Title: Laissez Les Bon Temps Roulez (Let the Good Times Roll) Author: Mortis E-mail: fanficcorner@yahoo.com Rating: NC-17 explicit consensual and non-consensual sex and violence Category: K/O smut Spoilers: none that I'm aware of Disclaimer: We all know who they belong to and judging by the size of my house, it isn't me. Please don't sue. Thanks to: Kim and Nancy for all their support and encouragement. Dedicated with all my love to Carl, my best friend of 18 years who would have celebrated his birthday on February 6. I miss you, my brother. Nothing's been the same since you left. Laissez Les Bon Temps Roulez (Let The Good Times Roll) by Mortis Part 1 of 4 Decommissioned Federal Prison Facility Boron, California Wednesday, February 6 "...happy birthday, dear Marley, happy birthday to you." I heave a great sigh. Today marks my thirty-seventh and, most likely, final birthday. I think back to this day last year, when to celebrate my thirty-sixth year of survival, I sat in front of another prison preparing to ante up my ass and gamble once again that I was more clever than 'they' were. I knew what I was risking when I started this and even now, as I ask myself, "was it worth it?" my answer remains a wholehearted "yes." If I could have given my life for his, I would have - without hesitation. They all wear rubber-soled shoes here, like nurses in a hospital. It drives me mad because I can't hear them coming until the door flies open and they're upon me. It gives me little chance to defend myself one-on-one, as opposed to the usual double-team approach that's popular with my usual night-shift keepers, Green and J-Dog. There are no forewarning footsteps echoing in the corridors to give me time to improvise an ambush and it makes every other sound that much more unnerving. Uncle Sam's best training made them most efficient killers, but an inborn proclivity for violence and other aggressive alpha-male tendencies made them vicious, sadistic motherfuckers. Most days I refuse give them the satisfaction of a fight, but if they give me an opening to hurt them, I take it with a vengeance. I allow myself a grim smile of satisfaction as I replay the scene over in my mind, reliving the screams of the one they called Norton as he clutched his bloody crotch. It had cost me a broken nose, but it had been worth it. No sir, they don't put anything in *my* mouth anymore... But, most of the time they give me no occasion to inflict any damage nor to prevent them from doing whatever they please. I fought at first, but after several severe beatings, I have learned to just lie there, still and cold as a dead mackerel, while they amuse themselves with my body, satisfying their most prurient whims. But I'll bide my time for now until they give me an opportunity to kill one of them and, hopefully, be 'shot while trying to escape.' We'd been on the run, hiding out the week of Mardi Gras winding up in New Orleans for Shrove Tuesday. We had been staying on a 60' Wylie sloop christened Roxanne, that lay at anchor in a slip in Lake Pontchatrain. He had told me that he loved me and I had truly believed him. It had been the happiest moment of my life, if the shortest-lived. We had just made love and I had gone top- side for walk in the moonlight. We had been scheduled to sail at daybreak, but they had shanghaied me from the deck above and tossed a grenade below where my Alexei slept helpless, naked and spent. No, I have no one to miss me, no one to raise an alarm or send out a search party. There will be no daring rescues and I know it. I've decided that I don't mind dying, but I wish for a quick death, not this slow torture. I don't know what they're giving me, but they shoot me full of drugs twice a day. I don't fancy the prospects of being a lab rat. The stuff they inject in me makes me feel very strange, sort of dazed and sedated, but I hear a roaring river of thoughts that I know are not my own. It's like trying to concentrate on a single grain of sand in an hourglass and I can't sort out the voices, then it quickly becomes a disabling and painful din and I lose consciousness only to wake up here in this cell, alone. When the cabin exploded and the boat sank, I didn't care whether I lived or died. Now I care. Now, I wish to join my beautiful Alexei in death. They're coming now. I can feel them, even though I can't hear them. Each time they come, I pray that it will be the last. Ah, there it is, the clank of the lock. Perhaps this time I'll be lucky and they will kill me. I close my eyes and let thoughts of him flood my mind as I will myself to die. ~%*~%*~%* One Year Earlier Maximum Security Military Prison Pollock, Louisiana February 6 The guard leered as he saluted and motioned me through the gate after I had presented my ID. "Main processing is straight ahead Col. Brachah." I winked at him to cover the nervous flush on my cheeks and drove through the gate with my heart pounding in my ears. I proceeded as directed and parked in the slot reserved for "transfer of prisoners". It had been six months since they had taken Alex from