FIC: Underground (NC-17). Part 1 of 2

[surreysmum.livejournal.com]

Edited to add tularia's wonderful banner!

Title: Underground
Author: surreysmum
Pairing: Nikolai Luzhin (Eastern Promises) / Drew Baylor (Elizabethtown)
Rating: NC-17
A/N: My sincere thanks to my wonderful friend Nancy for the beta, special gratitude to Tati for helping with Russian diminutives, and big hugs to tularia for the awesome gift of the banner.
This story is dedicated to Nancy on the occasion of her birthday.



In one of the less than posh suburbs of London, one where industry has the upper hand, there is a large, unkempt field next to a London Transit depot. The single line of track that leads out into the middle of the field is partially hidden by uneven clumps of long grass, so the lone Underground car that sits at the track's end seems to the casual eye to be there by some sort of bleak magic.

It has not been entirely solitary, that car. It has been visited. "HOTDOGS," it proclaims in bright confident colours to the morning passengers on the commuter rail line half a mile away, and on the other side, more obscurely, "YORKS" or perhaps "YOICKS." Still it looks rather lonely and sad, for all that. After a period of honourable, if rather humdrum, service to hundreds of men and women each day, it now sits in silence, the occasional cannibalisation for spare parts the only interruption in its slow decline into rusty oblivion.

Or so you would think.

#-#-#-#-

Nikolai Luzhin was not a man to curse aloud. Silence was best. Still, when the rain started in earnest, soaking his shiny leather shoes, slicking his hair to his skull, and starting to make inroads past the collar of his trench-coat, Nikolai grew annoyed. Taking this shortcut through the empty field no longer seemed like a good idea, particularly since the sun had set an hour ago, and between that and the sheeting rain he could barely see a few feet in front of him.

One English habit Nikolai had never fallen into was carrying an umbrella at all times. It looked effete. Certainly he carried any number of other useful objects, well hidden, but none of them would help him against this downpour. Shelter was necessary.

A Metro car - Underground, they called it here - loomed into his vision. It was dark and clearly out of service. It would do. Nikolai roughly jammed one of the doors open with his short knife, slipped sideways through the narrow entrance he had created and slid automatically into the darkest shadows while his eyes grew accustomed to the deeper blackness inside.

And that's when he heard it - a stifled whimper. It had come from the far end of the carriage.

"Who is there?" he called out sharply. There was no answer, but the insistent tattoo of the raindrops against the metal car seemed to carry an air of panic. Nikolai pulled his pen light out of an inside pocket and played the narrow beam across dusty, faded upholstery and ten-year-old advertisements. He walked forward cautiously and grunted in amused surprise when he came across an elaborate tripwire arrangement. He stooped to disable it with one hand while still moving his small pool of light around the further corners. The beam caught a hand as it came up to cover a face. Nikolai stood up and focused his light upon the young man who sat huddled on the floor between two seats.

"Oh fuck," whispered the youngster. "Kill me quickly, then," he said aloud in a trembling voice. "Get it over with, please!"

Nikolai raised an eyebrow in the darkness. "I was not planning to kill you."

The young man dropped his arm, exposing white and shockingly beautiful features. "You're not American!" he exclaimed.

"You are, however." Nikolai moved a step closer, and the other scrabbled backwards into unyielding metal. As he did, the turn of his head exposed rivulets of dried and drying blood from one temple. "You are also wounded."

The youth put his hand to his head and grimaced when it came away redder and stickier than it already was. "I'm fine," he insisted.

Nikolai ignored him. Going down on one knee, he took firm hold of the young man's chin with one hand, playing the light over his face and head with the other. "You were lucky," he said eventually, releasing his grip. "It bleeds, but it is not serious."

The young man looked into the other's face, obviously seeing it now for the first time. "Who are you?"

"I am called Nikolai."

"Russian..."

Nikolai shrugged. Some things were too obvious for comment. "And you?" he prompted.

"Oh. Drew. Drew Baylor. I'm a designer, a footware designer, from Oregon." Drew bit his lip, as if suddenly realizing that he could not afford to be so forthcoming with a stranger.

