The Orient Express train had left Vienna Station at dusk, and there was no longer anything to see out of the coach window, the lights of the towns flashing by having been extinguished hours ago. Magnus the Authenticator was weary, and the clacking of the iron wheels on the iron rails as the train thundered toward Belgrade lulled him. But the unfamiliar noise of the speeding train and frequent lurch from side to side robbed him of sleep. He'd never ridden a train before; the Orient Express had only been in service for two years in its Paris to Istanbul route. Heretofore he'd always taken the sea route from London to Istanbul en route to Heinrich Schliemann's excavations at the ancient - mythical until Schliemann's finds - site of Troy near the Turkish coast.

This time Magnus was traveling alone - for Schliemann, but without Schliemann, his long-time employer having worked himself into a corner. He could not raise money for a fourth excavation attempt at Troy without substantiating in some why his previous claim of having uncovered a hoard of golden coins and artifacts, known throughout the world now as Priam's Treasure, in the Troy ruins; but yet he could not, himself, return to Turkey until he accounted for the treasure trove to the Turkish authorities. The rub was that what he had found had been stolen from him and still rested, so rumor had it, somewhere in Turkey. Magnus, Schliemann's authenticator, was his emissary in this delicate situation, rushing to Istanbul while Schliemann and his flashy wife, Sophia, played for time and support in Vienna.

Magnus laid his head back against the hard, leather-upholstered seat and willed himself to sleep. But although he was exhausted, sleep did not find him. He was waiting for something else too. He knew he was being followed. He'd sensed it on the platform at Vienna Station - in fact he had counted on it. All of Europe was abuzz with the newly coined legend of Priam's Treasure and the possibility that the Trojan War had not been myth; they all wanted something to keep their minds off the Serbo-Bulgarian war that threatened to spread wider in southeastern Europe. And then there was Turkey itself. Talks with Britain were not going at all well, and Schliemann was afraid that if he didn't make some headway on the Priam's Treasure issue quickly, hostilities between the Ottoman Turks and Europe would close down his access to Troy for years to come.

Maybe if he thought of something else he could drift off to sleep. Magnus thought hard, but what floated up in his mind was bitter sweet - his parting from his Greek Adonis, Paulus. Magnus's weakness. Young, willowy Greek men - not young so much as small and vulnerable to his heft and strength. Spreading their legs for him. Paulus had been his for the past three months in Vienna, as Magnus attended Schliemann in his attempt to wrest support for a new expedition to Troy from the German princes as soon as the Turks lifted their ban. There had been little for Magnus to do while waiting, so he had frequented the baths, fucking the young men who had congregated in Vienna from all parts of Europe - and finding the young Greeks most satisfying. A mammoth Norwegian himself, of huge, but sturdy and well-muscled proportions in all respects, he delighted in splitting young men of slight, almost feminine stature. The small, dark Paulus, of the heavy pant and little squeal in the taking, had been a delight to Magnus. The Norwegian would have brought him on this journey if he could have. But a Greek would not last an hour in Turkey.

Magnus held his eyes tightly shut and conjured up the pouty lips of his Paulus, naked except for a golden vest, opening his mouth in a silent scream and throwing his head and arms back in surrender as Magnus lifted him up by his slim hips and slowly settled the panting Greek Adonis down on his prodigious phallus.

Magnus was licking his lips in lust and had his hands in his lap, unbuttoning and freeing his engorging cock and adjusting his cloak across his torso to hide what he was doing from anyone passing by the dimly lit train corridor beyond the window into his private sleeper compartment in the middle of the night.

Paulus was tight, as always, and was crying out at the taking, as Magnus's cock slowly ascended up his canal and the slim hips slowly descendent into Magnus's lap. The Greek was holding his legs high and spread up Magnus's beefy arms. And as Magnus relentlessly filled him, he responded as he knew Magnus liked. He lifted his arms and beat ineffectually against Magnus's bulging chest with his small fists and made moans and begging of involuntary taking, letting Magnus feel the full effect of the power he had.

Magnus was breathing hard, lost in his imaginings, his fist picking up the beating of his meat. But still, he heard the click of the compartment door as it closed.

He looked up warily, his eyes blurry from the deeply felt masturbatory fantasy of his taking of Paulus to see, not Paulus. But as near to the ideal of all of the Paulus's Magnus had sought out and fucked. No, if anything, an ideal he had not attained as yet in the Vienna baths.

Magnus watched, his eyes slitted, a fist still encasing his hard cock, as a slight, slim, young Greek god put his finger to his lips and then turned and closed the shade on the window onto the corridor and clicked the lock to the compartment door home.

Was Magnus dreaming this, he wondered. In his reverie of fucking Paulus, had he conjured up and even more tasty treat? A mere figment of his imagination and lust? Was the rhythmic clacking of iron wheels on iron rails lulling him into a hallucination?

But this could not be a hallucination. He felt the full, pouty lips of the handsome young man close around the bulb of his cock as the Greek god knelt between his legs. And then the younger, smaller man was taking him in, slowly but fully. More fully than Paulus had ever been able to do. He had one fist around the base of Magnus cock and his other hand was moving over Magnus's torso, pushing cloak aside, unbuttoning vest and billowy white shirt. And running small, soft hand all over the contours of Magnus's heaving torso - across his belly up to his breasts.

