The Knight's Tale - 8. Chapter 8

Bijan Tohjani’s “dead” body was lovingly washed, wrapped in soft linens, and carried on a small rolling platform the short distance from his family’s home to the ancient burial-place of his forebears.

Asenath and the women of the house provided the “musical” accompaniment of wails and ululations. Hassan and the men who worked on the estate followed Ayatullah Mirsami and the corpse. There were no other mourners, but several uniformed Revolutionary Guards stood stonily watching at a respectful distance, Colonel al-Khamenei among them.

Entering the tomb, Hassan reverently placed his son’s lifeless body on a stone shelf, where he would lie for one year before being immured in one of the wall niches. The imam intoned the necessary prayers, and the two men stepped back outside, closing and locking the portal.

As the family returned to the house to grieve in private, three armed IRGC guards took up position at the entrance and two sides of the mausoleum.

 

At approximately two o’clock in the morning, a loud explosion rocked the sleeping neighborhood. Three blocks from the Tohjani estate, a column of fire and smoke billowed furiously up into the pitch-dark sky. The three sentries dashed toward the sound, fearing an attack from one of Iran’s many real and imagined enemies.

As soon as the guards ran off, Winnie and two local operatives dressed all in black emerged from the wood and crept toward the mausoleum, carrying a large cloth bag. They were five metres away, still concealed by undergrowth, when they noticed an ominous figure approaching.

“Shit!” Winnie signaled to the others to crouch down.

The dark apparition made its way haltingly toward the door of the crypt.

A withered hand extended out of a grey robe and tried the door handle. It was locked.

Ayatullah Shaikh Mirsami took a step back and looked up to the stars. Raising both hands in a gesture of prayer and rocking forward and back, he spoke soft words in Arabic.

“He’d better fucking hurry up that goddamn prayer,” Winnie whispered to himself.

Lowering his hands, the imam bowed reverently toward the locked door. The solitary mourner turned and slowly shuffled away.

Winnie and his men waited until he was out of sight. They couldn’t be sure how long the guards would be willing to risk investigating the explosion. They might return at any moment.

In a rapid maneuver, Winnie and the two men opened the mausoleum, brought in a body wrapped exactly as Bijan’s and removed his limp figure. They closed and locked the crypt and vanished into the darkness of the wood.

Scarcely a minute later, the three IRGC guards returned. Examining the tomb and believing nothing had been disturbed, they remained on station for the rest of the night.

The explosion had turned out to be the result of a natural gas leak in an unoccupied house down the avenue from the Tohjanis’ home. Fire and police had arrived, followed almost immediately by Revolutionary Guards. The sentries had quickly retreated unseen and never mentioned their absence to anyone.

Hassan and his wife had observed the clandestine operation from a darkened room.

Clinging tightly to her husband, Asenath spoke through her tears, “Our son is in God’s hands now.

“Insha’Allah, let us hope he is in even better hands,” Tohjani replied.

 

Winnie and his two cohorts rapidly but carefully carried Bijan’s seeming lifeless body, still wrapped in his burial cloth, through the thick wood behind the Tohjani mansion.

The path out of the wood led up the side of Mount Tochal. It ended at a single-lane dirt road where a Land Rover had been waiting, its motor idling.

The two men in black helped trundle Bijan into the back seat and belt him in beside Henry, who had been waiting anxiously. Winnie and the driver made sure the two passengers were secure and then jumped into the front seats and drove off. The local men melted into the darkness.

Bijan moaned once or twice about an hour into their escape, but he didn’t wake up.

Henry accused Winnie, “Bloody fucking hell! You said he was supposed to be out cold for 24 hours or more.”

Without taking his eyes off the road ahead, Winnie answered, “The damned drug is beginning to wear off a bit earlier than expected, but no harm is done, so far. It appears the bastards forgot to test it on someone who’s being knocked about on a fucking death-defying mountain road.”

 

The narrow, winding lane skirted the mountain at an altitude of about 1000 metres. Headlights off, the driver navigated solely by moonlight.

More than once Henry was grateful it was too dark to see the precipice they were navigating. The sound of stones dropping off the verge into the inky night was enough to convince him they were mere inches from disaster.