"Hold this, Drew Baylor." Nikolai gave him the flashlight and strode back down to the door he had forced open. With quick, efficient movements he opened his trenchcoat, pulled his shirt from his trousers and ripped at the hem until he had a fair-sized rag. He held the cloth through the crack in the door with one hand, bringing it back completely soaked in less than a minute. All this while, Drew sat with head bowed, shining the light in small, uncertain circles upon the floor.

"Come," said Nikolai, helping Drew to his feet and settling him firmly upon one of the seats. He started to clean away the sticky mess; his touch was gentle, even if his words were stern.

"I'm fine," said Drew again, trying to twist away, though not very convincingly.

"Do not move." Drew subsided. "Now hold light steady."

Nikolai prolonged the cleaning a little. The young man was indeed very beautiful, with dark curling hair and large eyes shining dark in the feeble light. Brown, probably. His features were small and regular, his skin almost as smooth as a woman's, though there was just the hint of a five o'clock shadow. By the time Nikolai had served his third sentence in Siberian prison, he had had his pick of the new younglings, but none of them had ever looked like this. Nikolai gave himself a mental shake and put the rag into Drew's hand, indicating silently that he should press it against the shallow wound.

"Why is an American coming to kill you in the middle of London, Drew Baylor?" he asked abruptly.

Drew looked at him, fear showing. "I don't ... I don't know," he stammered. Nikolai stared him down. "Yes, yes I do know. He phoned me and told me why. Last night. Was last night Saturday?"

"Who phoned you?"

"The guy. The guy with the gun. He said they were going to kill me. He said nobody costs the family that much money and lives to tell about it." Drew shifted in agitation, one knee twitching up and down.

"Family," repeated Nikolai. "Mafia are not usually such poor shots, even American mafia." He smirked. "You had lucky day, boy."

Drew frowned in annoyance at "boy," but he sighed and reached down into the pocket of his jacket, which lay crumpled on the floor. "You're right," he said, pulling out the shattered carcase of a cell phone. "If I hadn't been using this..."

Nikolai took it from his hand and examined it dispassionately, then tossed it aside. "When did this happen?" he asked.

"I'm really not sure - I don't know what time it is. Maybe - maybe an hour ago? An hour and a half?"

"Did he fire again?"

Drew scratched his nose thoughtfully. "No, and it was weird. He put his gun away and pulled out his own phone and ran right past me - right past me! - while I was still standing there in shock, bleeding all over the place. And then, of course, I started to run, and I had no idea where I was going, and I just ran and ran, and I'm sure people thought I was completely bonkers, but nobody stopped me, and eventually I got on the Underground and rode all over the place, and got off at the station back there and came out here..."

But Nikolai did not seem interested in the details of how Drew had found his refuge.

"Where did this happen?" Drew gave the street name.

"Which way did he go? And as he was running by you, did you hear him say anything? A name?"

Drew hesitated. "Towards the river, I think. And... he said, 'Mr. Scary-something'. Scary Otto. Something like that. Maybe. I'm not sure."

Nikolai pursed his lips slightly. "Sgarioto?" he asked, with a passable Italian accent.

"Could be. Yeah."

Nikolai gave a small snort of derision. "Buffalo family. In our territory. He should know better. Hold one moment." He stalked off into one corner and turned his back, pulling out his own sleek mobile. Drew heard a series of soft, barked orders in Russian, amongst which he recognized 'Sgarioto' and 'Charing Cross'." Fidgeting, he discovered the still wet cloth in his grip, and applied it again distractedly to his head.

The Russian snapped his mobile shut and turned back to Drew. "You will be safe now," he said. "He will not bother you again." There was a finality in his voice that suppressed any questions Drew might have dared to ask. "You should go back to your hotel, get your passport, go back to America. Stay in a quiet, small place for a while, just to be safe."

Drew gave him a frantic glance. "I can't... I can't. What if they're still looking for me?"