our hotel room and through some pretty impressive finagling, I had managed to find out that they had been holding him in a high security military prison in central Louisiana. He was a man without a country and had been given no due process, just tucked away like a collectible toy until the day they had need of his expertise. Then, once again, they would dangle his freedom like the proverbial carrot before his nose to procure his cooperation. An artfully forged ID hung from a lanyard around my neck asserting my identity as Major Adara Brachah, an Israeli officer. I patted one of the long pockets of my commando black BDUs reconfirming the presence of an authentic-looking extradition order which alleged that Aleksandr Vassily Krycek was to be released to the sovereign nation of Israel for questioning regarding his contact with a number of alleged terrorists and I was to bring him to Tel Aviv. I squared my shoulders, took a few deep, cleansing breaths and concentrated on my assumed identity, slipping quickly into character. I exited the van and strode purposefully toward a tall chain-link gate which buzzed at my approach and clanked open when I pushed it giving entrance to a long, cage-like corridor, also of chain-link, that led to a single, gray metal door in a dull, gray cinder block building. Three rows of windows above the entrance were filled with the faces of men who howled and whistled as I made my way toward the door. Their lewd suggestions were anything but flattering and I found that I had a quivering, fluttering feeling in my stomach. It took every ounce of self-control I had to keep from breaking into a dead run, but I steeled myself to it and kept my pace steady, albeit swift. When I finally reached the door, another buzz prompted me to pull on the curved handle and this door also opened smoothly. Half my mission was accomplished, I was in. I was faced with another long corridor, but this one was tight, constricted and uncomfortably bright. I'm not normally given to fits of claustrophobia, but this seemingly endless hallway inspired it nonetheless. I fought back the panic and began walking. The walls were cinderblocks painted white and bare, 100- watt light bulbs had been mounted along the ceiling every ten feet or so. Knowing that I was most likely being recorded by several security cameras added to the uncomfortable wobble in my stomach and inspired a vision of myself on a microscope stage. After what felt like an eternity, I reached another door which again buzzed at my approach and opened without resistance when I pulled it, revealing a small room. It featured a long, ancient-looking counter with the door where I stood at one end and a barred cage at the other. The cage looked as though it functioned similarly to an airlock, working as a barrier between the hallway that stretched out behind it and the outer room in which I currently found myself. Behind the counter stood a gigantic, home-grown, corn-fed, boy of about 19. He had to have stood at nearly 2 meters and weighed no less than 16 stone and he positively loomed over me as he said in a harsh, mid-western twang, "You have a transfer order for me, little lady?" His tone was flirty and condescending and his eyes slithered over me, up and down. I gritted my teeth and said nothing. I wanted desperately to dress him down harshly, but was most keenly aware of the need to keep a low profile. I decided that the ID and papers were worth what they had cost me, because neither Sgt. Farmboy here, nor the gate guard earlier, had given them a second glance beyond reading their contents. He handed them back with a wink and tapped a few keys on the computer that sat on a desk situated below the counter and spanning its length on his side. His large, stubby finger stabbed at a button that I assumed was an intercom and he spoke into it, "I need prisoner J092164T ready for transfer." He returned his attention back to my chest. Two other men sat behind the counter at the other end, their attention focused on a small portable TV that sat between their feet on the desk. "So, little lady, you think you're gonna be able to handle Krycek by yourself?" Farmboy piped up, once again fondling me with his eyes. "He's a lot tougher 'n he looks." "So am I," I said softly, baring my teeth in a forced smile. He held up his arm and pulled his sleeve back to reveal an angry red mark on his forearm in the shape of a perfect set of teeth. "Did this to *me* just yesterday morning." A murderous look momentarily transfigured his features into a mask of perfect animosity, then, just as quickly, it was gone and back were the patronizing manner and leer as he continued, "I sure hope y'are, little lady. That boy's more slippery 'n a box of eels and wouldn't have any pangs of conscience about breakin' your purty neck right after he rapes ya. I really think ya need back-up." His buddies had forsaken the TV for the live show. They whispered between themselves and one nodded as they focused on Farmboy, who had come around the counter, and me. I was getting damned tired of