After perhaps half an hour, although it felt like much longer, the little dirt track became a paved road, then widened into a two-lane street with a few darkened houses here and there.

Soon, the Land Rover merged onto a four-lane highway and headed north toward the seashore, never exceeding the speed limit or driving in a way to call attention to them.

As best they could tell, their daring extraction of Bijan’s body had not been detected. Winnie had a small radio, but he was advised not to activate it until they reached their first destination, because the IRGC monitor all communications near Tehran.

Even in the safe house, he was to use the radio for no more than 30 seconds and keep it switched off all the rest of the time. Any communications would be in a brief string of codewords.

 

Three hours later they reached the village of Chalus on the Caspian Sea. The moon had set and they could not see the water, but cool sea air helped calm their nerves.

Turning east, they followed the coastal road for another ninety minutes and approached the port city of Bābul Sar at five in the morning. The sky was just beginning to show the first streaks of daylight.

The provincial capital had a population of around 75,000. Like many cities that were born as simple seaports, the shore area was a jumble of docks, run-down old warehouses, and winding alleyways.

To the west, the clutter of old buildings had been razed and new, family-friendly hotels and beaches had grown up over the years. But the “old town” remained dark and foreboding—not a place where law-abiding citizens ventured at night.

The driver made his way silently through the sleepy, narrow streets to the nondescript safe house. He waited warily as Harry and Winnie brought Bijan into the nondescript old building. He then sped away without a word.

Once inside the sturdy old structure, the two MI6 agents carried the still-sleeping youth up a flight of rickety stairs and settled him on a small bed. They drew thin gauze curtains across the open window.

Winnie opened a small black box he had been carrying and took out a hypodermic syringe.

Henry wondered, “Will this wake him up?”

“Not right away. The antidote is administered in two stages. The first will raise his body temperature and gradually restart his vital signs but leave him asleep for a few more hours. He will wake up slowly and be wobbly, and the second injection is meant to restore him fully.”

As he injected the contents of the syringe into Bijan’s buttock, he added, “At least, that’s how it’s meant to work.”

“Let’s hope it does.”

The two men left Bijan in his bed and went downstairs. They sat at a small table in the first-floor kitchen eating bread and cheese that MI6 had thoughtfully left for them.

Winnie reviewed the status of the operation. “We have to lie low in here all day, and a car will come for us after dark to take us to the ship. I’ll hand you off to the next courier, who will take you to Azerbaijan.”

Henry breathed a sign of relief. “Whew! Thank you for getting us this far. Do you know if anything’s going on back at the Tohjanis’?”

“I’ve only had one comms, and all was quiet. I’m relieved to say the gas explosion was accepted as legitimate, and Hassan relayed that the guards returned to find nothing disturbed. I rather doubt they’ll confess their brief absence.”

“They won’t, if they value their arses!”

Winnie turned and smiled at his friend. “Speaking of valuable arses...”

Pulling His Lordship close, he brought his lips to Henry’s, who opened his mouth as their tongues met passionately.

They both rose to their feet and hugged tightly.

Their embrace unleashed all the bottled-up desire of the past several stressful days.

Coming up for a breath, Henry panted, “I have never been so... fucking... scared... in my life.”

“Too much adventure for you, milord?”

“Hell, no, but I can live on goddamn adrenaline only so long.”

“I know what you mean.”

“I shouldn’t ask, but how close to the edge of that bloody cliff were we driving?”

“Let’s leave things at ‘you shouldn’t ask.’ I found myself concentrating on watching the driver and never dared turn my eyes toward the other side of the vehicle.”

“Brilliant. And I was behind him, keeping a watchful eye on our lad.”

Winnie smiled. “Bijan did his part quite well. I’d wager he was scared shitless to take the drug.”

“I’m amazed he trusted us so much.”

“Or he wanted his cute little arse out of this fucked-up country rather badly.”

Henry chuckled and winked, “It is a cute little arse, isn’t it?”

Winnie nodded in agreement. “Right you are, Harry old man. Some lucky bloke is going to have a proper lot of fun with his pretty bum.”

“Well, it won’t be either of us, at least not until this cluster-fuck is over. That would be a bridge too far, I should think.”

Winnie smiled and pulled him closer. “But this isn’t.” He kissed his friend again.