Nikolai sat down beside him and put a hand on his shoulder. "He was not trying to kill you - only scare you."

"How would you know that?"

"First of all, you are still alive. And secondly," the Russian added, "he warned you. Very unprofessional for a real hit. Very effective for scaring." Nikolai became aware that he was enjoying the contact of smooth warm skin through a thin shirt much too much. He let his hand drop.

Drew huddled his knees up to his chin. "It worked: I'm scared to leave," he muttered.

Nikolai shrugged. "Suit yourself. You will be hungry and thirsty soon." He almost regretted the harshness of that when Drew turned big, terrified eyes upon him. He reached into his trenchcoat's ample pocket and pulled out a half-full bottle of water. "Here. Take this."

"Thanks," said Drew in a small voice. He was staring at the tattoos on Nikolai's hands, but he said nothing, so Nikolai did not comment either. He was used to that.

"Maybe you can fill the bottle up with rainwater," suggested Nikolai with something that was almost a smile, trying to coax Drew into a better frame of mind.

"The rain's stopping."

Nikolai listened. The raindrop tattoo had diminished to an occasional metallic plink above them.

"Then I must go," he said, standing. But he turned to the curled-up figure on the seat one more time. "Go home, Drew," he said. "You will be all right."

Drew didn't answer aloud, but his minute, stubborn shake of the head said all that was to be said.

Nikolai tested the heavy door at the end of the carriage. To his surprise, it yielded easily to his hand. This, then, was how the boy had found his way in.

"Thank you," came a quiet whisper.

With a slight, courteous nod, Nikolai said, "You are welcome." And he left.

-/-/-/-/-

"Kolya!" groaned Kirill. "Ah God, Kolya, Kolya!"

Beneath him, Nikolai shifted his grip on the edge of the table he was bent over, and hoped fervently that Kirill was close. Some nights were luckier than others. Some nights Kirill was so drunk he was incapable, and after some truculent muttering would allow himself to be rolled into his bed to sleep it off. Not tonight. Tonight the liquor was only slowing him down, making him slobbery and sentimental. Nikolai hid his expression of distaste against the hard wood of the table as Kirill planted wet lips against his shoulder blade.

"Faster!" he growled, hoping his irritation would sound like passion. But Kirill was not to be hurried tonight. He had even insisted on preparing and lubing Nikolai, though it was hardly necessary. After one particularly raucous party when Kirill had succeeded to his father's underworld throne, Nikolai had learned the hard way never to enter the other man's bedroom unprepared. Everything came with a price. As he endured the leisurely grinding, Nikolai told himself he had paid far more than this for things he had wanted far less. For a little temporary discomfort, he had control of Semyon Volkov's crime empire. And soon it would come crashing down by his hand. Soon, very soon. "Faster!" he urged again.

"I always knew you were queer," whispered Kirill gleefully, breathlessly. "You fooled everyone else, but I knew. Nikolai the tough guy! You're my bitch now!" Nikolai didn't bother answering him. He'd heard it all before.

At long last, the thrusts sped up and began to lose their rhythm. Nikolai reached for himself, not because he particularly felt like it, but because he knew Kirill liked to see him out of control, out of breath, tousled and panting like an ordinary man. Nikolai did not care about this destruction of his calm outer shell when Kirill demanded it. Let the stupid ox think he had won a victory, exposed the true Kolya. Nikolai knew better. There was a place inside him, small and hard and hollow like a bullet, where he kept his real self. That place Kirill had never touched and never would.

His flesh began to respond within his hand; Kirill, of course, would never deign to touch another man's cock; that would make him queer too. But at least he had stopped talking and would soon explode. Nikolai reached for his familiar memories and fantasies to finish the business off. A little to his surprise, instead of the old prison standbys, or that first shocking day of freedom in Amsterdam, it was the beautiful boy from the Underground car who came into his mind's eye. Nikolai welcomed the boy in, bent the lithe body in two, licked the white skin of neck and thigh, ran his fingers through the soft curly dark hair, pressed his hard hands into the smooth flesh until the boy - Drew, that was it, Drew - begged to be mastered, to be released. Eyes tightly closed, Nikolai came with shocking force.