the homespun 'little lady' routine and I wasn't sure I could tolerate his supercilious bullshit any longer. Then I saw him, my beautiful Alexei stood waiting for the "airlock" to open with two burly MPs holding tight to his upper arms. He was wearing an olive drab jumpsuit and shackled hand and foot, his movements kept in check by a ring that attached all the chains to a wide, leather, belt restraint at his waist. His dark hair was longer than I remembered and somewhat tousled. His jaw was shadowed with about a days' growth of stubble and many bruises of varying hues, showing a pattern of ongoing abuse. His green eyes, one of which was swollen and purple, widened almost imperceptibly as they passed over me, but he didn't speak or show any outward signs of recognition. The inner gate opened and the three men entered it together, the two MPs still clamped to his biceps. Farmboy took advantage of the distraction and patted my ass as he motioned me forward. That was it, the very last straw. What Mother Nature might have cheated me in height, she made up for in agility, and I reacted before I even thought. I spun around at light-speed, grabbing the wrist belonging to the offending hand and clamped onto it bringing his arm up hard and high as I swept his feet out from beneath him. The result of my action was Farmboy on his knees and one hand, with me on his back, straddling him as though he were a small pony. I forced his right arm up behind him so that the backs of his fingertips rested at the base of his head. The resulting discomfort brought him effectively under my control. "If you ever touch me again, you pusillanimous pissant," I leaned down and breathed menacingly in his ear, "you're going to be the one who needs the backup. You read me, Sgt. Farmboy?" "Yes, Major, loud and clear," he said tersely. I released him and he climbed quickly to his feet. He flashed his companions a dirty look as they laughed at him, as did the two MPs, but much more to his obvious dismay, so did Krycek. I stepped forward stopping dead center before him and his two escorts. I noted the chevrons and flashed a threatening glance at both MPs, who straightened to attention and stepped aside, leaving Alex standing alone before me. I reached out, took his right arm, and turned to lead him out, whirling around to face the desk. Farmboy's companions again found the television fascinating as I addressed him one last time. "Does your government require me to complete any further paperwork, Sergeant?" "No, Ma'am!" he responded at last with fresh respect that was thickly coated in humiliation. "Very well," I said as I began to take the shackles from Alex's wrists and ankles. He rubbed his wrists and turned toward me. I grabbed his shoulders and shoved him against the door which remained locked, pulling his hands behind him. I reached around to the back of my utility belt and unsnapped the small case that held a pair of handcuffs. With a fluid motion, I slapped the cuffs around his wrists. If I hadn't been so scared, I might have been turned on by it. "By the power vested in me by the sovereign state of Israel, I am formally assuming custody of this prisoner. Good day, Sergeant." The door buzzed and I pushed a stunned Krycek ahead of me through it. I could feel him restraining his pace much as I had earlier. We didn't dare speak. Would we make it out? We had traversed the long hallway and reached the door that led outside and I stood waiting for the buzz with my heart galumphing in my chest. We waited for the buzz. It didn't come. I counted 10 chimpanzees and turned to look at the camera mounted above the door. I didn't speak but looked with expectant pique directly into the camera. The door at the other end opened and my heart fell through the floor. Oh well, vive l'amour, I thought to myself, "live the love". I might die, but I had to try and I braced myself to do whatever I had to in order to get us both out. "Maj. Brachah!" It was Farmboy coming down the hallway at a trot. I swallowed my fear and tried to force my fight or flight adrenaline rush down so he wouldn't smell it on me. "Yes, Sergeant?" I replied curtly. "You, uh... you dropped your ID. You're gonna need it to get out the main gate," he said with a sheepish smile. The laminated ID swung from his ham-sized hand and he slowed to a walk as he approached. "Major, I want to apologize for my behavior. It was unforgivable." He handed me the plastic card and nylon web lanyard. "Yes, it was," I said reaching for it, my manner cool. "Thank you for saving me the trip back. I'm willing to omit the incident from my log if you are." I thought about the satisfaction of dressing him down, and weighed it against getting out alive and quickly, and decided it was more politic to be magnanimous. My answer seemed to satisfy him and he nodded at the camera. Someone must have been watching because the door buzzed and I opened it hoping that it didn't look like I was lunging for it. Once again, keeping in mind the surveillance I pushed Alex semi- roughly at arm's length ahead of me, keeping