Magnus's eyes were wide open and his was looking down at an unruly mass of curly chestnut brown hair with golden highlights.

The young man's mouth slowly pulled away from Magnus's cock and Magnus gave a little lurch of regret in the parting. The apparition then lifted his head and gave Magnus a full-lipped Bryonic smile. Real flesh; no apparition. The Greek fluttered his hand up to Magnus's thick-muscled neck and slowly brought the Norwegian's head down to his. Rosy lips, pale blue eyes. Eyes full of invitation and wanting. A thick, curly frame of chestnut hair.

The Greek took Magnus's lips in his. Sweet nectar. Spring fields in the foothills of Mount Olympus. A gift of the gods. Magnus was overwhelmed. He was trembling. The blond giant, putty in the hands of the slight, willowy Greek.

A deep kiss that took Magnus's breath away, and then the young man stood and lowered and stepped out of his trousers and unbuttoned his white cotton shirt and pushed it off his arms and onto the pulsating floor of the carriage.

In Magnus's eyes, his young lover's body was absolutely perfect. Alabaster white, slim hipped, not an ounce of fat, lightly muscled. Deceptively so, though. A dancer's body. Small, trim, boyish, but firm and promising a flexibility that was fuckable in so many positions. Small, perfectly rounded balls, thrusting out rather than hanging down, and a small, uncut cock.

Magnus was mesmerized by this vision of beauty presenting himself in the darkened carriage, the carriage swaying back and forth, almost imperceptibly and in small, jerky, nonpatterned lurches. But the beautiful vessel for Magnus's lust, standing there in his full glory, maintaining a perfect balance on the balls of his delicate little feet.

Magnus couldn't move, but the young Greek did. He knelt once more between Magnus's legs and enveloped the monster cock in the sweet warmness of his mouth and gave expert suck.

It was the obvious expertise of his phantom visitor that aroused Magnus to action. Small and delicate this Greek god might be, but he was no stranger to the male fuck.

With the roar of an elephant in heat, Magnus wrapped his meaty hands around the young man's waist and pulled him up out of his crouch. He suspended his prey over his lap, searching out the Greek's eyes with his own, looking for the reaction. The Greek was giving him a knowing little smile, almost a sneer. A sneer that turned quickly into something more wild and surprised, however, as Magnus moved his hands down so that he could lace his long, strong fingers across rounded little orbs of butt cheeks and spread them apart while jammed the young man's hole down on his bludgeoning cock head.

The Greek cried out and flung his body about and begged for mercy as Magnus entered him to the rim of his bulb.

The intensity of the midnight visitor's response inflamed Magnus but it also frightened him. He made to withdraw, but the Greek leaned his face down to Magnus's, cupped his cheeks in those delicate little hands, and gave Magnus a little welcoming smile before latching on to the Norwegian's lower lip with his teeth. He drew blood and pushed rivulets of it into Magnus's mouth with his tongue and moved into a deeply possessing kiss.

Magnus didn't know how the Greek knew of what lit his fire any more than he knew why the young man was here in the first place, but he had caught the signal that the Greek understood what Magnus liked and was ready to accommodate him to the fullest.

Magnus thrust hard up into the tight ass and the diminutive Greek went back to writhing and moaning and whimpering and playing the role of a smaller, more delicate courtesan being ravished by an overlarge, supercharged fucking machine.

Hours later, as the Greek lay, spent and exhausted against the steadily rising and falling breast of an equally exhausted, but fully milked Norwegian, Magnus could feel tears against his chest.

'What is it, little one?' he asked, using what slight Greek he knew to try to communicate.

'I am afraid,' The Greek answered back in perfect German. 'Will you protect me?'

'Protect you from what?' Magnus murmured.

'From them. From the ones who sent me.'

'Certainly. If I can. But what is your name and who sent you and why?'

'I am Andreas. The Turkish bandits sent me. They said they needed you to tell them whether something is ancient or not. They said they'd kill me if I did not bring you to them. In Istanbul.'

'Of course, Andreas. I will do what I can.'

It had started. Someone knew he was on the way. And they knew of his specialty. And, more interesting, they knew what he liked in his men - how to get to him; how to make him bend to their plans. Magnus willed his body to slow down, to grow calm, to seem relaxed and trusting even when all of his senses were keyed up, on edge, ready to react instantaneously.

'Something else,' Andreas whispered. And then when Magnus grunted his attention to the request, 'Could you fuck me again? Now?'

Absolutely, his cock already rising inside the Greek to the challenge, throbbing to the beat of the iron wheels under them hitting the iron rails. Andreas moaning and sobbing; Magnus digging and exploring every square inch of his new lover's interior.

They fucked again throughout the second night, Andreas's knees thrust into crease where the seat cushion met the back cushion and then again with the small of Andreas's back on the seat cushion and legs thrust up and out, as the Orient Express cleared Bucharest and streamed on to the southwest to Istanbul.



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