Kirill dragged Nikolai upright and back into the reality of his sweaty, alcoholic stench. "Kolya," he crooned. "You enjoyed that, da? You cannot deny it."

"Da, da, Kirill," responded Nikolai tiredly. Now came the worst part. "Come on, it is late. Come to bed." They lay down together, and Kirill snuggled into Nikolai's neck. And, as always, he began to weep.

"You will not leave me, Kolya?" he asked, as he always did. "I need you. Do not leave me."

"Shh, Kiryusha, shh," he soothed. "I am here. I am not leaving." Nikolai had no compunction about lying. You didn't survive long in his world if you didn't know how. But it was at these moments that he felt a terrible, exasperated affection for the hapless lummox in his arms. Almost. The lummox, he reminded himself, was dangerous. But still he put a gentle hand at the back of Kirill's neck, and murmured again, "Shh, Kiryusha. All is well." It was the worst part, yes, because he almost believed it himself.

As the younger man drifted off to sleep, Nikolai put the time to good use by running over in his mind all the arrangements he had made with Yuri Mikhailovich, that strange creature from the Russian Desk at Scotland Yard who could pass for an Englishman or a Russian at will. They were ready. With two weeks notice from Nikolai, and much support, albeit unofficial, from Nikolai's employer, the FSB, Scotland Yard would in one single night drop the hammer on all of the various organizations and networks that had once reported to Semyon Volkov and now to him, through Kirill. The girl-smugglers, the drug-dealers, the arms merchants. The enforcers, the debt-collectors and the money-launderers. Scotland Yard knew every hideout in Britain, every place of meeting, thanks to Nikolai. No-one deluded themselves that it would be a night without bloodletting, and Nikolai, if it should come out that he were the traitor, would be in the greatest peril of all. It was his call to make. He knew he would make it soon.

Kirill shifted restlessly in his sleep, and Nikolai sat up with care. Soon this - this situation - would be done with too. Nikolai had hesitated at first, even after the old man was safely under lock and key, to let Kirill's pawing progress to more. But in the end it had turned out well. Kirill was much more docile, letting Nikolai make all the important decisions, and rarely challenging him in public. Of course the sex was supposed to be a secret. And of course Kirill was boasting about the fact that he topped Nikolai. Nikolai knew, because others told him. And he knew that, by and large, Kirill was not believed. Nikolai's authority had not been undermined. Yet.

He recalled the first time the subject had come up, or rather been thrown in his face. He had given an order to one of the hired thugs, an Englishman, a low-level collector of debts. The thug hadn't liked it.

"Piss off, fag!" he said.

Nikolai turned and faced him, casually undoing his coat so the handle of his large knife was visible. "I said," he repeated, "take those boxes and put them in the van."

"And I don't take orders from foreign faggots!" blustered the thug. "Everybody knows Kirill fucks you witless every night!"

Nikolai took a step forward, glaring. Despite himself, the man shifted backwards.

"And who told you that?" It was said quietly, but Nikolai's hand now rested firmly on the knife handle.

"Kirill," muttered the thug.

"I see. And you think it is true?" The words came out like the hiss of a snake.

The man's eyes fell away from the Russian's angry gaze. "N...no."

Nikolai permitted himself the slightest of eyerolls, and the jacket fell shut again. "Kirill is Kirill," he said, with a shrug.

The man put the boxes in the van.

Now Nikolai sighed slightly and pulled the blanket over Kirill. He had bought a little time to gather information for Scotland Yard, that was all. Eventually the stories would get about and he would not be able to bluff his way past them. The call would have to be made before then.

Meanwhile, as he went wearily to his own bed, he had something new to think about: a pale face with long dark eyelashes, lit uncertainly by a pen light.

tbc

Comments

[nad-no-ennas.livejournal.com]

I really love this! Please finish it soon. Poor Nikolai - so alone and Orlando is so frightened and alone as well. Hope they find each other again.