one hand on the cuffs and the other on the black nightstick that hung from a ring on my belt. In short order, we'd cleared the long chain-link corridor and we were ensconced safely within the van, I in the driver's seat and Alex in the back, shackles attached to an anchor on the bench seat. It was a fortunate thing, too, because when I arrived at the gate, the inspection was very thorough indeed and a guard opened the back to check that Krycek was secured and alone. At last, the extradition order and the transfer paperwork were back in my hands and I was once again being waved through the gate. I turned right on Airbase Road coming quickly up to speed, and the prison rapidly fell behind us. We were out, but we weren't free yet. I rolled down the window as I finally hit highway 165 and headed south for I-49. The temperature was in the upper 70s as it often was this time of year in the South. Just outside Alexandria, I pulled off into a rest area that was surrounded by bayou on all sides. I quickly parked and climbed through a small door between the front and the back of the van. "We're almost free, baby," I crooned into Alex's ear as I unchained him. Still stunned and following my lead, he accepted the jeans, t- shirt and boots that I gave him to replace his prison uniform. He donned them quickly and without question. I slipped out of the uniform I'd been wearing and into my favorite French-cut t-shirt adorned with the Powerpuff Girls and Mojo Jojo, paired it with a short stretch denim skirt and replaced the military boots with a prized pair of thigh-high leather boots. I added Alex's leather jacket which he noted with a raised eyebrow and a grin. "We're going to have to discuss the part where you borrow my clothes, mia bella cara," he said as he pulled me in close to him and kissed me deeply. "Benvenuto indietro, il mio amore," I replied around his lips. "I've missed you." I wanted to consume him, to throw him down right there and have him in the bare, uncarpeted back of the van, but I resisted. "We have to go now. We need to be far from here by the time they figure out that extradition order isn't genuine." He conceded my point with another kiss. We waited a short time before abandoning the prison vehicle, until the rest area was all but deserted. We made straight for a distinct line of cypress trees at the edge of the manicured rest area, which were thickly hung with grayish Spanish moss, and entered the woods. Alex shot me a questioning glance and his eyes narrowed in a wicked, carnivorous smile when I said nothing, gesturing for patience. I winked back at him, laughing at the assumption in his fathomless green eyes. We reached another moss-hung cypress tree where a dirty bit of blue canvas peeked out from under a fairly thick covering of leaves. His eyes lit and his smile widened when he saw the reason I'd actually led him into the bushes. I had brushed the leaves aside and lifted the canvas cover to reveal a 2000 Triumph Bonneville America chained to the tree. "I thought you might enjoy the fresh air," I said, my passion for him welling up in my smile. He fairly flew to it, his eyes lit up like those of a small child on Christmas morning. "Marley, where did you...?" His voice trailed off as he threw one long leg over it and straddled the seat obviously loving it. The sight of him astride the powerful machine suddenly flooded me with an undeniable hunger for him and I knew that I couldn't survive the drive ahead of us if I didn't have him first, right here, right now. I glided over to him, "don't worry," I said, "I didn't kill anyone you know for it." And with that, I climbed on the bike to sit facing him and I felt him instantly stiffen beneath the tight denim. His arms snaked around my waist and pulled me in tight as he thrust his hips forward making firm contact and friction between us. The fire caught me and I snaked my hands down and around him to grab at the hem of his t-shirt, pulling it up, tugging it against the obstacle of his arms which were still holding me in a firm grip like a velvet vice. He released me and I managed to get the shirt over his head just before his hands divested me of my Powerpuffs, revealing my bare chest, and began their exploration of my upper torso. He touched me in the same way a man who had just regained his sight might, floating his fingertips up around my waist, his thumbs pulling lazily across my belly. His touch moved up and I moaned piteously as his hands found and cupped my breast, pulling me forward toward his mouth which descended on them, his tongue swathing the underside, bathing it and coming upward to draw my painfully hard nipple into his mouth, sucking none too gently. My hands fumbled ineffectually with the buttons of his jeans as his mouth sent my brain into a sensory overload that temporarily destroyed my fine motor skills and nearly paralyzed me with ecstasy. My hips, however, were working on a different circuit because they continued to grind against the rather impressive bulge in the front of them, trying desperately to relieve