Henry leaned back and looked Winnie in the eye. “Wait a minute. Did Bijan get the only bleeding bed in this shitty little hovel?”

“Not at all. I made sure there would be one other bed.”

“Only one?”

His friend nodded with a lecherous grin.

“You sneaky fucker!”

Winnie just winked.

“So where is this sodding bed?”

“Follow me. Last one there has to bottom!”

Laughing like a couple of school-boys skiving class, the two dashed up to the next floor and into the room across the hall from Bijan’s.

They began removing each other’s clothing, but just before they dropped their skivvies, Winnie stopped. “I’d best check to see if the lad is still OK.”

“Let’s both check.”

They stepped across the narrow hall. The weather outside was perfect, and a gentle breeze off the sea made the room cool and dry.

Bijan lay on top of the bed, still wrapped in his shroud.

Careful not to disturb their sleeping charge, Winnie gingerly unwound the burial wrappings and stepped back respectfully.

Underneath, the youth was wearing nothing but a thin white thong. The soft material gleamed against his light tan skin.

His breathing was slow and regular.

The two secret agents stood transfixed by the young man’s raw sensuality. Even sleeping, Bijan was the epitome of male desire.

“Do you need to check his vitals or anything?” Henry wondered.

“Not necessarily...” Winnie paused, then shot a wicked glance at his friend. “Hmm... perhaps we ought to examine him a bit more closely, just to be sure.”

“Right you are. Wouldn’t want him to be uncomfortable.” They both sniggered mischievously.

The two men approached the sleeping youth almost in awe, as if they were about to examine a precious artifact.

Bijan’s chest rose and fell with each breath.

He slept on his right side with his all-but-naked buttocks facing the two agents.

Suddenly, the unconscious youth stirred in his sleep and rolled over onto his back.

“Holy fucking shit!” Winnie whispered as Henry gasped in surprise.

The young man restlessly stretched his legs in the bed, and his erect penis jutted two inches above the waistband of the thong.

“I never realized Muslim men are circumcised.” Henry observed with curiosity.

“Oh, yes. According to ancient tradition. They are also required to shave their armpits and pubic hair, and to keep their nails trimmed.”

“Well, it looks quite fetching on him, but I would never subject a son of mine to... mutilation.”

“Oh, it’s not so terrible. The deed is usually done in the hospital by the doctor who delivers the baby.”

“You’re talking about what happens in a city. Aren’t a lot of Muslim babies born in houses, or even fucking tents?”

“I’m sure some must be, but since it’s required, I have to believe it’s done properly and with sanitation by someone trained in the... art.”

They looked at Bijan silently. Each was admiring the carnal beauty of the nearly-naked young gay man, and each was struggling with desire to pleasure that handsome body in a dozen ways.

“Well, our lad sure got a professional job.” Henry stated admiringly. “I’d love to slip his end-piece between my lips.”

“Bollocks! Don’t be such a bell-end.”

They both choked back their laughter at the naughty pun Winnie had made.

Reluctantly, Henry admitted, “We’d better leave him to his dreams. Would that I were in one of them.”

“Me, too.”

They left him sleeping and entered the room across the hall.

In no time, the sounds and smells of men making love filled the small house.

“You can’t imagine how I’ve longed for this,” Henry murmured to his lover.

“I have to say the same. In fact, this is even better than I remember it.”

“Let’s never stop.”

“Well, at least not until this evening... or both of us are worn out from over-exertion!”

Winnie took his time, easing into Henry and then resting while the other man adjusted to engulf the hard cock.

Stroking back and forth, Winnie gradually picked up the pace, then slowed and stopped.

“You are driving me fucking crazy!” Henry pretended to complain.

“You want it hard and fast, do you?”

“You bet your fucking arse I do!”

Winnie began plowing into his lover and soon came inside him. “I hope you’re satisfied.”

“It will do quite well... for the first time.”

They exchanged positions and Henry did a smashing job of fucking Winnie in four different positions.

“You’ll wear me out in no time at this rate,” Winnie laughed.

“You know bloody well that could never happen.”

“I suppose I do.”

After they had each come twice, they fell asleep in one another’s arms. The bed was the tiniest either had ever slept in, but somehow it seemed just the right size for the two to cuddle and sleep.