[surreysmum.livejournal.com]

I'm glad you're enjoying it! Yes, being alone in the world is one of the few things they have in common, you're quite right. I'll finish up as quickly as I can!

[angibugg.livejournal.com]

I wasn't sure how you were going to work a Nikolai/Drew fic but I really like what you have so far. I'm excited for part 2.

[surreysmum.livejournal.com]

Thank you. It's an improbably pairing, isn't it? And yet there's something intriguing in the combination of such opposites.

[oriya-chan.livejournal.com]

Definitely looking forward to part 2!

[surreysmum.livejournal.com]

Thank you! Will post as soon as I can!

[alluranna.livejournal.com]

That was wonderful! I loved it! Nikolai's interaction with Drew was just perfect. Caring, knowledgeable, and hard enough to take care of the situation.

So, if Nikolai makes the call... is he going to disappear with Drew? Please update soon! I cannot wait to see what happens next!!!

[surreysmum.livejournal.com]

I definitely think they'll find a way to connect again. :) I'm glad my Nikolai rings true for you. Thanks!

[melusine6619.livejournal.com]

Intriguing beginning! Please finish this soon; I can't wait to see how this turns out!

[surreysmum.livejournal.com]

Thank you! I've been scribbling on and off all day, so there's hope it will be finished fairly soon. I appreciate your comment!

[not-a-lamb.livejournal.com]

This is fantastic! It MUST be finished. *bats eyes*

I love your Nicolai voice, you've captured him so well. And poor, rediculous, out of his depth Drew. So awkward and a little lame (in an endearing way).

And Kirill... I dont know what to say about Kirill... I want to cut his balls off, basically. *eek!*

I love that you've set up a sort of foil for Nicolai, with Kirill, showing the way that he is in that "relationship" and opening the door for something so much better with Drew. Well done.

I can't wait for more of this! Please don't make us wait too long, ok? ;) Fan-freakin-tastic!

[surreysmum.livejournal.com]

Wow, thank you! High praise indeed! I think I feel like writing today. :)

Thank you for catching the intentional contrast - the whole story ended up being structured around that, as you'll see.

[desire-billy.livejournal.com]

OOOO YES!!! I LOVE Nikolai fics! Thank you so much!! So looking forward to more! YAY!!!

[surreysmum.livejournal.com]

There aren't enough Nikolai fics in the world, are there? He's fascinating to write, although not the easiest character to figure out! Thank you for your praise.

*stares at your icon*

[laeglass.livejournal.com]

Great beginning! Can't wait for part two. :)

Imho, there are far too few Nikolai fics around; thank you for sharing this! *g*

[surreysmum.livejournal.com]

Yes, we need more Nikolai (stares meaningfully at other authors. :) ) It's coming along fairly well, so the rest of it should be up soon. Thanks for commenting!

[ireth06.livejournal.com]

It's hard to keep the characters for what they are and throw them together, but you've done a wonderful job with this!
I love it and I hope part two will follow soon!
Thanks for sharing!
*hugs*

[surreysmum.livejournal.com]

Thanks, Ireth! They live in quite different worlds, but I'm glad the mixture is working for you. Thanks for commenting!

[byalara.livejournal.com]

Great, very good! Mooore, please!!!

[surreysmum.livejournal.com]

Working on it! Thank you for the encouragement!

[blueskydancers.livejournal.com]

Great first chapter - you've captured Nikolai's voice perfectly. Looking forward to the next chapter.

[surreysmum.livejournal.com]

Oh good, I'm glad Nikolai sounds plausible to you. Thank you for letting me know!

[ranmaru.livejournal.com]

I really like this! I haven't read many stories with Nikolai in them. And Drew is such a sweetheart. Interesting pairing, but it works! *scrolls off to read more*

[surreysmum.livejournal.com]

Thank you so much! They're definitely from different worlds, but that may be what Nikolai needs...

I'm scribbling maniacally on Pt 3 (the conclusion) today, so hope to have that posted soon.