who are you. What do they call you?"

"They sometimes call me Solo, Napoleon Solo, my Inamorato" A suddenly realization slammed home, "Inamorato", was the code word the THRUSH contact was to use to identify himself to Illya.

Illya stammered, "I'm Sergi, Sergi Zabaletta", he managed to remember.

"I know," Napoleon slowly lent forward, smiled and kissed him. He whispered into Illya's ear "Let's, get out of here, I think I need something, argh somewhere a little less confusing"

A warm relaxing thought made it's way into Illya's head, maybe this assignment would not be as bad as he imagined.

Dust motes danced and floated in the air as a bright, golden beam of light punched through the small opening in the curtains. Illya had been watching it's slow progress across the naked boy laying next to him. The gossamer fine hair on his muscular body shone where the warm light touched him. He had been laying there for the last couple of hours mulling over some deep thoughts, his normally emotionless mind had become a turmoil of thoughts and feelings. His time with other men had been forceful, almost brutal. This one was different, there was some deep need in him, some sensual desire which he was totally unfamiliar with.

He couldn't remember finding their way back to wherever Napoleon was living. After leaving the sauna the two young lovers had seemly wandered the streets for hours. He must have finally collapsed and slept. The effect of the drugged smoke had passed and now Illya was trying to sort through his mind. The light from the curtain had slowly made it's way up to Napoleon's face. The bright light brought his mind back to consciousness and he opened his eyes to look straight into Illya's.

"Good morning, how did you sleep? Well I hope." Solo asked as smiled.

"Well enough, though I'm famished." Illya replied.

"Hmm food what a good idea, That's easily fixed." Napoleon answered as he reached up behind the bed and pulled a bell sash.

A slim young boy slowly opened the door a few minutes later. Illya's eyes wandered over to him and he blinked. The boy was standing there wearing a huge studded leather collar with thick leather straps around his ankles and wrists and a most remarkable full leather hood locked and strapped down around his throat.

"Master requires service?" he enquired

"Food, breakfast, fast, and lot's of it" Solo replied, without even turning from Illya

A short while later what Illya assumed was the same boy, rolled a trolley laden with dishes of covered food into the room. Solo bounced out of bed and over to it as soon as the door closed behind the slave. Illya allowing his gaze to stray down the tall muscular form of his new found lover as he made his way across the room. The perfectly shaped globes of Napoleon's arse clenched as he walked, Illya couldn't help feeling his lust for this young man rising again.

Solo returned to the bed, with a plate piled high with food in one hand and two cups of strong black coffee in the other. Sitting on the bed, he carefully fed Illya mouthfuls of food.

"That boy?" Illya managed to get out between mouthfuls.

"Don't worry yourself about him my Inamorato, you will soon get used to them." Solo replied with a cheeky smile, 'them' thought Illya as he smiled back, he knew no matter how he tried Solo would not be drawn further on the subject. "We shall go and meet someone you need to see, as soon as we are finished here. He is most keen on meeting you Sergi." placing the empty plate on the trolley, Napoleon stood and walked over to the bathroom. "come here, I'll clean you up so we can go" he beckoned from the doorway.

Illya slid out of bed and padded over to the bathroom. Pristine white tiles were everywhere, an elaborate chrome shower head, complete with metal hosing and fittings was simply attached to one wall and a low tiled bench ran up the middle of the room giving somewhere to sit while being hosed down. Napoleon had his own private bathhouse. He stood there holding the shower hose in his hand. As Illya walked in and went to sit, Solo gently turned him around and bent him forward over the seat and slowly ran the hose up into Illya's tight arse. The rush of warm water filling his arse sent him hard in an instant.

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