When the Express chugged into Istanbul Station at the break of the third day, Magnus offered Andreas shelter at the Turquhouse Hotel on the Golden Horn where he always booked when he was in Istanbul, but the young Greek said he must return to his masters immediately but would come for Magnus when he was needed. The squawking of a buxom European matron nearby who had never experienced a greeting of Turkish street urchins meeting the Express before drew Magnus's attention, if only for a moment. When he turned back, Andreas had disappear through the teaming crowd.

Magnus took a carriage to Turquhouse in a cloud of blue funk. Andreas had, in the short time they'd had, become a necessity to him. He knew he was walking a thin edge here, but Andreas had been just too perfect. Magnus had looked forward - almost to the point of salivating over the notion - to fucking Andreas in the comfort of a four-poster bed on steadier ground that the slightly swaying, occasionally lurching, always grinding Orient Express carriage.

In fact he was so keyed up that when the Turkish room attendant bowed and scraped at the threshold of his room and asked if there was anything at all he could do for the honored Norwegian archeologist - anything at all - and gave him 'that' look, Magnus took him straight to the bath and fucked him to whimpering jelly while cleaning the dust of Eastern Europe rail beds off his body. Then he dragged the wilted Turk to the four-poster bed and fucked him again into total exhaustion.

Well satisfying, as a trip to Istanbul always was - and the room attendant would be well satisfied with what he was receiving for the service - but nothing like Magnus had dreamed of doing with Andreas.

While Magnus was attending to the Turkish attendant, Andreas was also being attended to. Across the Golden Horn, deep in the maze of Misir Carsisi, the Egyptian Bazaar, behind a second-floor latticed window in the gold souk, Andreas, hands tied off above his head on a sturdy bed poster, was receiving attention and instruction from his Russian master, Oleg Tarasov. Tarasov, a dark, sinister, hawk-billed ferret of man, loved his riding crop - especially for the red welts it could leave on the alabaster skin of a young Greek's posterior.

A short slash to Andreas's flank as Tarasov drove his cock up into the young man's canal from behind. Andreas moaned and writhed away from the lash, only to have the leather sting his other hip.

'Tell me you have the Norwegian enthralled,' the Russian hissed in Greek's ear, as he pulled his pelvis back and then lunged deeply again, raising the small Greek's feet off the Turkish carpet with the force of his upward thrust.

'Yes, yes, Master,' the young man answered through gasping breath. 'Ahhh,' he exclaimed as the riding crop lashed across his belly. 'Yes, he will come when you want him.'

'I will want him soon after dusk tomorrow,' Tarasov whispered menacingly before he let his teeth close over Andreas's earlobe. The young man cried out in pain for him. Tarasov liked that. His cock liked that. He drove deeper up the canal. Andreas groaned at the attention. Tarasov was not very thick, but he was long, and his cock had an upward crock in it that brutalized Andreas's tender inner walls.

'You will go to him in the afternoon and make him pant for you. When you bring him back, you will take him straight to the green room. The belt will be there, along with the authentication papers for him to sign. Do you understand?'

'Yes, Master. Oh, no! Owww, ahhh.' Andreas was writhing against the merciless attentions of lash on flanks and cock in channel.

He cried out for supplication to the other man in the room, the squat, hirsute, and heavily muscled Turk standing inside the door, his beefy arms crossed on bulging chest and his eyes slitted in pleasure at what he saw Tarasov engaging in with the young Greek.

'Asil, please. Help. Please.' It was pure desperation. Andreas knew that there was no succor to be found from the direction of Asil Hanci. Hanci was devoted to the Russian.

The bulky Turk just stood there and smiled. And Andreas's moment of insolence was rewarded with several lashes, in quick succession, across his tender flanks, the pleasure of which brought Tarasov to his climax.

'And after the Norwegian has authenticated the belt and signed the document, I want you to take him to the baths - and I want him to have his last breath there. Do you understand that?'

'Yes, Master.' Andreas let his body go limp, his weight dragging on the leather-bound wrists tied off high on the bed post. He had endured. It was over - for now.