 

As the two agents were shagging each other with such fervor, Bijan had opened his eyes and peered around in a daze. His head was spinning, and everything was out of focus.

Where am I?

His mind cleared a little, and he remembered the details of his escape.

Since I’m not in a fucking prison or worse, the escape plan must have worked.

Sighing, he recalled the pleasant sex dream he had been having.

He mused to himself, It was so realistic, as if I were there.

He heard sounds coming from somewhere close by. They were the same as the ones in his sexy fantasy.

Sitting up, he turned to sit on the side of the tiny cot, still woozy from the effects of his death-like sleep. He saw the pile of burial linens beside the bed and peered down and was shocked to see that he was wearing nothing but a thong made of a few strips of thin cloth. He tightened the knot and tried to confine his still-hard cock inside the tiny garment.

He got to his feet and walked three unsteady steps to the door of his little room, reaching for the door frame for support.

As Bijan silently moved across the narrow passageway, the clamor of vigorous coupling coming from the room on the other side of the hall grew louder

Neither his bedroom nor the other had a door, only a thin cloth curtain to let the night breezes cool all the sleepers.

Through the gauze of the drape, he could make out a room identical to his, with the same type of miniature bed.

His eyes widened as he blinked and struggled to focus them on what was going on in the bed.

Lying on his back with his legs in the air, Lord Harry had his eyes closed and was making soft sounds of sexual delight.

His heels were resting on the naked shoulders of a handsome stranger Bijan had never seen before, who was kneeling behind Henry, plowing his ass with vigor.

Winnie loudly moaned with satisfaction as he thrust deep inside his lover. His butt cheeks clenched together at the apex of each forceful penetration, then relaxed as he pulled out.

The unsteady bedframe creaked loudly in rhythm with the to and fro of their momentum.

Bijan was paralyzed in awe of the sheer animal power of two men doing... what? Having sex? Making love? Fucking?

His own experience of gay sex was limited to hasty blowjobs and one rather unsatisfying fuck in a dark corner of a dirty café that served as a one-night gay club in a seedy part of Tehran.

These men were free to do all that they wanted, to make as much noise as they needed, and to throw themselves utterly and eagerly into their mutual pleasuring.

Bijan had no idea how they knew each other, but it was clear they were holding nothing back.

He wondered to himself, Is this what love between two men looks like, or are they just filling the time waiting for me to wake up? No, it’s love, and I swear I will experience it one day, too.

In the wobbly bed, Henry gripped his hard cock, vigorously stroking it.

With his other hand he was gently teasing the hairs on Winnie’s chest and pausing to pinch his partner’s nipples.

Each time he did so, Winnie threw his head back and sighed, “Mmm. Yes. Oh, fuck yes.”

The two men were lost in another world, one where only their two bodies existed.

Their coupling was almost violent, yet deeply intimate and personal.

Each man’s eyes were locked on the other’s, oblivious of their surroundings or the commotion they were making.

They breathed in concert as their flesh seemed intent on merging into a single being.

Their sole desire was simply that both of them felt the same connection, the same passion, the same exquisite pain leading to a body-rending climax of release.

His voice straining, Henry began to demand, “Yes. Harder. Harder. Oh shit. Oh. Ohh...”

Bijan saw a stream of hot white liquid burst out of Henry’s cock and shoot across his chest, fly over his shoulder, and splash onto the wall behind the tiny bed.

Moments later, Winnie withdrew and gave his own prick a few forceful strokes.

He roared with primeval lust as his surge of sperm joined Henry’s in puddles on his belly and chest, the first jet hitting his smiling lover squarely on the chin.

With a loud groan of exhaustion, Winnie collapsed forward and lay on top of Henry. The tiny bed almost disintegrated under them.

Both men were breathing hard and oblivious to the shadowy figure in the hallway watching them.

They laughed and kissed each other in the heady afterglow.

Bijan realized his own penis was achingly hard.

He reached down to adjust it to a more comfortable position, but one touch was all it took to bring him to his own solitary ejaculation.

He shuddered with powerful physical relief as all his pent-up anxieties and fears spilled out in the gush of semen that oozed through the thin material of his thong.