the ache between my legs. His hands moved to pull the stretchy skirt up my body, slipping it over my head, and it joined both our t-shirts on a nearby bush. I was now completely naked except for a black satin thong and the high leather boots. I could feel the very air particles against my skin, such was my level of arousal. He leaned back, separating our upper bodies much to my disappointment, but he lifted my arms straight out to the sides of my body to expose me completely. Those electric green eyes caressed my every curve and I swear I could almost *feel* the heat of his gaze. He slid out from under me and stood, dismounting the bike. I couldn't suppress the snarl that escaped my lips, showing my displeasure at the absence of his body close to mine, but he pushed me gently forward so that my belly and chest rested on the hindmost part of the seat and he lifted my hips until I stood on my toes with my ass in the air. He shed the jeans quickly and stood completely naked beside me for a moment before swinging his leg over the bike to once again straddle it, but this time facing backwards with me bent over and spread out before him. Alex leaned forward and pushed the tops of the boots down, grasped my legs just above my knees and slid his fingers almost reverently up the backs of my thighs to trace the curve of my ass. His touch set fire to my blood and I found myself on tip-toes, pushing my ass further in the air to deepen contact between his hands and my skin, not unlike a cat in heat. His hands returned to the tops of my knees, this time stroking up the insides of my thighs while his lips planted wet, sucking kisses up my spine and neck. His fingers brushed over the strip of satin that covered me, teasing the moist flesh there and I moaned again, seemingly incapable of coherent speech for the moment. His fingers dragged upward, teasing lightly over my clit and around to kneed my ass with a moan of his own. I felt his fingers hook into the strip of cloth and pull the thong aside, exposing my slippery opening. It was all I could do to keep from thrusting myself up at him. I felt as if I would die without him immediately inside me. He took himself in hand and I felt the head of his cock part my wet lips. He was hard as tempered steel, yet the skin was soft as silk. I could stand no more and as he stroked his cock through the wetness again, I thrust my ass upward, burying him inside me to the hilt. He gasped and grabbed my hips, holding me firmly in place effectively stopping my motion. For several long seconds, he neither moved nor breathed. But then a hand wrapped itself around the length of my hair very much like reins, and he began to ride. He moved slowly, pulling almost all the way out as my inner muscles clenched and convulsed to prevent it and then plunged again with patient deliberateness, nudging my G-spot while I rotated my hips trying to impale myself on the turgid shaft. His right hand reached down between my legs, his middle finger sliding slickly into my cleft, where he quickly found my clit and made it his toy. Around and around in firm, gentle circles... massaging...building...then moving away to explore our connection, gently stroking the taut flesh stretched around his considerable girth. I found the foot pegs with my hands and I grabbed them in a death grip. Using my newfound leverage to my advantage, I thrust my ass upward to meet his stroke, needing to quicken our pace. I could feel my womb beginning to spasm as my orgasm began, spreading out in concentric circles like a rock tossed into the middle of a still pond. My body went completely rigid and he grasped my pelvis, lifting me completely off my feet, pulling me into him to meet his powerful thrusts. My inner walls pulsated around him and soon I felt his cock twitch and jerk as he spilled inside me with forceful spurts. We both collapsed, with quivering legs, onto the motorcycle seat, or rather I did, he collapsed across my back, panting against my hair. We lay together as our hearts returned to their normal rates while his cock grew soft inside me, but it was not very comfortable and he soon sat up with a final kiss to the back of my head. And was rummaging in the nearby bushes for his clothes, while I pulled my boots up, my skirt back on and slipped my t- shirt over my head. Once we were both dressed, I headed for the bathrooms on foot as Alex started the bike and pulled it out of the trees and up to the parking area. I cleaned up quickly, and climbed back on the bike behind him, wrapping my arms around him in an intimate hug. "I hope you like roughing it," I said with a wink and pointed toward I-49. "Go south, young man," I paraphrased and with a low growl from the engine and a chirp of the tires, we were off again. Our escape had only just begun. We had seven days to hide before we could leave the country and the bonus was, we'd be in New Orleans for Mardi Gras. With the wind in my hair and my arms around Alexei I could almost let myself believe that everything was going to work out all right. ~%*~%*~%* End part 1/4