But there he was wrong. As Tarasov turned to stride out of the room, he motioned to the Turk, who opened his robes as he approached Andreas, displaying a thick, thick cock in full erection and big, hairy, taut, cream-filled balls.

Tarasov shut the door behind him, and, with a slight smile moved down the corridor toward his bed chamber as the first screams from Andreas echoed off the hallway walls. He would leave this business to the Turk now. Once authenticated, Priam's Belt, the prized piece from the Priam's Treasure golden trove from the excavation of Troy, would bring a price that only the tsar could afford. Tarasov would be well on his way to the court of St. Petersburg when the Norwegian breathed his last breath in the baths of the Cagaloglu Hamami.

Later that evening the Russian gave the last instruction to Hanci before setting out on his journey to the north. 'When the Greek returns from the baths, use him as you will and then kill him.'

The Turk grinned from ear to ear. His two favorite past times.

Andreas sighed with well-satiated satisfaction. He was stretched out, naked, on the silken sheets of Magnus's massive four-poster bed in the Turquhouse Hotel room. The French doors to the balcony were open, and the gauze curtains were gently moving in the late afternoon breeze. A breeze from the Bosporus had filtered in to take the edge off the day's heat. The shadows were lengthening across the tiled floor. It wouldn't be long before they had to leave.

Magnus had taken him strongly and brutally, albeit not as brutally as the Russian and Turk took him, in the bath as soon as Andreas had arrived. It was as if the few hours they had been apart had driven the Norwegian mad.

But it was what came afterward that had caused Andreas to do what he had done. When they had dried off from the bath, Magnus led the young Greek to the bed and made long, languid love to him. It was unlike anything Magnus had done earlier, not at all like the Russian had told him the Norwegian would always do. The fucking was gentle and loving and fully satisfying.

And when it was over, Andreas told Magnus, in whispering tones as if someone beyond the side curtains of the bed were listening to them, everything. He told Magnus that he was being manipulated to authenticate the centerpiece of the Priam's Treasure, a solid gold ram's head belt buckle, with tatters of a woven gold belt attached that had been taken from Schliemann's first excavation of Troy and that was fit for the Trojan king Priam himself. And Andreas told Magnus that once the belt had been authenticated, Andreas was supposed to lure the Norwegian to the Cagaloglu Hamami baths and kill him. But all Andreas wanted to do was escape - with Magnus now. He assumed that all he had to do was warn Magnus and they could disappear together beyond Tarasov's reach and leave the belt unauthenticated.

But Magnus had listened to his tale and had shown no surprise at all. And more astonishingly, the Norwegian had said they would go ahead with the Russian's plan - that it was reassuring that they would be permitted to leave the hidden house in the heart of the golden souk after the authentication.

Andreas had declared that he would not even think of carrying out the Russian's plan for the Norwegian in the baths afterward, and Magnus had just taken the Greek in his arms and kissed his eyelids and turned the young man on his belly on the bed. Then Magnus had covered Andreas's body with his own and fucked him gently and deeply again while kissing the hollow of the Greek's neck and murmuring calming endearments in his ear.

Magnus's eyes lit up with joy when he saw the gleaming Belt of Priam lying on the velvet cloth on the green room table. It was magnificent. And there was no doubt that it was the genuine article. He took up the pen and the authentication document lying beside it.

'No, you can't,' Andreas exclaimed in a shocked voice. 'You can't sign that. That will be your death sentence. They won't need you anymore.'

'I doubt whether we can leave this place if I don't sign it,' Magnus answered with a sigh. 'The house seems deserted, but you and I both know that we're being watched - that our only hope is to make the bandits think their plan is being carried out.'

'But, but - '

'And it is the honest thing to do. This, indeed is the genuine Priam's Belt. And authentication is what I do.'

Andreas trembled in fear as Magnus signed the document with a flourish.

'Go check the corridor, Andreas,' Magnus then said. 'This is the most dangerous moment for us - finding out if they will keep with the plan they gave you. I'll follow along behind you.'

Andreas moved to the door and looked back at Magnus. The Norwegian was holding the gleaming artifact in his hands, lovingly stroking it and feeling the heft of the solid gold. Andreas stole through the door and looked both ways down the corridor. Everything looked clear. A quick shuffle down the nearby staircase and they could be out the door in a twinkle of the eye. Once in the souk, Andreas was confident they could melt into the crowd. He hadn't been fully honest with the Russian and the Turk. They thought they denied him mobility in the neighboring streets enough that he was at their mercy in the Egyptian Bazaar. But Andreas knew the bazaar well. He'd been here long before he ever was bought in the slave auction by the Russian. All he needed to do was to have five steps advance on anyone the Russian sent to track them down.

Andreas looked back into the room. Magnus was drawing away from the gleaming Belt of Priam on the velvet-topped table and was already half way across the room. Then he was at the young Greek's elbow, and they moved for the door in a flash. Wherever the Turk had been hiding in wait, he miscalculated how long Magnus would spend with the golden artifact. He heard - or spied - the two leaving the green room, but by the time he got to the entrance to the house, Andreas had managed to win his five-step lead, and the two had vanished.

It was one panicked Turk who realized by the next dawn that Andreas was not coming back. Hanci's only solace was that the authentication document had been signed, with Magnus's authoritative signature clearly discernible, and lay beside the gleaming gold Belt of Priam. He'd decide later whether the Russian need be told that the Greek hadn't been disposed of.

The sailing vessel was well out into the Mediterranean, en route to Famagusta, Cyprus, following the same route that the victors of the Trojan War had taken after sacking the city, before Magnus left the railing and went below to be greeted by a grateful - and naked in his readiness to express his gratefulness - Andreas.

Magnus stood over his diminutive lover and started to disrobe. Andreas's eyes opened wide in wonder as they caught the gleam of the golden ram's head belt buckle that Magnus produced from the folds of his cloak.

'What? But I saw it. It was still there when we left.' Andreas was so surprised that he could hardly form the words.

'Something was there, of course,' Magnus answered with a smile, as he stepped out of his clothes and gently spread his new lover's legs as Andreas laid back on the ship's bunk on his back. 'Your masters fell into Schliemann's plans beautifully. I can't wait to see how our Russian friend will fare at the court of St. Petersburg when the tsar finds that the replica of Priam's Belt they buy from him at a premium cost is a fake, with just a thin veneer of gold over brass.'

'But, but - I don't - ' Andreas was saying as Magnus moved between his legs and the Greek took the strong, hard phallus in his hands and guided it to his hole.

'I could authenticate the belt because I was there when it was first found,' Magnus continued in a lust-filled hoarse voice. The knob of his member was at the Greek's gate, and Andreas was covering it with his saliva to ease the entry. 'Schliemann had a duplicate made. You thought you were pulling me into the Russian's plan on the Orient Express, when I actually was ensnaring you, pushing my way into access to the real belt.'

Magnus was pushing his way into his diminutive lover's channel now, gaining access to his own treasurer trove. Andreas arched his back and widening his legs as much as possible to take Magnus in. He groaned and moaned, and Magnus sighed his pleasure at the taking, as the swaying of the boat helped set a gentle rhythm for the fuck. They spoke no more as waves and waves of lust and ecstasy, enhanced by their sense of freedom and victory, covered them.

Much later, as Andreas lay safe in the Norwegian's arms, he asked the question that had been on his mind for some time.

'Why Cyprus? Why are we sailing for Cyprus instead of returning straight to Vienna on the Orient Express?'

Magnus laughed and ran his fingers lightly around Andreas's nipples for several minutes and leaned over and kissed him lightly there before he answered. 'Schliemann indeed expects me straightaway back to Vienna on the Orient Express. But I haven't quite decided yet whether I and Priam's Belt - and you - will ever be making that trip. No one would ever suspect we were in Cyprus.'



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